Cornish Feasts and Folklore

Lost cities, mermaids, haunted houses and a whole swathe of superstition! This episode is Cornish Feasts and Folklore from Margaret Ann Courtney, published in 1890.

'The pellars wore formerly magical rings, with a blue stone in them, said to have been formed by snakes breathing on hazel-twigs. Our country-people often searched for these stones.'

Tales From Antiquaria is a podcast dedicated to exploring the legacy of work published regarding folklore and local history during the golden age of antiquarian writing in the nineteenth century.

For show notes and links, visit the episodes page at thelocalmythstorian.com

Episode written, produced and presented by Eli Lewis-Lycett. All source material taken directly from the stated publication. Main theme music by Humanoid Media. Incidental music from Restum-Anoush. 

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Transcript

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Mermaids, haunted houses, and a whole swathe of superstition. We have it all this evening. My name is Eli, and this is Tales from Antiquaria, Episode 2: Cornish Feasts and Folklore. We've made it to episode 2, Margaret Anne Courtney's 1890 collection, Cornish Feasts and Folklore. Margaret was born in 1834 in Cornwall, and she grew up in a remarkable family. Her brothers were John Mortimer Courtney, Assistant Secretary to the Treasury Board of Canada, and Leonard Henry Courtney, first Baron Penwith. Margaret's pursuits, however, were her passions of poetry and folklore, and in 1890, her collection Cornish Feasts and Folklore was published by Bair and son of Penzance. As you can guess from the title, there's a real mix of topics in the book, but the sections on feast tradition aren't something we'll delve into here. Tonight it's all about the tales of folklore, Margaret's real passion, and a passion that shines through in the opening to the title where she states, Few Cornish people are probably aware how widespread still with us is the belief in charms and charmers, ghosts and all other superstitions. Nor that there are witches in our county, shunned and dreaded by some who fear their supposed power to ill-wish those who offend them and sought out by others who want by their aid to avert the evil eye, or by their incantations to remove the spells already cast on them and their cattle by an ill-wisher who has overlooked them. Folklore is an almost inexhaustible subject. I'll be hoping to avoid the evil eye too with some of my pronunciation on this episode. As you might be able to tell, I'm quite northern, so you know, in advance, no offense, I'll be doing my best. Let's get started. St. Michael's Mount and submerged landscapes. Old writers give the name Karaklaus in Klaus to St. Michael's Mount, which means the whole rock in the wood. And that it was at one time surrounded by trees is almost certain. As at very low tides in Mount's Bay, a submarine forest with roots of large trees may still be clearly seen. At these seasons, branches of trees with leaves, nuts, and beetles have been picked up. Old folks often compared an old-fashioned child to St. Michael's Mount, and quaintly said, She's a regular little mount. St. Michael's Mount will never be washed away while she's alive. Folklore speaks of a time when Silly was joined to the mainland. This does not seem very improbable when we remember that within the last twenty five years a high road and field have been washed away by the sea between Newlyn and Penzance. An old lady whose memory went back to the beginning of the present century told me that she had often seen boys playing at cricket in some fields seaward of Newlyn, of which no vestige in my time remained. Lost cities and sand claimed churches. Tradition also speaks of a wealthy city in the north of Cornwall called Langaro, which for its wickedness was buried in sand, driven in by a mighty storm. All that coast as far west as St. Ives is sand, and the sand is always encroaching. There is a little church now near Padstow dedicated to Saint Enadoc, which is often almost covered by the shifting drifts. It is in a solitary situation, and service is held there but once a year, when a path to it has to be cut through the sand. It's said that the clergyman, in order to keep his ambulance and fees, has been sometimes obliged to get in through a window or hole in the roof. About eight miles from Truro is the lost church of Parans below, which for centuries was supposed to have been a myth, but the shifting of sand disclosed it in 1835. In Hail Towns is buried the castle of Tendar, the pagan chief who persecuted the Christians, and in the neighbouring parish of Leland, that of King Theodoric, who, after beheading in Ireland many saints, crossed over to Cornwall on a millstone. A test of innocence. A farmer in Townadnac, having been robbed of some property of no great value, was resolved nevertheless to employ a test which he had heard the old people resorted to for the purpose of catching a thief. He invited all his neighbours into his cottage, and when they were assembled, he placed a cock under the brandyis. Everyone was directed to touch the brandyis with his or her third finger, and say, In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, speak. Everyone did as they were directed, and no sound came from beneath the brandyis. The last person was a woman, who occasionally laboured for the farmer in his fields. She hung back, hoping to pass unobserved amongst the crowd, but a very anxiety made her a suspected person. She was forced forward and most unwillingly she touched the brandeis. When, before she could utter the words prescribed, the cock crew, the woman fell faint on the floor, and when she recovered she confessed herself to be the thief. The hooper of Sencove. Sencove was much frequented by mermaids. This place was also resorted to by a remarkable spirit called the Hooper, from the hooping or hooting sounds it was accustomed to make. In old times, according to tradition, a compact cloud of mist often came in from the sea. This when the weather was by no means foggy, and rested on the rocks, then it would spread itself like a curtain of cloud quite across Sencove. By night a dull light was mostly seen amid the vapour, with sparks ascending as if a fire burned within. At the same time hooping sounds were heard proceeding therefrom. People believed the misty cloud shrouded a spirit, which came to forewarn them of approaching storms, and that those who attempted to put to sea found an invisible force, seemingly in the mist to resist them. A reckless fisherman and his son, however, disregarding the token, launched their boat and beat through the fog with a threshold. They passed the cloud of mist which followed them, and neither the men nor the hooper were ever more seen