Part 15

As we proceed on the Morvah road toward Lanyon, the rugged top of Carn Galva is seen rising over the northern hills. The first sight of this huge carn, piled up against the sky, suggests the thought that the good old giant who lived there in ancient times could not have selected a better place for his stronghold. We now approach the town-place of Lanyon, Lanion, or rather Lanine, for every one here calls the place by the latter name, as well as the family, who probably took their name from this, their ancient home. If you enquire of any person hereabouts for Lanyon, they will wonder where you came from, and it is not at all easy for a stranger to get any information out of our good folk by abrupt questioning, which they detest. The best way is to tell them frankly what you want. Then, they will do their utmost to gratify your wishes. So now we are here, we shall always speak of the place as Lanine, and tell a yarn to get two in return.

Many fanciful meanings have been given for the name of Lanyon or Lenine; yet there appears to be little doubt that the name is a contraction of Lanython, which is composed of Lan, an enclosure, and Ython, or Eithin, furze (the adjective comes after the noun in Cornish); or the name may be simply the plural form of Lan. This word Lan (often contracted into la) enters into the construction of many names of ancient places, as Landithy, Lamoran, Lamorna, &c. In Wales and Brittany, names are equally common, which are formed of Llan or lan, followed by some qualifying word; and as some of the oldest settlements or enclosures were the first places in which Churches were erected, the word Lan came to be regarded as designating the Church. In Lamorna and other similar words the n is dropped, from a natural disposition to avoid the exertion which the pronunciation of certain combinations of consonants entails on the speaker. The strongly-built dwelling-house of Lenine shows that Madron masons of the last century were good craftsmen. Note the sturdy strength of the broad chimney-stacks, which seem determined to put a hard face on all the fierce blasts they encounter in this unsheltered place. The sturdy expression of this simple building harmonises well with the bleak character of surrounding scenery.

THE CRICK-STONE.

Another noteworthy object, on this site of ancient enclosures, is the remarkable group of three stones called by antiquaries the men-an-tol, and by country folk the crick-stone, from the old custom (not yet extinct) of “craming” (crawling on all fours) round the centre stone, and of creeping through the hole in the same (when the person was thin enough) for the cure of lumbago, sciatic, and other “cricks” and pains in the back.

This mysterious monument is situated in a croft to the right of the Morvah road, about half-a-mile in a northerly direction from Lenine town-place. Our antiquaries are as much at variance with respect to the purpose for which this remarkable group was erected as they are about the real purpose of the cromlech. Some hold that it is a sepulchral monument, as well as the Men Scryfa (written stone) farther on, because there is a tradition that in Gendhal, or Gednhal moor, a little below, there was once a battle so great that the moor “ran with blood.” Others suppose it to have been used for some druidical ceremonies similar to those not long since practised there; and by a great number it is conjectured that this mysterious monument served for the computation of time. Among those who think that the object of its erection was probably astronomical is Professor Max Müller. This gentleman, in the Quarterly Review for August, 1867, after stating that the three stones are in a line bearing nearly east and west, says:—

“This men-an-tol may be an old dial, erected originally to fix the proper time for the celebration of the autumnal equinox, and, though it may have been applied to other purposes likewise, such as the curing of children by dragging them several times through the hole, still its original intention may have been astronomical.”

In another place, after speaking of the Mên-heers, or long stones (which, being mostly found in pairs bearing nearly east and west, he thinks served the same purpose), he continues:—

“If their astronomical character could once be firmly established, it might even be possible, at least approximately, to fix the time of their erection. If we suppose that the shadow of the stones on each side of the men-an-tol was intended to fall through the hole on the day of the autumnal equinox, then, if there is any slight deviation at present, and that deviation in the direction demanded by the precession of the equinoctial, points of difference might be calculated, and translated into years, and we should thus be enabled to fix, at least with a margin of a century or two, the time when that time piece was first set up on the high plains of Cornwall.”

