Lelant ChurchLelant Church
The Spectre Coach
Inthe days of Good Queen Anne, the parson of Talland, a quaint little sea-girt village near Looe, was a singular man named Dodge. Parson Dodge's reputation in that neighbourhood was that of being able to lay ghosts and command evil spirits, and although the country folk were rather terrified of their vicar, they had the utmost faith in his marvellous powers.
And it happened that the good folk of Lanreath, a few miles away, were suffering severely from a wild spirit that frequented the high moor in their parish. The ghost was that, they said, of an avaricious landowner who had wasted his fortune in lawsuits, attempting unjustly to seize from the villagers a wide stretch of common-land. Disappointment had killed him, but in the spirit world he could find no rest, for he used to return of nights to the land he had coveted, and drive wildly about in a black coach drawn by six sable, headless horses, much to the terror of the country folk.
So the rector of Lanreath decided at last to appeal to Parson Dodge to come over and exorcise the wandering spirit. Parson Dodge agreed, and upon the appointed night he and the rector rode out on to the haunted moor to see what could be done about the bad business.
It was a grim, barren spot that they reached at last and the rector did not at all like his task. But Parson Dodge bade him cheer up, saying that he never yet met the ghost that he couldn't best. So the two parsons dismounted and tramped up and down for an hour, expecting every moment the arrival of the spectre coach.
When at last midnight had passed and nothing had happened, they decided to abandon their vigil and return some other night. So, taking leave of one another, they separated, the rector to take a short ride to his home, Parson Dodge going a mile across the moor to the road that led him back to Talland vicarage.
Dodge had been riding about five minutes when, without any apparent reason, his mare shied, then stood stock-still. The parson tried to urge her on, but she refused; then he dismounted and tried to lead her, but that failed too. So he concluded that he must be intended to return, and, remounting, he set the mare off back to the haunted moor.
She went cross-country through the murky night like the wind, and in a very few minutes Dodge was again on the spot where he had left his brother priest. There the mare shied once more and showed every sign of fear, and the parson, looking about him, espied a short distance off the gruesome spectre he had originally come to meet.
There was the sooty-black coach, the dark, headless steeds, and, what thoroughly alarmed him, a grim cloaked figure urging his team at a gallop along a path in which lay the prostrate form of his friend the rector of Lanreath.
Parson Dodge set his mare, despite her fears, straight for the approaching coach, uttering his prayers of exorcism the while. With the first words the dusky team swerved and a sepulchral voice came from the driver, saying: "Dodge is come! I must be gone." With that the spirit whipped up his horses and disappeared at a tremendous pace across the moor, and was never seen again.
The parson then dismounted and was able to revive the unconscious rector and carry him safely home, for his own horse, startled at the appearance of the spectre, had thrown its rider and bolted.
Talland, the home of the old parson, is a fascinating little village on the coast, between the two Looes—East and West—and picturesque Polperro, where rugged cliffs on either side descend to form a sheltered little bay.
Looe is a quaint fishing town straggling on each side of the estuary of the river of the same name. You reach it by a branch railway from Liskeard, on the Great Western main line. It is an ideal place in which to spend a quiet holiday. The coast east and west is typically Cornish, rugged and wild, yet pierced every few miles by some sheltered cove or inlet.
Looe itself, protected from the cold winds, enjoys a beautiful climate, particularly mild in winter. Coast and moorland walks abound; there is a golf course close at hand, and the sea fishing is excellent.
Talland ChurchTalland Church
St. Neot, the Pigmy Saint
Ofall 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 mayreach, 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.
St. Neot, from a window in the ChurchSt. Neot, from a window in the Church
The Old Man of Cury
Theytell a story down in Meneage, as the southernmost corner of England—the Lizard peninsula—is called, of an old man from the little village of Cury, near Mullion, who once rescued a mermaid who was stranded by the receding tide, and could not get back to her husband and family, who were awaiting her in a cave by Kynance Cove.
The old man was walking along the shore one summer evening, thinking of nothing in particular, when he saw, in a deep pool left by the falling tide, a beautiful lady with long golden hair who appeared to be in the greatest distress.
