Farewell to Flambards: The Best Day of the Week Comes to an End

Flambards. The ‘Best Day Of The Week’.

The news has just broken: Flambards Theme Park in Cornwall, a place so deeply woven into the fabric of my childhood, is closing its doors for good. I’m sat at my desk, looking out at grey autumnal skies and feeling a pang of bittersweet nostalgia. Flambards was so much more than a theme park to me and countless others; it was a treasured chapter of growing up, a beloved escape into history and adventure and a summer stage for unforgettable family moments.

Like many families in the ‘80s, our trips to Flambards were grand affairs. We’d gather up the lot—mum, dad, nan, grandad, aunts, uncles, cousins, you name it—and pile into a convoy of slightly too-small cars, ready for a full day of adventure.

Packed lunches, questionable egg sandwiches and flasks of tea in hand, we’d set off to Helston, Cornwall, eager to lose ourselves in this peculiar mix of Victorian nostalgia and thrill-seeking chaos. Now, with Flambards set to close, I can’t help but feel like a slice of my own history is vanishing.

Ferdi. The big guy. 

The Victorian Village: Where Time Stood Still

As a kid, the Victorian Village exhibit at Flambards was the ultimate experience of stepping back in time. It was mesmerising. Low-lit cobbled streets stretched out before you, lined with dimly lit shopfronts. Walking those cobbled streets as a child, you couldn’t help but feel both fascinated and a little spooked by the lifelike mannequins frozen in time, peering out from apothecaries and greengrocers as if they knew secrets you didn’t.

I’d drag my sisters by the arm, whispering stories of Victorian ghosts lurking around every corner. One of the highlights was the threadbare horse, which had taken a stroke from all and sundry, leading the owners to put up a sign that read “Please Do Not Stroke Me.” I often wondered how many curious hands had attempted to give it a pat, only to receive a less-than-enthusiastic response from the beleaguered beast. It felt like real magic, a sort of historical adventure that couldn’t quite be matched by any other theme park. It was always a thrill that left us grinning ear to ear, thinking, “This is definitely the best day of the week—unless we’re counting Christmas, of course. Or that time I got a puppy.”

Inside Flambards Victorian Village. Cobbled streets lined with charming, dimly lit shops that evoke a sense of nostalgia. In the foreground, a threadbare horse, weary from countless friendly strokes, stands beside a weathered cart, serving as a whimsical reminder of days gone by.

Britain in the Blitz: A Powerful, Playful Tribute

The Britain in the Blitz exhibit was another absolute classic, combining thrills with education in a way that made history feel alive. You’d walk in, and suddenly you were there in wartime Britain. Air raid sirens wailed overhead and a mixture of archival radio broadcasts filled the air, transporting you to a time and place that we’d only ever heard about in history lessons.

What an experience it was! The realistic sound effects made every child feel like they were ducking and dodging real bombs. I remember my cousins and I practically diving under imaginary tables, shrieking in both fear and delight as we "survived" yet another air raid. In those moments, we understood the hardship and courage of the people who lived through those times in a way no history book could ever convey. It was the first time I’d felt history as something real, something alive—an experience so thrilling it felt like we’d just discovered the secret to getting unlimited dessert at dinner.

Scattered bricks and rubble line the road, while a dedicated air raid warden stands vigil nearby, ensuring safety in the cordoned-off area marked by caution tape due to an unexploded bomb.

Passing Down the Flambards Tradition: My Son’s Third Birthday

Flambards wasn’t just a one-generation wonder in our family, either. The tradition carried on to my own son, who celebrated his third birthday there, wide-eyed and mesmerised by the same displays that had enchanted me decades earlier. His grandad, determined to make it memorable, bought him a small train from the gift shop—a little plastic monstrosity with spinning wheels and the kind of shrill noise that could pierce through concrete walls. That train was a loyal, if loud, companion for months after. My son played with it relentlessly, driving it up and down hallways until he’d just about worn the wheels down to nubs, while his mum and I silently cursed grandad’s enthusiasm for all things with batteries and flashing lights.

In a way, that noisy little train felt like a passing of the torch. Just as Flambards had shaped my childhood, it had become a part of my son’s early memories. “Remember, son,” I’d tell him, “Flambards is where we learned that the best day of the week could be filled with joy, laughter, and enough chaos to make your parents question their life choices!”

A colourful, plastic, noisy and flashing train.

The Thrills, the Rides and the Grand Cornish Day Out

Flambards was full of thrills that made your stomach flip and always sent you home with a slight limp or a sunburn. The Hornet roller coaster was praised like a mythical legend on Pirate FM back in the ‘90s (another Cornish childhood memory gone). Sure, it might have rattled your bones and left you clinging to the lap bar in pure terror, but it gave you that delicious thrill only a slightly rickety ride can.

We didn’t mind the queue or the waiting and we didn’t mind if things got a bit grubby—that was all part of the charm. And those queues! There we’d stand, swapping stories, nibbling sandwiches and nudging each other forward, all as the Cornish sun worked its magic on any exposed skin.

There was an undeniable sense of camaraderie in the air, as if everyone who entered Flambards knew they were in for an experience shared by generations. We all carried with us the quiet understanding that we were visiting something truly unique, a place where time seemed to bend and history blended into everyday life.

The best day of the week was never complete without a few grumbles about the prices of the ice creams or the cries of “I’m not going on that again!” after the rides.

The Hornet Rollercoaster at Flambards Theme Park.

Farewell to a Cornish Institution

Flambards Theme Park is no more and along with it, a piece of Cornish history and my own childhood will be consigned to memory. I understand the reasons, of course. Visitor numbers dwindling, rising costs—it’s the tale of so many beloved places. But knowing doesn’t make it easier.

The park might be gone, but for those of us who wandered its cobbled streets, dodged air raids and held on for dear life on its rides, it will always hold a cherished place in our hearts. Flambards was a true gem of Cornwall, a place that bridged the gap between thrill and history, creating memories that will last long after the gates have closed.

So, farewell, Flambards. Thank you for the endless laughs, the unforgettable frights and the joyous chaos. Thank you for being the stage upon which we played out our childhoods, for giving my son his first taste of adventure and for forever filling our hearts with memories.

You truly were “the best day of the week”.