NOOKS AND CORNERS FROM THE VALE OF LANHERNE TO HAYLE TOWANS
_Hurling and St. Columb Major: Colan: The Gratitude of the Stuarts:
Trevalgue: A Good Centre for Crantoch, St. Cubert, and Trerice: St.
Agnes and the Giant: Portreath: the Bassets: Godrevy: Gwithian: The
Pilchards._
HURLING AND
ST. COLUMB MAJOR
At the head of the lovely Vale of Lanherne is a district which has long
been the centre for the old game of "hurling," and although football has
largely taken its place, it is still sometimes played on Shrove Tuesday.
The ball is smaller than that used for cricket, is light to handle, and
has a coating of silver. The one now in use is inscribed with this
couplet:
"_St. Columb Major and Minor do your best,
In one of your parishes I must rest._"
During the short reign of Edward VI. the ferment against the reformation
doctrines came to a head in Cornwall. The people rose under Humfrey
Arundel and marched to Exeter, only however to meet with a crushing
defeat. Four thousand were slain, and their leaders taken and hanged at
Tyburn. Martial law was then proclaimed, and Sir Anthony Kingston,
Provost Marshal, was sent down into Cornwall. Among other stories told
of him is that of his expeditious visit to St. Columb. Arrived at the
little market town he promptly seized "Master Mayow" and directed that
he should be hanged as a rebel. "Mistress Mayow, intending to plead for
her husband's life, spent so long a time in prinking herself that by the
time she reached the presence of the judge, her husband was dead."
In the neighbourhood of St. Columb are nine menhirs in a line, called
the Nine Maidens, or in Cornish "Naw Voz"; also Castle-an-Dinas, a large
triple entrenchment on a high tableland enclosing six acres of ground
and two tumuli. Hither came the Royalist leaders in 1646 to discuss the
question of surrender, and here King Arthur is supposed to have stayed
when on pleasure bent. The waste land around is known as Goss Moors,
and there he hunted not only the red deer but the wolf.
"The Green Book of St. Columb" is one of the historical treasures of the
county. It is so called from the colour of its leather binding, and is a
book of parish accounts dating from the reign of Elizabeth.[2] Curious
to relate, the rectory-house is surrounded by a moat. The church, which
is very large for Cornwall, contains some good brasses and bench-ends,
the brass of Sir John Arundell and his two wives (1545) being probably
the finest example in the county. This church has had hard usage. In
1676 a barrel of gunpowder which lay in the rood-loft was fired by some
mischievous boys. Three of them were killed, and a great deal of other
damage was done. Some few years later the tower was struck by lightning,
and the people, made wiser by misfortune, were careful to erect a less
lofty one, which, however, was itself struck a few years since.
COLAN
Halfway between the two St. Columbs is the little church of Colan, which
contains the interesting brass of ffrancis Bluet, 1572, and Elizabeth,
his wife, with effigies of both and of their thirteen sons and nine
daughters. Below it is a smaller brass containing these words:
"_Behold thyselfe
by us; Suche one
Were we as thow:
And thou in tyme
Shalt be: even doust
As we are nowe._"
THE GRATITUDE
OF THE STUARTS
Lady Nance's Well was once the resort of pilgrims, who threw crosses of
wood into the water. If they swam all would go well during the ensuing
year, but, alas, if they should sink! Another well and the remains of
its covering building are to be seen at Rialton, a priory which once
possessed extensive rights, but of which only the ruined buildings
remain. They lie in a beautiful valley east of the village of St. Columb
Minor. At this latter the communion plate, which was presented by
Francis, second Earl of Godolphin, and bears his arms, is massive, the
flagon holding nearly a gallon! By the west door is a large painting of
the royal arms, presented by Charles II. to the parish, as marking his
sense of their loyalty to his father, and it might be as well to give
here the letter of thanks written by Charles I. to his loyal county of
Cornwall and still to be seen painted on wood in so many of the
churches. It was written immediately after the fall of Exeter.
"C. R. To the inhabitants of the Co. of Cornwall.