In concluding his notice of the Holed-stone of Lanine, he says:—

“A mere shepherd, though he had never heard the name of astronomy, might have erected such a stone for his own convenience, in order to know the time when he might safely bring his flocks out, or take them back to their safer stables. But this would in no way diminish the interest of the men-an-tol. It would still remain one of the few relics of the childhood of our race; one of the witnesses of the earliest workings of the human mind in its struggle against, and in its alliance with, the powers of nature; one of the vestiges in the first civilization of the British Isles.”

Less than half-a-mile over the downs, in a northerly direction, brings us to the

MEN SCRYFA (WRITTEN STONE.)

The safest plan for a stranger to take, in order to find this interesting monument, is to return to, and proceed on, the Morvah road until nearly opposite Bosullow, where a path will be found, on the right hand, leading to this ancient inscribed pillar, which is one of the most important monuments in the west country, if not in the kingdom. One side of the stone will be found inscribed with the words Rialobran-Cunoval Fil, signifying that Rialobran, the son of Cunoval, was here buried. The tradition of the country folks says that a king slain in the battle of Gendhal moor, was buried here with all his arms and treasures; and that the king stood nine feet high, which was found to be the length of this pillar monument, when about half a century ago an old curmudgeon of the neighbourhood upset the tombstone of Rialobran, the son of Cunoval, in searching for the crock of gold, which he, in common with many others, believed to be buried there. It is not known whether he found any treasures by his digging, but he caused the stone to fall face downward, in which position it remained, little heeded, until 1862, when it was replaced by the Antiquarian Society over the warrior’s grave.

A large tract of ground covered with furze and heath, surrounding this monument, used to be called “Goon-men-scryfa” (inscribed stone downs.)

THE FOUR PARISHES.

At a short distance to the northward of Men-scryfa, there is a large flat stone, with a cross cut on it, to show that the four parishes of Madron, Gulval, Morvah, and Zennor meet there. There is a tradition that some Saxon kings dined on this stone in days of yore.

According to another tradition, when Prince Arthur and four British kings were on their way to drive the Danes from Penwith, they rested on this rock.

Then, on their way down along towards the Land’s End, Prince Arthur and the four kings collected the native Cornish, who fought the Danes, and under guidance of the royal personages, conquered them, in the battle of Vellan-drucchar (wheel-mill) moor; where the Danes were nearly all killed, and so great was the slaughter, that “the mill was worked with blood,” so old folk said.

From Goon-men-scryfa, the bold and curious pile of Carn Galva (goats’ carn) is a very striking object in the view, standing out as it does near the sea, and six hundred feet or more above the sea level.

From Men-scryfa, we take a northerly course, over the downs, to Carn Galva.

One can’t fail to pass a pleasant time, should the weather be fine, among the rocks and glades of Carn Galva. Above all, if we ramble hither through the ferns, heath, and furze, in the whortleberry season, we may pick the rich fruit, roll in the shade, or bask in the sun, on the beautiful green patches of turf, as soft as velvet, to be found everywhere; or one may ramble in and out, and all around, playing hide-and-seek, through the crellas between the carns, whence the good old Giant of the Carn often sallied forth to protect his Morvah and Zennor people and their cattle against the incursions of the giants of other carns and hills. Those of Trink and Trecrobben were the most troublesome, because they lived near in castles strong and high.

Now they say that when the Trecrobben giant once got the cattle, or tin, into his stronghold, he would defy all other giants in the country. By the traditions, still preserved in Morvah and its neighbourhood,

THE GIANT OF CARN GALVA

was more playful than warlike. Though the old works of the giant now stand desolate, we may still see, or get up and rock ourselves upon, the logan-stone which this dear old giant placed on the most westerly carn of the range, that he might log himself to sleep when he saw the sun dip into the waves and sea-birds fly to their homes in the cleeves. Near the giant’s rocking-seat, one may still see a pile of cubical rocks, which are almost as regular and shapely now as when the giant used to amuse himself in building them up, and kicking them down again, for exercise or play, when alone and he had nothing else to do. People of the northern hills have always had a loving regard for the memory of this giant, because he appears to have passed all his life at the carn in single blessedness, merely to protect his beloved people of Morvah and Zennor from the depredations of the less honest Titans who then dwelt on Lelant hills. Carn Galva giant never killed but one of the Morvah people in his life, and that happened all through loving play.

