ST. AUSTELL TO ST. MAWES
The town of St. Austell is not exactly upon the coast, but it is only
about two miles inland, and visitors may be attracted by the
reputation of its fine church. It is a busy and self-respecting little
town, and is the commercial centre of a district that, for Cornwall,
is quite thickly populated; it is, indeed, one of the few Cornish
districts in which population has really shown an increase of recent
years. Much of its growing activity is due to the china-clay business;
St. Austell claims to be the china-clay metropolis of the world. Most
of the shipment is done from Fowey, Par, and Charlestown. The industry
is becoming a recognised lucrative field for investment. Yet the
immediate presence of the mines and yards is not a thing of beauty or
of comfort. St. Austell Church, dedicated to a companion of the famous
St. Samson, has a lofty Perpendicular granite tower, whose niches
contain statues of Christ, the Virgin, and many other saintly figures.
The implements and emblems of the Crucifixion are carved in the
southern buttresses. Older than the tower is the chancel; and there is
a Cornish inscription, _Ry Du_ ("give to God") above the porch. In the
churchyard is one of the sacred stones whose names at least we find
scattered in different parts of the kingdom, such as the _stan_ (or
Steyne) of Brighton, and the "folk's-stone" of a popular Kentish
watering-place. This St. Austell stone, the Menagew, is said to have
once stood at the junction of three manors, but its veneration
doubtless dates from a far earlier period. The historian Lake tells
us, "It is certain that on this stone all declarations of war and
proclamations of peace were read; and although at present it is
partially disregarded, a strong degree of veneration still attaches to
its name. All cattle that had been impounded for a given time, and for
which no owner could be found, were brought to this stone and exposed
for a certain number of market days, after which, if they remained
unclaimed, their sale became legal." But many visitors will probably
take greater interest in the famed Carclaze Mine, situated more than
600 feet above sea-level; the pit is about 150 feet deep, and nearly a
mile round. Once notable for its tin, this mine now supplies an
immense quantity of china-clay and stone. Charlestown may claim to be
the port of St. Austell, and is becoming also a popular residential
suburb. But St. Austell has another watering-place in Porthpean, a
mile or two westward, which, though it can boast of no shipping, has
features that may some day bring it a wide reputation. With good
sands, good bathing, a mild climate, Porthpean might easily develop
into a holiday resort of the conventional but highly prosperous type.
As yet its fame is hardly more than local.
South of Black Head, an eminence of about 150 feet, is the little port
of Pentewan, noted for its elvan building stone, which is shipped,
together with some china-clay, from its excellent small harbour.
Pentewan stone has a good name for hardness and durability; its
qualities are well shown in the tower of St. Austell Church. In the
tin works here, carried on at some depth below sea-level, were found
horns of the Irish elk, not petrified, but completely metallised by
the tin ore; also definite traces of buried forest. It is said also
that some curious oaken canoes were discovered in the soil, but were,
unfortunately, destroyed for firewood by the tinners. It is hard to
estimate how many valuable antiquities have been similarly destroyed
by carelessness and ignorance; but such ruin has been more often
suffered by stone monuments, longstones, kistvaens, snatched for use
as gate-posts and walls by heedless farmers and builders.
About two miles inland from Pentewan is Heligan, a very fine estate,
whose gardens display rare subtropical vegetation. Such vegetation is
rather a boasted feature in southern and western Cornwall, and is, of
course, interesting as a kind of _tour-de-force_, showing what the
British climate at its best can do. Apart from this use, however, it
may seem to some of us that such efforts are easily overdone; the
native beauty of an English garden or woodland has infinitely more
appeal, more freshness, more loveliness, than any grandeurs of the
exotic. The glories of Kew Gardens have their charm, their utility,
their educational value; but tropical growths are really as much out
of place in an English landscape as a Moorish palace or a Buddhist
temple would be. All who know anything of landscape gardening know
that it has been a fertile field for the growth and exemplification of
false taste. Yet the plea of botanical interest, educational use, may
be added to the attraction of rarity as a defence of all such
cultivations as we find not only at Heligan and Mount Edgcumbe, but at
Morrab Gardens and Tresco. Those of us who dislike them can keep away.
