Of all the vast company of saints peculiar to Cornwall, St. Neot is
surely the strangest, for he was, so the old traditions have it, a
pigmy, perfectly formed, yet only fifteen inches in height. There are
very many stories told of this tiny holy man, and most of them seem to
show that he wielded a great power over all animals.
One of the prettiest stories is of the time when St. Neot presided over
his abbey and there came one night thieves to the monastic farm and
stole all the monks' plough oxen. The poor brothers had not the money to
purchase other beasts, and seed-time was upon them with their fields yet
unploughed. Ruin seemed certain until the good little abbot appealed to
the wild beasts to come to their aid. And then, to the amazement of the
monks, there came from the surrounding forests wild stags, who docilely
offered their necks to the yoke and drew the heavy ploughs.
Each night the stags were released, and they went off to the woods; but
each succeeding morning they returned to continue their task.
The news of this miraculous happening spread rapidly abroad and came at
last to the ears of the thieves. They were so deeply impressed by the
story that they returned the stolen oxen at once and promised never
again to pursue their evil ways. So the stags were released from their
self-appointed labour, but ever after, they say, each bore a white ring
like a yoke about its neck, and each enjoyed a charmed life, for no
arrow or spear of a hunter could hurt it.
Another story that is told is that of St. Neot and the hunted doe. While
the good saint was seated in contemplation by his well, there burst from
the woods a doe pursued by hounds and huntsmen. The poor beast was
exhausted and sank down by the saint as if imploring his protection.
The tiny saint rose and faced the oncoming pack, which instantly turned
and dashed back into the forest. Presently the huntsmen approached with
drawn bows, prepared to dispatch the frightened quarry. But they too, at
the sight of the saint, desisted, and the chief of them, falling upon
his knees, cast away his quiver and besought the Holy Neot to receive
him into the Church.
This man, they say, became a monk at the monastery of St. Petroc
at Bodmin, and the hunting-horn which he carried on the day of his
conversion was hung for many years in St. Neot's church.
Many of the stories of this saint are depicted in the mediæval
stained-glass windows of the parish church of St. Neot, a pretty village
nestling under the southern slopes of the Bodmin Moor. This church has
one of the finest sets of fifteenth and sixteenth century painted
windows in the country, which rival the famous Fairford glass in
Gloucestershire.
St. Neot is easily reached by road from Bodmin or Liskeard, or from
Doublebois station, on the main line, from which it is distant about
three miles. The village lies in a sheltered valley surrounded by
charming wooded country, and from it you may reach, only a short
distance away, the edge of wild Bodmin Moor itself.
Bodmin, an attractive yet--by the tourist--much neglected town, is some
seven miles away. Bodmin, the capital of Cornwall, is a quiet, sleepy
old town ideally situated as a centre from which to reach many parts of
the Duchy. Midway between the two coasts, with a good rail service to
either, and close to the wild moorland that bears its name, this town is
rich in history.
The moor with its two Cornish mountains, Brown Willy and Rough Tor
(which you must pronounce to rhyme with "plough"), is easily reached,
and the rail will take you to Wadebridge or Padstow on the rugged north
coast; or south to sheltered Fowey--the Troy Town of "Q"--for an
afternoon's excursion.
[Illustration: _St. Neot, from a window in the Church_]
[Illustration]