When he drew nearer to her and discovered that she was a mermaid he was filled with alarm, for he had heard many tales of these sea sirens from the fishermen of Gunwalloe. He was for running off home as hard as he could, but the piteous cries of the lovely creature were too much for his kind heart, and he went forward to enquire what her trouble might be.
At first, she was too terrified to reply, but the old man managed to pacify her and she sobbed out her story. While her husband and children were asleep in the cave, she said, she had been attracted by the scent of the glorious flowers, which grow all about the Lizard, and to get as close to them as possible she had drifted in on the waves, and, revelling in the sweet perfume, had not noticed the falling tide until she discovered herself cut off in the rock pool.
Now, she explained, if her husband awoke andfound her missing he would grow terribly angry, for she was supposed to be hunting food for his dinner, and if none arrived he would as likely as not eat the children.
The old man, horrified at this terrible possibility, asked what he could do to help. The mermaid replied that if he would only carry her back to the sea, she would give him any three things he cared to ask. He at once offered to undertake the task, and asked, not for wealth, but that he might be able to charm away sickness, to break the spells of witchcraft, and to discover thieves and restore stolen property. The mermaid readily agreed to give him these powers, but she said he must come to a certain rock on another day in order to be instructed as to how to obtain them. So the old man bent down and, the mermaid clasping him round the neck with her beautiful arms, he managed to carry her on his back to the open sea.
A few days later he went to the rock agreed upon and was met by the mermaid, who thanked him heartily for his aid, and fulfilled her promise by telling him how he could secure the powers he desired. Then, taking her comb from her golden hair, she gave it to him, saying that so long as he preserved it she would come to him whenever he wanted her; and with that, and a languishing smile, she slid off the rock and disappeared.
They say that the old man and she met several times afterwards, and that once she persuaded him to carry her to a quiet place where she could watchhuman beings walking about with their "split tails," as she described legs. And if you doubt this story, the old people along the coast will still point out to you the "Mermaid's Rock" to prove you wrong.
All around the Lizard the wild coast is indented with beautiful little coves whose pure sandy beaches are washed twice each day by the incoming tide. In the deep sheltered valleys of Meneage flowers grow in profusion, while on the bold high moorland of the interior that rare British plant the Cornish heath flourishes in great bush-like clumps.
You reach this wonderful country by the Great Western road-coach service from Helston. Mullion, Kynance, Cadgwith, St. Keverne, all in this district, are places of amazing beauty and charm. There are big modern hotels to be found at Mullion, and there are golf and sea fishing, bathing, and entrancing walks by sea or moor to amuse the visitor in this warm, sea-girt land of heath and flowers.
The LizardThe Lizard
The Hooting Carn
Oneof the grimmest yet most fascinating tracts of moorland in the West is that wild, boulder-strewn district behind St. Just in Penwith, near the Land's End. Here, amid a scene of savage beauty, wind-swept by the great gales from the Atlantic, is a stretch of treeless moor the richest in all Cornwall in remains of prehistoric man.
There is something eerie about this furthest west corner of England and around it cluster legends galore. One of the queerest is that of the Hooting Carn, a bleak hill between St. Just and Morvah.
Cam Kenidzhek is its real name, but they are taking now to spelling it as it is pronounced—Carn Kenidjack. From it weird moaning sounds arise at night, and the strangely named Gump, a level track just below the summit, was, they say, the scene of a grim midnight struggle in the very old days.
It happened that one moonless night two miners, walking back to their homes from Morvah, passed by the base of the Hooting Carn. They knew its ill repute and hurried along in silence, their fears not allayed by the fact that on this night the moaning of the Carn was more persistent than usual, and that an unearthly light seemed to illuminate the rocks on its summit. Presently, to their great alarm, there sounded behind them the thunder of galloping hoofs. Turning in fear, they saw a dark-robed figure, with a hood covering his face, approaching. As he dashed past, he signed to them to follow, and, as they explained later, some irresistible force made them obey. Without knowing how they did so, they were able to keep pace with the galloping steed and arrived swiftly near the top of the hill.