But Heligan has a reputation also for genuine English beauty. The old
mill here has been a favourite with many artists, and has become
familiar in many an exhibition-room. At Lanshadron, close by, is a
mutilated cross, which is perhaps unique in having an inscription
around its base; the inscription being Latin. Heligan is in the parish
of St. Ewe, which is usually supposed to be a dedication to St.
Eustachius; but non-Celtic saints are almost as much out of place in
Cornwall as exotic plants are, and St. Ewe was probably some forgotten
British or Welsh missionary. A former clergyman of this parish appears
to have been notable as a healer of bodies as well of souls. We read
of him that "Martin Atwell, parson of St. Ewe about 1600, was a
physician of body as well as soul: now and then he used blood-letting
or bleeding, and administered Marius Christi and other like cordials,
yet mostly for all diseases he prescribed milk, and very often milk
and apples, and recovered sundry out of desperate and forlorn
extremities: his liberality was very great, his affection for religion
sound, and he turned out with both hands _in pios usus_." Certainly a
most enlightened man for his time, and if we could only add that he
recommended the milk to be sour we should have brought his modernity
to the highest point.
Mevagissey, about six miles south-west of St. Austell, was once one of
the most flourishing fishing-ports on the Cornish coast, and though
it has not quite maintained its relative position, it is not done with
yet. The town can also boast some fame as the Aberalva of Kingsley's
_Two Years Ago_, a book once far more popular than it is to-day. The
same claim has been made for Clovelly; but though some features in the
novelist's description may be applied equally to both, there are other
points that can only be attributed to Mevagissey. Kingsley, who wrote
the book fifty years since, says: "Between two ridges of high pebble
bank some twenty yards apart, comes Alva River rushing to the sea. On
the opposite ridge, a low white house, with three or four white
canvas-covered boats and a flagstaff with sloping crossyard, betokens
the coastguard station. Beyond it rise black jagged cliffs; mile after
mile of iron-bound wall: and here and there, at the glens' mouths,
great banks and denes of shifting sand.... Above, a green down
stretches up to bright yellow furze-crofts far aloft. Behind, a reedy
marsh, covered with red cattle, paves the valley till it closes in;
the steep sides of the hill are clothed in oak and ash covert....
Pleasant little glimpses there are, too, of gray stone farmhouses,
nestling among sycamore and beech; bright green meadows,
alder-fringed; squares of rich fallow-field, parted by lines of golden
furze; all cut out with a peculiar blackness and clearness, soft and
tender withal, which betokens a climate surcharged with rain. Only, in
the very bosom of the valley, a soft mist hangs, increasing the sense
of distance, and softening back one hill and wood behind another, till
the great brown moor which backs it all seems to rise out of the empty
air. For a thousand feet it ranges up, in huge sheets of brown
heather, in gray cairns and screes of granite, all sharp and
black-edged against the pale blue sky." The description of the town
itself that follows might apply tolerably well to a number of such
fishing-ports in the West Country; but Kingsley is most clearly not
speaking of Clovelly, and he introduces Cornish names. That corner of
North Devon must be content with figuring in _Westward-Ho!_ and not
claim _Two Years Ago_. There was the cholera also, which was a very
terrible reality at Mevagissey in 1849, and which did its good work as
well as its evil, by causing the place to be thoroughly cleansed. The
truly Cornish name of the town derives from a double dedication to the
Saints Meven (or Mewan) and Issey; St. Mewan being a Welsh saint, and
St. Issey probably an Irishman. The place has won, and deserved, the
nickname of Fishygissey, but there is none the less a real charm about
it; its distance from the railway, however inconvenient for visitors,
brings compensations that many can appreciate. The pier dates from
1770, but the harbour is much more recent. A fine and costly harbour
constructed about 1890 was destroyed in the following year by the
great blizzard, which is distinctly "_the_ storm" in the West of
England; the present quays were built in 1897. At one time more
pilchards were taken here than at any other spot, but the pilchard is
a fickle fish, and has no consideration beyond the choice of
feeding-grounds; if better satisfied elsewhere, no sentiment
interferes with its migrations. But there are still a good many
pilchards taken off Mevagissey, and these are largely cured here--many
under their own name, but a large number find their way to the factory
of the Cornish Sardine Company established in the town. It has often
been debated whether pilchards and sardines are one and the same; Mr.