in Sen Cove. Ghosts and legends of Penzance. We have now reached the town of Penzance, and through its streets folks of the last generation often heard rumbling at midnight an old fashioned coach drawn by headless horses. Others saw a procession of coffins slowly wending their way to the churchyard. It was unlucky to meet this, as death was sure soon to follow, and tradition speaks of a woman who accidentally struck against one and died in the same night. A coach with headless horses and coachman, also just before Christmas, went through the streets of Penrin. This coachman had the power of spiriting away people he met who stared at him, unless they turned their heads and averted the evil by some mystical signs. In Penzan's town there were many haunted houses, but space will allow only me noticing a few. One in Chapel Street, formerly our Lady's Street, was tenanted by the spirit of Mrs. Baines, an eccentric old lady. At the back of the house was a very fine orchard well stocked with fruit trees which the boys were too fond of visiting. She determined at last that her gardener should watch for them armed with an old blunderbus charged with peas and small shot. She gave him strict orders that should he see anyone, to say one, two, three, and then fire. He watched for two nights, but the boys were too cunning for him, and still the fruit went. On the third, Mrs. Baines, thinking to catch him napping, went herself into the garden and began to shake the apples down from one of the trees. Some say that the man recognized his mistress, and vexed at her suspecting him, said one, two, three as quickly as he could, and then fired. Others say that he was sleeping, and awakened by the noise she made, shot her by mistake. Terrified after he had done the deed, he ran off into the country and there hid himself for some days. Poor old lady was more frightened than hurt, and all the shot was successfully extracted by a doctor. Nonetheless, very soon after this adventure she died. From this time her house and grounds began to have an evil reputation. Mrs. Bain's ghost, dressed in antiquated garb, a quaint lace cap on her powdered hair, lace ruffles hanging from her sleeves, and a short maid mantle over her shoulders, was often seen walking in the gardens or standing under an apple tree. Indoors, too, her high heeled shoes were plainly heard night after night tapping on the floors as she paced up and down the rooms, and the noise was often varied by the whirring of a spinning wheel. For some time the house was unoccupied, now it is divided into two, and the ghost has been laid to rest. But long after Mrs. Bain ceased to appear, her wheel was still heard. At last it was discovered that some leather, which had been nailed around a door to keep out draughts, had come loose in places, and that the whistling of the wind through this had made that peculiar sound. Mr Bottrell says that her spirit was laid by a parson, whose name he thinks was Singleton, and he succeeded in getting her away to Western Green, west of Penzance, which was then spread over many acres of land where the waves now roll. Here this powerful parson single handy bound her to spin from the banks for the term of a thousand years. Another haunted house at the opposite side of Penzance is celebrated in a poem called The Petition of an Old Uninhabited House, written and published in 1811 by the Reverend C. V. LeGrice, who was then vicar of Madron. About this house a lady once told me a strange story. Forty years ago, she, a perfect stranger to the place, having never been in Penzance before, came to it with her husband and her first child, for she was then a young wife. On the evening of their arrival, a husband having gone out, she sat alone before the fire nursing her child, when she suddenly saw a little old man, in very old-fashioned dress, who came into the room. He sat down in a chair near her, looked steadfastly into the fire, and after some time, without saying a word, rose and left. On her husband's return, she told him of her queer visitor. The next morning they made inquiries about him, and found that the hotel had been built on the site of the old uninhabited house, and that yes, they were in a haunted chamber. She declared that she could never sleep there another night, and temporarily they engaged some furnished lodgings. These old rooms are now pulled down, and other rooms cover the place where they once stood. Witchcraft and superstition in West Cornwall. The belief in witchcraft in West Cornwall is much more general than most people imagine. Several cases have lately come under my own notice. One, that of a manservant in our employee, who broke a blood vessel and for a long time was so ill that his life was despaired of, was most carefully attended by a Penzance physician, who came to see him three times a day. But directly that his strength began to return, he asked permission to go to Redrith to consult a pallor, as he was quite sure that he had been overlooked and ill wished. An old Penzance man, afflicted with rheumatism, fancied himself ill wished. He went to Halston to see a wise man residing there, to whom he paid seven and sixpence with a further promise of five pounds on the removal of the spell. As he was too poor to pay this himself, a brother agreed to do it for him, but somehow failed to perform his contract. Now the poor old man thinks that the Pallas' ill wishes are added to his former pains. The Pallas were formerly magical rings with a blue stone in them, said to have been formed by snakes breathing on hazel twigs. Our country people often search for these stones. The words of charms must be muttered. They lose their efficacy if recited aloud, and the charmer must never communicate them to one of the same sex, for that transfers the power of charming to the other person. Of superstitious rites practised for the cure of whooping cough, I will speak a little further. Cornishmen in the last century, from their cradles to their graves, might have been guided in their actions by old women's widows. Some, as already shown, are still foolishly followed. I have often and very recently seen the creases in the palms of children's hands filled with dirt, for to clean them before they were a year old would take away riches, and they would then live and die poor. The nails too for the same period should be bitten, not cut, for that would make them thieves. Hair at no age must be cut at the waning of the moon. That will prevent its growing luxuriantly. Locks shorn off must always be burnt. It's unlucky to throw them away, and that way the birds may use them in their nests and weave them in so firmly that there will be a difficulty in you rising at the last day. The next episode will be rolling along shortly. So until next time, take care and may your god go with you.