There the dark horseman dismounted, and the miners, terrified, found that they had been brought into the midst of a wild company of men of huge size, with long, unkempt hair and beards, their faces daubed with bright colours, and all engaged at themoment in singing a reckless chorus which concluded in an uncanny hooting sound. But the arrival of the dark rider brought the demoniac singing to an end. A circle was quickly formed, and two men, more huge and more terrible than any present, were brought forward to contest in a wrestling match. The horseman, squatting on the ground, gave the signal to begin, but after a few preliminary moves the wrestlers complained that the light was insufficient. Then the squatting demon—for such he proved to be—flashed from his eyes two great beams of fire that lit the whole ring.
The struggle then proceeded, amid the wild yells of the onlookers. At last one of the wrestlers lifted his opponent clear off his feet, and hurled him to the ground with stupendous force. There was a sound like thunder as he fell, and he lay as one dead. At once the whole ring broke into confusion and crowded round the victor. This seemed to the miners grossly unfair play, and they went over to the fallen man to give him what aid they could.
They found him in a terrible state, and, since no aid was available, one of them started to offer up a prayer for the dying man's soul.
With his first words the utmost consternation fell upon the company. A great clap of thunder shook the rocks, a pitchy darkness covered the scene, and a fierce wind swept the hill. Then, looking upward, the miners saw the whole company—the dying man with them—disappearing northward in a dense black cloud, the two blazing eyes of the demon whohad led them to the Carn being clearly distinguishable for some time.
Paralysed with fear, the miners remained where they were, until returning daylight broke the evil spell and permitted them to proceed to their homes and explain to their neighbours the secret of the Hooting Carn.
Carn Kenidjack you may reach by a glorious tramp across the moors from St. Just, to which a Great Western motor-coach goes many times daily from Penzance. From the higher ground you will get magnificent coast views, embracing, on a clear day, the distant land of the Scillies.
All about the moor you will find the strange relics of a former race: stone circles, barrows, cromlechs, and prehistoric dwellings mingling with the fern and heather and stunted grass of the hillside, and you breathe in tonic air that has come to you across two thousand miles of ocean.
The Hooting CarnThe Hooting Carn
Padstow and its May Day Songs
MayDay in Padstow, on the north Cornish coast, is celebrated by an ancient custom of peculiar interest. The whole town isen fete, the ships in the harbour decked with flags, the people adorned with flowers. The feature of the day's celebrations is the Hobby Horse Dance, or procession, to two very old tunes. Until comparatively recent times the Maypole was still erected each year in the town.
Padstow's two old May songs date from the Middle Ages, but they have suffered much corruption in the course of time. Words and music have been altered, but the version given here is from an old source, and, owing to the irregularity of the metre of the lines, as in all traditional songs, a considerable amount of ingenuity is called for on the part of the singer to fit the words of the second and subsequent verses—particularly of the Day Song—to the tune. But it can be done.
The May Morning Song has eighteen or more verses—each followed by the chorus—all of which obviously cannot be printed here. There are a dozen that begin "Rise up...," the name of the person before whose house it is being sung being inserted.
The reference to "Un Ursula Bird" in the second verse of the Day Song has a traditional reference to an old dame who, it is said, led a party of Cornish women in red cloaks, headed by the Hobby Horse, in procession round the cliffs in days gone by and so frightened away a hostile French ship, whosecaptain mistook the women for soldiers. A similar story is told of Fishguard in South Wales in Legend Land Leaflet No. 11.
THE MAY MORNING SONG (Sheet Music Page 1)
(Listen to MIDI version of the above)Sheet Music:Page 1,Page 2.
Unite! All unite! It's now all unite,For Summer is a-come in today;And whither we are going it's all now unite,In the merry morning of May!With the merry singing and the joyful spring,For summer is a-come in to-day,How happy are those little birds that merrily doth singIn the merry morning of May!Chorus: Unite! all unite! &c, after each verse.Young men and maidens, I warn you every one,For summer is a-come in to-day,To go unto the green woods and bring the may homeIn the merry morning of May!Rise up, Mr ——, with your sword by your side,For summer is a-come in to-day,Your steed is in the stable and waiting for to rideIn the merry morning of May!Rise up, Mr ——, and gold be your ring,For summer is a-come in to-day,And send us out a cup of ale, and better we shall sing,In the merry morning of May!Rise up, Mrs ——, all in your gown of green,For summer is a-come in to-day;You are so fair a lady as waits upon the queen,In the merry morning of May!Rise up, Mr ——, I know you well a fine,For summer is a-come in to-day;You have a shilling in your purse, but I wish it was in mine,In the merry morning of May!Rise up, Miss ——, and strew all your flowers,For summer is a-come in to-day;It is but a while ago since we have strewed ours,In the merry morning of May!Rise up, Miss ——, and reach to me your handFor summer is a-come in to-day;You are so fair a damsel as any in the land,In the merry morning of May!