Aflalo says they are identical. It is certain that many so-called
sardines are pilchards--and some are sprats. Differences in size may
be accounted for by the fact that Cornish nets have often a rather
large mesh, and the smaller fish are not taken. Many such nets are
made at Mevagissey. The seine, or sean-net, was that commonly used
here when the pilchard schools came nearer, but is now almost
abandoned for the drift-net; we shall find seines still common further
west. The seine may be described as a wall of netting, buoyed at the
surface and weighted below; this is dipped in the thick of the shoal,
its ends drawn together, and the fish taken out with a tuck-net. The
leaded bottom of the net must touch the ground or the fish will
escape; thus seine-fishing is only practicable in shallow waters. With
it is associated the occupation of the "huers," who are stationed on
the look-out above the shore, and who signal the arrival of the
schools, easily seen in the daylight. But this method is now abandoned
at Mevagissey, where the fishermen go farther from port, sailing to
meet the schools in open sea instead of waiting close to shore for
them. In many details their drift-fishing differs from the seine. The
nets are long and deep, with a fairly large mesh: the object being for
the fish to become entangled as in a trap, into which they swim
blindly. A dark night is the most favourable; the drift-fishers start
from port about sunset, and are often back with their catch long
before dawn. The fish, indeed, are frequently caught, brought ashore,
and sold before daybreak; some are taken off by hawkers to be sold at
farms and cottages about the country-side, while others go at once to
the curers, or are pressed for export. Of course, mackerel and other
fish are caught, often in considerable quantity, but the distinctive
Cornish fish is the pilchard, and the pilchard has had most to do with
the prosperity of Cornish fishing-ports. Unless cooked by the
initiated, however, who get rid of the superfluous oil, the fresh
pilchard is a very bilious article of diet, and the visitor must be
wary.
In Mevagissey Church there is a curious old font, probably Norman in
date as it is in appearance. The tower of this church was removed for
some reason, perhaps because it was out of repair; and it was slyly
reported in the neighbourhood that the townsfolk had sold their bells
to pay for the removal of their tower. Cornish parishes are fond of
these jibes against each other. Penwarne, the seat of "One-handed
Carew," is in this parish; he lost his hand at the siege of Ostend in
1601, and returning after the fight, he presented the amputated limb
to his hostess, remarking "This is the hand that cut the pudding
to-day." A little south is the fishing hamlet of Portmellin; and just
beyond Chapel and Turbot Points reach out into the Channel. There are
remains of entrenchment on the headlands, and a little inland the farm
of Bodrigan perpetuates the name of an old Cornish family, once of
power and reputation. The waste known as Woful Moor, and the rock on
the coast named Bodrigan's Leap, both have a tale to tell in relation
with the ruin of this ancient family. It seems that in the days of
Richard III. Sir Henry Bodrigan was engaged in a fierce feud with the
leaders of the Edgcumbe and Trevanion families, and in the hour of
his prosperity he pressed them hardly. When the day of adversity came
and he was attainted by the newly crowned Henry Tudor, Bodrigan's
enemies turned on him with vindictive zeal. Driven to bay, the
desperate Bodrigan met them in a last conflict on Woful Moor, so named
to commemorate his sorrow, and was so hotly pressed that he was
compelled to leap from the shore, at the spot still known as his
"leap." The drop was of a hundred feet, but he escaped without injury
and was picked up by a vessel that lay beneath. His later story is not
told; but Gilbert says that "he seems to have perished in exile. His
property was divided between the two families opposed to him, and,
after the lapse of three hundred and fifty years, continues to form a
large portion of their respective possessions." But much water has
passed by Black Head since Gilbert wrote.