"We are so highly sensible of the merit of our county of
Cornwall, of their zeal for the defence of our person and
the just rights of our crown, in a time when we could
contribute so little to our own defence or to their
assistance, in a time when not only no reward appeared, but
great and probable dangers were threatened to obedience and
loyalty; of their great and eminent courage and patience in
their indefatigable prosecution of their great work against
so potent an enemy, backed with so strong, rich, and
populous cities, and so plentifully furnished and supplied
with men, arms, money, ammunition, and provision of all
kinds; and of the wonderful success with which it pleased
Almighty God, though with the loss of some most eminent
persons--who shall never be forgotten by us--to reward their
loyalty and patience by many strange victories over their
and our enemies in despite of all human probability and all
imaginable disadvantages; that as we cannot be forgetful of
so great desert so we cannot but desire to publish it to all
the world and perpetuate to all time the memory of their
merits and of our acceptance of the same; and to that end we
do hereby render our royal thanks to that our county in the
most public and lasting manner we can devise, commanding
copies hereof to be printed and published, and one of them
to be read in every church and chapel therein, and to be
kept for ever as a record in the same; that as long as the
history of these times and of this nation shall continue,
the memory of how much that county hath merited from us and
our crown may be derived with it to posterity.
"Given at our camp at Sudeley Castle, 10th of Sep., 1643."
Poor king! a pathetic letter, voicing only too plainly his expectation
of disaster and the surprise which the successes of his reckless gallant
Cornish subjects had caused him.
TREVALGUE
Beyond St. Columb Porth lies the island known as Trevalgue. On the land
side this has six lines of entrenchment and about and upon it, as at
Trevose, lie a quantity of flint chips. These chips are mostly worked.
Here also are a large blow-hole and several interesting caverns. At
Glendorgal, further along the cliff, a barrow was opened some years ago
and found to contain a remarkable burial urn with two handles and on it
a rough chevron pattern. The two barrows on the summit of Trevalgue
were opened in 1842. They proved to contain a very ancient interment.
The country people declare them to be the graves of two kings who fought
all day long on the headland until at last each killed the other, and
was buried where he fell.
"Burn me in my armour, all that is mine, and pile for me a cairn on the
shore of the grey sea, the memorial of a luckless man, that men unborn
may enquire concerning me."--BEOWULF.
A GOOD CENTRE FOR
CRANTOCK, ST. CUBERT, AND TRERICE
Newquay, which is like the definition of a line--length without
breadth--is hardly either a nook or a corner. It is marvellously well
situated and consists mainly of large hotels. To stand on its beach,
looking outward along the hazy cliffs and over the sparkling water,
makes you feel as if you could forgive anything but the proximity of man
and his immediate works. However Newquay, like Bude and Tintagel, is an
excellent centre from which to go out and survey the land.
Legend says--what doesn't legend say?--that Crantock was once a seaport
with seven churches, and "that the place was drowned in a deluge of
sand, brought upon the wings of the wind." That wind has certainly
blocked up the Gannel and put an end to any trade it may once have had.
This Gannel is a tidal river flowing through a gorge in the hills, and
it can be crossed at low tide by a plank bridge, while horse vehicles
splash through the ford. It is, however, a dangerous place, for the tide
flows swiftly and strongly, and lives have been lost through attempting
the crossing a little late. The place is said to be haunted by a
disembodied spirit, locally known as the "crake," the hoarse shriek of
which acts as a warning; and it is certain that no countryman who
fancied he had heard it would persist in an attempt to cross--although
it is five good miles round by Trevemper!
Crantock was a college with a dean and canons at least as early as the
reign of Edward the Confessor, the buildings having stood in what is now
a walled garden, easily recognised by the old ship's figurehead which
serves as a lintel to its gateway. The collegiate church which stands on
a green slope looking towards the sea is one of the most interesting in
Cornwall. There are several remains of Norman work, as for instance the
inner doorway of the porch and part of the central tower arch and piers.
In the church are preserved several pieces of carved alabaster, the
intention of which is not known, and in the graveyard lies a large stone
coffin. The vicar brought himself into notice some time since by
objecting to the presence in his church of women who were not wearing
hats. Courage is a fine thing, but it is generally understood that the
difficulty nowadays is not to discourage people from attending service,
but to get them to come.