Unite! All unite! It's now all unite,For Summer is a-come in today;And whither we are going it's all now unite,In the merry morning of May!
Unite! All unite! It's now all unite,
For Summer is a-come in today;
And whither we are going it's all now unite,
In the merry morning of May!
With the merry singing and the joyful spring,For summer is a-come in to-day,How happy are those little birds that merrily doth singIn the merry morning of May!
With the merry singing and the joyful spring,
For summer is a-come in to-day,
How happy are those little birds that merrily doth sing
In the merry morning of May!
Chorus: Unite! all unite! &c, after each verse.
Chorus: Unite! all unite! &c, after each verse.
Young men and maidens, I warn you every one,For summer is a-come in to-day,To go unto the green woods and bring the may homeIn the merry morning of May!
Young men and maidens, I warn you every one,
For summer is a-come in to-day,
To go unto the green woods and bring the may home
In the merry morning of May!
Rise up, Mr ——, with your sword by your side,For summer is a-come in to-day,Your steed is in the stable and waiting for to rideIn the merry morning of May!
Rise up, Mr ——, with your sword by your side,
For summer is a-come in to-day,
Your steed is in the stable and waiting for to ride
In the merry morning of May!
Rise up, Mr ——, and gold be your ring,For summer is a-come in to-day,And send us out a cup of ale, and better we shall sing,In the merry morning of May!
Rise up, Mr ——, and gold be your ring,
For summer is a-come in to-day,
And send us out a cup of ale, and better we shall sing,
In the merry morning of May!
Rise up, Mrs ——, all in your gown of green,For summer is a-come in to-day;You are so fair a lady as waits upon the queen,In the merry morning of May!
Rise up, Mrs ——, all in your gown of green,
For summer is a-come in to-day;
You are so fair a lady as waits upon the queen,
In the merry morning of May!
Rise up, Mr ——, I know you well a fine,For summer is a-come in to-day;You have a shilling in your purse, but I wish it was in mine,In the merry morning of May!
Rise up, Mr ——, I know you well a fine,
For summer is a-come in to-day;
You have a shilling in your purse, but I wish it was in mine,
In the merry morning of May!
Rise up, Miss ——, and strew all your flowers,For summer is a-come in to-day;It is but a while ago since we have strewed ours,In the merry morning of May!
Rise up, Miss ——, and strew all your flowers,
For summer is a-come in to-day;
It is but a while ago since we have strewed ours,
In the merry morning of May!
Rise up, Miss ——, and reach to me your handFor summer is a-come in to-day;You are so fair a damsel as any in the land,In the merry morning of May!
Rise up, Miss ——, and reach to me your hand
For summer is a-come in to-day;
You are so fair a damsel as any in the land,
In the merry morning of May!
Rise up Master ——, and reach to me your hand,For summer is a-come in to day;And you shall have a lively lass, and a thousand pounds in hand,In the merry morning of May!Where are the maidens that here now should sing?For summer is a-come in to day,Oh, they are in the meadows the flowers gathering,In the merry morning of May!The young maids of Padstow, they might if they would—For summer is a-come in to day—They might have a garland, and decked it all in gold,In the merry morning of May!Where are the young men that here now should dance?For summer is a-come in to day;Oh some they are in England, and some they are in France,In the merry morning of May!The young men of Padstow, they might if they would—For summer is a-come in to-day—They might have built a ship, and gilt her all in gold,In the merry morning of May!Now fare ye well, we bid you all good cheer,For summer is a-come in to-day,We'll call once more unto your house before another year,In the merry morning of May!
