Kirstie Newton: Sunny side up! A personal view of the solar eclipse

THIS week’s partial eclipse has had mixed reviews, from “humbling, once-in-a-generation experience” to “anti-climax”. How was it for you?

In 1999, I was working as a trainee journalist on the Western Morning News in Plymouth as the solar eclipse loomed. It was a massive deal, and dominated the headlines for months.

Cornwall was the one place in the UK where totality was guaranteed, and there was a rather unseemly war of words between two parties.

In the blue corner, those businesses who stood to gain from encouraging people to come down and enjoy the spectacle west of the Tamar, swelling coffers in the process – namely hospitality, represented by Visit Cornwall.

In the red corner, the services charged with managing our infrastructure – primarily the police, predicting societal collapse if the entire population of the UK descended at once on the peninsula. A committee was formed to come up with a plan, and as predictions became increasingly doom-laden, one sensed potential eclipse tourists were concluding it really wasn’t worth the hassle.

On the day, cloud cover dealt the final hammer blow. I watched the eclipse from the office car park on a suburban business park; a less romantic location there never was. As it went dark in the middle of the morning, orange streetlights flicked on. However, I will always remember that moment of silence as the birds went to sleep, then awoke a minute later with a fresh dawn chorus.

From the districts, colleagues in more scenic environments (including Bodmin Beacon) reported a break in the cloud at just the right time, allowing them to see totality around the region.

I’ve since enjoyed partial eclipses, including one where I had a go at the colander trick, reflecting the moon’s shadow onto a piece of white paper (it really works!). But at 96 per cent coverage, this one promised to be special. Would it be as dark as in 1999?

There was a lot less hype surrounding this event, at least until the week itself. It’s quite conceivable you could have booked a holiday in Cornwall and arrived to discover an eclipse had been thrown in for free. Result!

We decided to view it atop St Agnes Beacon, then a plan swung into action. I bought a five-pack of eclipse-grade glasses – possibly the last in existence, given how many people were online asking “Where can I get some?”, or scouring supermarkets in vain.

Then we bought a picnic, a civilised affair including plates and cutlery, which I would later regret while lugging it up the hill.

We left early in the hope of securing a parking space. This strategy was probably our most successful; many friends got stuck in traffic jams and had to resort to plan B (viewing it from the car?) while we arrived in time to order an ice cream at the café, which was operating loose opening hours to mop up a sudden influx of custom around closing time.

Then we headed for the summit and pitched our blankets in a suitable place facing the right direction for the biggest show of the year. It was a popular spot, with several hundred people and a festival atmosphere - some attendees were even swaying to a silent disco. Helicopters flew overhead: “Are you at Bedruthan Steps?” asked my mum by text, convinced she’d seen me on the telly.

Glasses were donned at around 6.15pm, at which point it became apparent that something was afoot. The moon had taken a chunk out of the right side of the sun, which got bigger and bigger over the course of an hour until there was barely a sliver left.

It was amazing how much light was emitted by that tiny crescent of sun. Glasses off, the sky was maybe a little dusky (or “dimpsy” as the Cornish might say); the air cooled considerably and moths began to appear, but it was still very much daylight. I can well understand why those who stayed at home and missed out on glasses were underwhelmed by the experience.

Back on St Agnes Beacon, was it “humbling”? Not especially. Was it an opportunity to marvel at how the universe works, in the company of others of a similar mind? You betcha. A spontaneous round of applause broke out at peak eclipse and spread across the crowds in a moment of shared joy.

There was gridlock as everyone tried to leave at the same time, much like you see in zombie apocalypse films. We dropped down to Wheal Coates for a glorious sunset at one of Cornwall’s most recognisable spots, and came back up an hour later to find little had changed. We were in no hurry and killed time pleasurably, buying home-made fudge and petting a friendly cat.

My personal verdict: simply stunning. I’m stashing the glasses away for 2081.