It is not generally known that when the Black Death more--much
more--than decimated Bodmin, the bodies were carried to Crantock and
buried in a field on the north coast. Hundreds of years have passed, but
the surface of this piece of ground is still uneven, and the people
believe that if any one disturbs the earth the disease will break out
again. So antiquarians--in search of the lost city of Langarrow--beware!
The well of St. Carantocus is in the centre of the village, beneath a
rough covering of stone; but it cannot compare either for beauty or
renown with another well a mile or two distant. Under the high and
rugged cliffs of Holywell Bay is a spring of fresh water, approached by
a flight of fifteen worn steps that have been cut in the rock. Only
accessible at low tide, it is in a beautiful cave of many strange sea
tints, and the water drips from one lovely basin to another. In other
days mothers brought their deformed or sickly children to be dipped in
the wonder-working well--which, however, is now known to be of no
medicinal value.
Between Kelsey Head and Penhale Point lies a wild region of blown sand.
Inland are many deserted mines, the ruins of these "knacked bals" giving
the strange countryside a deserted and desolate appearance, so that the
tapering spire of Cubert Church, which forms a useful landmark, is
welcome. Beyond this is more sand, the wide and dreary waste of
Perranzabuloe (St. Piran in the Sands). The early oratory of this saint
was buried by the blown sands, and so long lost that only the tradition
of it remained. Early in the last century, however, the winds uncovered
it again, and when the oratory was cleared from sand, the headless
skeleton of a big man was discovered beneath the altar. Now St. Piran
was the patron saint of tinners, and it was known that in 1281 the
church had possessed a box in which his head was kept and a hearse on
which his body was carried in procession; indeed, the commissary of the
Dean and Chapter of Exeter reported in 1331 that "the parishioners
continue as before to carry the relics of St. Piran in an unwarrantable
manner to various and even distant places," and as late as 1433 Sir John
Arundell bequeathed ten shillings "for enclosing the saint's head
honourably." If these matters are so, the skeleton discovered cannot
have been that of St. Piran, for the oratory was said to have been
buried in the sand about 900 A.D., and, as we have seen, the relics were
being carried about by the parishioners as late as 1281.
The oratory, like that of St. Constantine, is concealed among the
sandhills, and by no means easy to find. At the edge of the dunes is a
heath upon which, north of St. Piran's Well, is the Round, a turfed
amphitheatre. This ancient open-air theatre has a rampart about 10 ft.
high, rising in seven steps, of which traces remain. The area will hold
about two thousand spectators, and in the middle ages miracle plays were
doubtless performed here. These plan-an-guare, or playing-places, were
probably constructed in very early times for games or contests after the
manner of the Romans, and seem to have been in use for the performance
of sacred dramas up to the fifteenth century or even later. At Perran a
ditch formerly ran across the floor, and it has been suggested that this
was for boats, &c., used in scenic effects, but it may have had other,
possibly grimmer, uses.
Some three and a half miles south-east of Newquay is Trerice, another
home of the Arundells. They were truly a fighting race. John Arundell of
Trerice raised a body of troops during the wars of the Roses and fought
on the Lancastrian side, and a later John, nicknamed "John for the King"
and "Game to the Toes," fought with his four sons for Charles I., and in
his old age held Pendennis Castle after all the other forts in Cornwall
had surrendered.
His ancient manor house came--as did most of the Arundell estates, for
they wedded cannily--by marriage. It was built in 1572 on the site of an
older house, the very solid masonry of which has been found under the
soil. Unfortunately the Arundells, ennobled after the Restoration as
Lord Arundell of Trerice, died out with the "Wicked Lord" in 1773.
A minstrel's gallery extends the whole length of the hall, and a window
there has no less than 576 panes of glass. In another room is a table of
black oak, the top of which is made of a single plank, which table is
said to have been in the house three hundred years. But the glory of
Trerice has departed. Old Sir John lies buried at Cuby, and the
countrypeople talk of the last bearer of the name with bated breath. The
north wing of the house was pulled down after his death and all his
personal possessions burnt--but still the place remains untenanted.