Rise up Master ——, and reach to me your hand,For summer is a-come in to day;And you shall have a lively lass, and a thousand pounds in hand,In the merry morning of May!
Rise up Master ——, and reach to me your hand,
For summer is a-come in to day;
And you shall have a lively lass, and a thousand pounds in hand,
In the merry morning of May!
Where are the maidens that here now should sing?For summer is a-come in to day,Oh, they are in the meadows the flowers gathering,In the merry morning of May!
Where are the maidens that here now should sing?
For summer is a-come in to day,
Oh, they are in the meadows the flowers gathering,
In the merry morning of May!
The young maids of Padstow, they might if they would—For summer is a-come in to day—They might have a garland, and decked it all in gold,In the merry morning of May!
The young maids of Padstow, they might if they would—
For summer is a-come in to day—
They might have a garland, and decked it all in gold,
In the merry morning of May!
Where are the young men that here now should dance?For summer is a-come in to day;Oh some they are in England, and some they are in France,In the merry morning of May!
Where are the young men that here now should dance?
For summer is a-come in to day;
Oh some they are in England, and some they are in France,
In the merry morning of May!
The young men of Padstow, they might if they would—For summer is a-come in to-day—They might have built a ship, and gilt her all in gold,In the merry morning of May!
The young men of Padstow, they might if they would—
For summer is a-come in to-day—
They might have built a ship, and gilt her all in gold,
In the merry morning of May!
Now fare ye well, we bid you all good cheer,For summer is a-come in to-day,We'll call once more unto your house before another year,In the merry morning of May!
Now fare ye well, we bid you all good cheer,
For summer is a-come in to-day,
We'll call once more unto your house before another year,
In the merry morning of May!
THE DAY SONG (Sheet Music Page 1)
(Listen to MIDI version of the above)Sheet Music:Page 1.
All now for to fetch home,The Summer and the May, O!For Summer is a-come, O!And Winter is a-go, O!Up flies the kite,And down falls the lark, O!Un Ursula Bird she had an old ewe, O!And she died in Old Park O!Oh, where is St. George?Oh where is he, O?He's down in his long boat,All on the salt sea, O!Oh, where are those French dogs?Oh, where are they, O?They're down in their long boats,All on the salt sea, O!Oh, where are those French dogs?Oh where are they, O!They shall eat the grey goose feathers,And we will eat the roast, O!
All now for to fetch home,The Summer and the May, O!For Summer is a-come, O!And Winter is a-go, O!
All now for to fetch home,
The Summer and the May, O!
For Summer is a-come, O!
And Winter is a-go, O!
Up flies the kite,And down falls the lark, O!Un Ursula Bird she had an old ewe, O!And she died in Old Park O!
Up flies the kite,
And down falls the lark, O!
Un Ursula Bird she had an old ewe, O!
And she died in Old Park O!
Oh, where is St. George?Oh where is he, O?He's down in his long boat,All on the salt sea, O!
Oh, where is St. George?
Oh where is he, O?
He's down in his long boat,
All on the salt sea, O!
Oh, where are those French dogs?Oh, where are they, O?They're down in their long boats,All on the salt sea, O!
Oh, where are those French dogs?
Oh, where are they, O?
They're down in their long boats,
All on the salt sea, O!
Oh, where are those French dogs?Oh where are they, O!They shall eat the grey goose feathers,And we will eat the roast, O!
Oh, where are those French dogs?
Oh where are they, O!
They shall eat the grey goose feathers,
And we will eat the roast, O!
The last verse of the Morning Song is sung to its own tune to conclude the Day Song.
Padstow itself is a queer old fishing town, fifteen miles from Bodmin, from which place it is easily reached by train. It is situated at the mouth of the Camel, the finest salmon river in Cornwall, and has at St. Enodoc, on the other side of the estuary, one of the best golf courses in England.
The Old Hobby HorseThe Old Hobby Horse
G.W.R: The Line to Legend Land. St. Neot Page 40 The Hooting Carn Page 44 Lelant Church Page 32 The Seven Stones Page 28 Cury Page 48 Talland Page 36 Padstow Page 52 Vol. Two Back End