There is a recollection of Bodrigan at Gorran Haven, where he is said
to have built the old pier; this was rebuilt in 1888. Gorran Haven is
a most attractive little fishing-village, and may have a future before
it as a watering-place; at present it only draws the quietest of
visitors. The beach is excellent, pleasantly diversified with crags;
and there is a small outlying mass of rock known as the Guineas or
Gwinges, round which a rough sea breaks finely. There is a daughter
chapel here, late Tudor, dating from about 1450 and restored in 1885;
while the mother-church of St. Gorran at the church-town has a
pinnacled tower of 110 feet in height (late Perpendicular) with six
bells. This was renovated in 1896. There are some good initialled
bench-ends in the church. It is a district of grain culture. Gorran
men were rather made a butt of by their neighbours in the old days;
they "tried to throw the moon over the cliffs," and they "built a
hedge to keep in the moonlight." Such parochial witticisms may be
laughed at to-day, but they often provided a stinging grievance in the
past and were a handy weapon in neighbourly feuds. They were by no
means limited to Cornwall, though the Duchy was very plentifully
supplied. The typical instance in England is that of the unfortunate
men of Gotham, whom it is amusing to find old Ray seriously defending
in his _Proverbs_, where he says that "as for Gotham, it doth breed as
wise people as any which causelessly laugh at their simplicity. Sure I
am, Mr. William de Goteham, fifth Master of Michael House in
Cambridge, 1336, and twice Chancellor of the University, was as grave
a governour as that age did afford." All which may be very true; and
doubtless the men of Gorran were no more simple than their decriers.
Doubtless also they had a payment for all compliments. The local
dedication seems to be to the Gorran or Goron who surrendered his cell
at Bodmin to St. Petrock, perhaps because he recognised a better man.
The coast around Gorran is very grand, and reaches its culmination in
Dodman Point, sometimes called the Deadman, which rises to about 370
feet. The cliff has a sheer drop to the water, which is here deep, so
that large vessels can pass close inshore. The local saying linking
Dodman with Rame Head has already been quoted; and it is asserted that
Dodman and Rame really did meet when they both came into possession of
Sir Piers Edgcumbe. This bare, gaunt headland has proved disastrous to
shipping, and some will recollect that two torpedo-destroyers, the
_Thresher_ and the _Lynx_ collided with the rock here in a fog,
several lives being lost through the resultant explosion. This point
is the eastern gateway of Veryan Bay; in the heart of which bay lies
the very small parish of St. Michael Caerhayes, or Carhays. The parish
is inseparably connected with the old Cornish family of Trevanion, one
of which family, Sir John, fell at the siege of Bristol in the Civil
War, and left his name to the sad commemorative couplet in which
Cornwall recorded those by whose lives she had to pay for their
glory:--
"The four wheels of Charles's Wain,
Grenville, Godolphin, Trevanion, Slanning, slain."
The list was not exhaustive. Speaking of Trevanion and Slanning,
Clarendon says: "They were the life and soul of the Cornish Regiment;
both young, neither of them above 28; of entire friendship to each
other, and to Sir Bevil Grenville, whose body was not yet buried." It
would be a poor thing if the horrors of war did not sometimes allow us
such glimpses of heroic friendship and valour. In the church of St.
Michael's are hanging many weapons that once belonged to Trevanions,
including the sword said to have been worn at the field of Bosworth by
Sir Hugh, who was knighted after the battle by the conquering
Richmond. There is a doorway supposed to be Saxon in this church. The
present Caerhayes House, beautifully situated at the head of
Porthluney Cove, is the successor of the old Trevanion mansion, and
was built about a century since by Nash, the architect of Buckingham
Palace and Regent Street. For the sake of contrast, it is interesting
to remember that the Brighton Pavilion was also Nash's work; and thus
the mind can wander from this peaceful Cornish cove to that most
populous of British watering-places. At Portholland is a small hamlet
wedged into a tiny cleft, where those who desire the uttermost
quietude might be satisfied; westward along the coast is the slightly
larger fishing village of Portloe. This is in the parish of Veryan,
one of the "Roseland" parishes whose name has really nothing to do
with roses. Roseland, formerly Rosinis (_Roz-innis_, "moorland" or
"heath island"), was in its origin a very early designation of this
strip of land lying between Veryan Bay and the Fal; and we find the
same original in the Rosen Cliff, just above Nare Head.