ST. AGNES
AND THE GIANT
At Perranporth the bewildering similarity of the dunes is broken for the
moment by cliff and cavern scenery. The little village lies high, and
some arched rocks are to be seen at low tide. Two miles to the west is
Cligga Head, a fine bluff rock, but though St. Agnes Beacon, a lofty
hill covered with blocks of granite, rises to 620 ft., these cliffs
cannot be compared for grandeur or majesty with those of the wilder
north. The Beacon, on the summit of which are tumuli, appears in the
stories of the Cornish giants, St. Agnes--or, as her proper name is, St.
Ann--proving one too many for a tiresome monster with the absurd name of
Bolster. She is said to have persuaded him to go in for a little spring
blood-letting and to fill one mine-shaft. But the shaft communicated
with the sea, so the accommodating giant bled to death. If this had
happened where the Red River runs out by Gwithian, the reason for the
legend would have been apparent, for that terrible little tin-stream
sullies the blue waters of the bay for miles around; but there is no
tin-stream by St. Agnes Beacon. Between Perranporth and the latter the
cliff-walk is spoilt by the extensive enclosures of a modern dynamite
factory. The house in which the painter Opie was born is on the way to
St. Agnes. He was the son of a carpenter, but going to London soon
attracted so much attention that he was known as the "Cornish Wonder."
Dying of overwork when forty-six--considering his age rather a curious
name to give the disease--he was buried in St. Paul's.
After these few cliffs, the coast sinks again to meet the encroaching
sand. A hundred and twenty years ago the Upton farmhouse was suddenly
overwhelmed, the family, to escape suffocation, making their way out by
the bedroom windows. A few years later, the sands shifted, showing the
buried house, still standing as they had left it. These stretches of
sand are now planted with a rush, the _arundo arenaria_, which binds it
together, and in the course of time results in the growth of a short
sweet turf.
PORTREATH AND
THE BASSETS
When the Spanish and French combined fleets threatened Plymouth in 1779,
Francis Basset of Tehidy placed two batteries of guns at Portreath, in
those days known as Basset's Cove. It has the reputation of being the
most unsafe harbour on the coast; and, as it lies at the bottom of a
valley, is reminiscent of Port Isaac; but its wooded hills are less
steep and more charming.
A little inland is Tehidy House, the seat of the Bassets, a famous
Cornish family. The house once had parks and plantations of far greater
area than at present; they are said indeed to have reached to the foot
of Carn Brea. During the Civil Wars many a humdrum family flowered into
distinction. It was a chance to prove their mettle. After the battle of
Bradock Down the Francis Basset of that date was knighted, and a little
later we find him Sheriff of the county. His marriage was such another
as that of his friend, Sir Beville Grenville, and after Essex' troops
had surrendered to the King in 1644, he hurried to send his lady the
gracious news. "I write this on the saddle. Every friend will pardon the
illness of it, and you chiefly, my perfect joy. The King and army march
presently for Plymouth. Jesu give the King, it and all. The King, in the
hearing of thousands, as soon as he saw me in the morning, cried to me,
'Dear Mr. Sheriff, I leave Cornwall to you safe and sound.'" Before the
war Sir Francis had represented St. Ives in Parliament. In 1640 he
presented the town with a silver wishing cup, on which was inscribed:
"_If any discord 'twixt my friends arise
Within the borough of beloved Saint Ies
It is desired that this my cup of love
To every one a peacemaker may prove,
Then am I blessed to have given a legacie
So like my heart unto posteritie._"
No doubt he saw that his borough was mainly Parliamentarian and that
trouble was ahead, and took this sweet and pleasant manner of testifying
the unalterable nature of his personal sentiments.
It is sad to think how many of the families that distinguished
themselves during those wars are now only a memory.
"_The four wheels of Charles' wain,
Grenville, Godolphin, Trevanion, Slanning slain._"
But though Trerice is empty, Lanherne a nunnery, and Stowe but a
farmhouse, there are Bassets still at Tehidy, and long may they
continue.
The house contains some interesting pictures by the best of our English
artists, and a service of plate made from the silver found in Dolcoath
mine.
GODREVY
After Portreath are several fine cliffs ending in Navax Point, the
further horn of which looks across the deep curve of St. Ives Bay. On an
island just off the shore is the white and black of Godrevy Lighthouse,
first built in 1857. On the day Charles I. was beheaded a vessel
containing his wardrobe and other furnishings was driven by a sudden
squall on the Godrevy Rocks. Fifty-eight persons were drowned, only a
man, a boy, and a dog reaching the little island.
GWITHIAN
The shore here is strewn with the iridescent purple shells of a small
oyster, which lie gleaming like coloured pearls on the sand and weed. It
has a charming view, the broad bay with the narrow horn of St. Ives
running out on the south-west, and Carbis Bay--white houses and green
woods--nestling on the hillside. Among the sands to the left is another
half-buried, half-excavated oratory, and the little village of Gwithian.
In 1676 a woman named Cheston Marchant is said to have died here at the
age of 164. She is well known by tradition to the present inhabitants,
who relate that in her extreme old age--and she was for many years
bedridden--her teeth and hair were renewed; and that travellers who came
to see her out of curiosity frequently took back with them a lock of her
hair.
PILCHARD FISHERY
The little ugly town of Hayle lies some miles away across the towans--as
the sandhills are called--and these same towans, with their soft sea
breezes, firm turf, and excellent bathing, must presently, one would
think, develop into the sort of watering-place agreeable to the mothers
of little children. Hidden among its trees in a dip of the land lies
Phillack with a badly restored church, and in the graveyard a good
two-holed cross; but as this bay is famous for pilchard fishing the main
interest lies towards the sea.
The largest catch of pilchards recorded is that of a St. Ives seine. In
1868, at one "shot" this net took five thousand six hundred hogsheads,
or over sixteen million fish!
The best account of the Hayle and St. Ives pilchard fishing is by Mr. H.
D. Lowry in "Chambers' Journal," but it is too long to quote and only a
resume can be given.
As soon as the fish are expected the "huers" (from hue and cry) take up
their position at the white house on Carrick-gladden. It is their
business, looking down on the water from above, to watch for the
characteristic reddish shadow that indicates the presence of fish. To
the men in the boats this shadow is invisible, and when the cry of
"Heva" [found] re-echoes from the heights, they shoot the nets as
directed from above. Nor are the directions only shouted. The huers
hold, one in each hand, a big iron ring covered with a white cloth. This
is sharply distinct "against the background of heather and sad-coloured
grass." In olden days furze was used, and the white disks are therefore
still spoken of as "the bushes." Very simple is the code of movements.
To send the boats east, the disks are moved from west to east, and vice
versa, while an emphatic downward movement gives the exciting order to
"shoot the seine." And the size of those seines! It takes thirty-five
men, each three or four yards behind his nearest fellow, to carry the
whole length of the net.
When the fish are in and the order has been given to close the seine,
the huers raise their speaking trumpets anew with a cry of "Bloucers!"
This brings a number of fresh people on the scene, whose business it is
to secure what the nets have captured. The warps, great ropes, fastened
to the ends of the seine, are brought back and attached to windlasses,
and by this means the net is slowly drawn in till, even at high tide, it
would still touch bottom and afford no way of escape to the imprisoned
fish. Great black pilchard boats are dragged by four horses from their
accustomed resting-place and towed out towards the seine. The fish are
then dipped out by the basketful and tipped over into the boat, which,
when filled, contains over thirty hogsheads--say one hundred thousand
fish! When the boats come slowly in, laden with their molten silver,
carts are backed down to the water and loaded. "Jousters," who retail
the fresh fish through the country, buy their stock, the carts carry the
fish to the cellars that they may be salted, and in an hour or two every
street in every town for miles round will be resounding with the cry of
"Fresh Pilcher, Pilcher, Pilcher!"
While on the subject of fish, it may be mentioned that the biggest
edible crab caught off the coast of Cornwall weighed 13 lbs., and the
largest conger 120 lbs. Is it possible they caught and weighed the
sea-serpent by mistake?
FOOTNOTES:
[2] Appendix A. See pp. 199-200.