Nare Head, a fine bluff of rock, is the southward point of Veryan
parish and the western extremity of Veryan Bay. There is some memory
of Tregeagle around this headland, but his tale belongs more fully to
Dozmare Pool on the Bodmin Moors and to the Land's End district. More
immediately concerning us is the story of Geraint--at least of one of
the rather numerous Cornish princes bearing that name--which is
associated with Gerrans Bay and Dingerrein, now opening upon us, and
with the great barrow of Carne Beacon. Perhaps Geraint, Latinised as
Gerennius and sometimes as Gerontios, was simply a title of
chieftainship or kingship; it is certain that the name was applied to
more than one British chieftain, though since Tennyson's Idylls there
has been only one Geraint in the mind of the general reader. Gerrans
Bay, of course, embodies the name, and so do the remains of the
entrenchment or camp at Dingerrein. It is possible that he whose name
thus survives was truly the Arthurian champion; we may certainly give
him the benefit of the doubt, and believe that this was the Geraint
who married the sweet Enid, who tested her faith so harshly, and who
died at Llongborth (probably Langport in Somerset) about the year 522.
He is claimed by the Welsh bards as one of their heroes, and there can
be no historic objection to such a claim. Llywarch Hen sang of his
death--
"In Llongborth Geraint was slain,
A brave man from the region of Dyvnaint,
And before they were overpowered they committed slaughter."
Tennyson's version of the legend is mainly taken from the Mabinogion.
We usually think of this Geraint, son of Erbin, as a fighter, but in
Cornwall he appears as a saint and the father of saints; both
characters, indeed, have been united in the same person, before and
since. Geraint is claimed as the founder of Gerrans, as well as of St.
Geran in Brittany; and Dingerrein is supposed to have been his
residence, while Carn Beacon was his tomb. The last supposition is the
most dubious. There is a traditional rumour that he was driven from
Wales by Teutonic invaders, that he settled here near Veryan and built
this stronghold, that he embraced religion and resigned his rule to
his son, and died a holy man. If we accept this tale we must decide
that it was another Geraint who fell fighting at Langport. The Book of
Llandaff tells us that the great St. Teilo visited Geraint while on
his way to Brittany, and that he hastened back from the Continent in
time to administer viaticum to his dying friend, bringing a stone
coffin for the burial with him. Tradition further says that the dead
chieftain was buried with his golden boat and silver oars in which he
had been wont to row himself. The place of burial was Carn Beacon, and
there was long an expectation that these treasures would be discovered
if the barrow was opened. This was done about half a century since,
but the kistvaen that was found only contained some prehistoric ashes,
of far earlier date than Geraint; the gold boat and silver oars were
not visible. The remains were replaced and the excavation closed.
There was a later Geraint who fought against the Saxon Ina in 710. But
it is almost more difficult to identify these Geraints than it is to
attain any certitude about King Arthur himself.
Gerrans is close to one of the lovely creeks that run inland from
Falmouth Harbour. On the coast is the little settlement of
Porthscatho, which is undergoing the transformation so common in
Cornwall, from fishing-village to watering-place. The artists came
first, and then the tourists. The charm of the place, with its
whitewashed houses and grey slate roofs, has not yet been destroyed;
and Porthscatho is still a delightful haunt. Southward is Zose Point,
or St. Anthony's Head, so called from the parish of St.
Anthony-in-Roseland, with its beautiful restored Early English church.
The Norman doorway and lighted steeple are noteworthy. Close by is
Place Houses (Places are common in Cornwall), a mansion erected by
Admiral Spry on the site of a priory founded by Athelstan, belonging
later to the monks of Plympton. There is a lighthouse, as well as a
prehistoric castle, on Zose Point, the light visible for fourteen
miles, and a valuable guide to vessels making Falmouth. This St.
Anthony Headland dominates St. Mawes Harbour, Falmouth Bay, and the
mouth of the Carrick Roads; the view is even more magnificent than
that from Plymouth Hoe or Staddon Heights.