The giant was very fond of a fine young fellow, of Choone, who used to take a turn over to the Carn, every now and then, just to see how the old giant was getting on, to cheer him up a bit, play a game of bob, or anything else to help him pass his lonely time away. One afternoon the giant was so well pleased with the good play they had together, that when the young fellow of Choone threw down his quoit to go away home, the giant, in a good-natured way, tapped his playfellow on the head with the tips of his fingers. At the same time he said, “Be sure to come again to-morrow, my son, and we will have a capital game of bob.” Before the word “bob” was well out of the giant’s mouth, the young man dropped at his feet. The giant’s fingers had gone right through his playmate’s skull. When, at last, the giant became sensible of the damage he had done to the young man’s brain-pan, he did his best to put the inside workings of his mate’s head to rights and plugged up his finger-holes, but all to no purpose; for the young man was stone dead and cold, long before he ceased doctoring his head.

When the poor giant found it was all over with his playmate, he took the body in his arms, and, sitting down on a large square rock at the foot of the carn, he rocked himself to and fro; pressing the lifeless body to his bosom, he wailed and moaned over him, bellowing and crying louder than the booming billows breaking on the rocks in Permoina.

“Oh, my son, my son, why didn’t they make the shell of thy noddle stronger? A es as plum (soft) as a pie-crust, dough-baked, and made too thin by the half! How shall I ever pass my time without thee to play bob and mop-and-heede? (hide-and-seek.)”

The Giant of Carn Galva never rejoiced any more, but, in seven years or so, he pined away and died of a broken heart.

So Zennor people say, and that one may judge of the size of their giant very well, as he placed his logan-rock at such a height that, when seated on it, to rock himself, he could rest his feet comfortably on the green turf below.

Some say that he gathered together the heap of square blocks, near his favourite resting-place, that he might have them at hand to defend his people against the giants of Trecrobben and Trink, with whom he fought many a hard battle. Yet when they were all on good terms they would pass weeks on a stretch in playing together, and the quoits which served them to play bob, as well as the rocks they hurled at each other when vexed, may still be seen scattered all over this hilly region.

Surely a grateful remembrance of this respectable giant will ever be preserved by the descendants of those he protected in the northern hills.

We have often heard the high country folks relate this legend of their giant in a much more circumstantial manner than we can attempt, because we do not, like the good Morvah folk, give implicit credence to all the traditions of Carn Galva. Yet this romantic region makes us feel that

“Surely there is a hidden power that reigns Mid the lone majesty of untamed nature, Controlling sober reason.”

DING-DONG, WHEAL MALKIN, AND PUSSER HOSKING’S MOILS.

On our return from Carn Galva we may visit Ding-Dong. The works of Ding-Dong both “at grass” and under ground, are very near our road to Carn Galva, and much of the former visible nearly all the way from Men-scryfa. It is one of the most ancient and extensive mines in the County. There are traditions (if not more trustworthy records) that part of this old bal, called by a somewhat similar name (Din-an-doyng, if I remember rightly), and other ancient workings known as Wheal Malkin, which are now united to Ding-Dong, were wrought by the Jews in the time of King John.

Little more than half a century ago, Wheal Malkin portion of this rich old mine was solely in the hands of four or five adventurers. All of them, but one, held large shares in Ding-Dong. They wished the two speculations to be united, as they might, it was thought, be thus worked to greater advantage. But Mr. Hosking, of Lanyon, the only one of the owners of Wheal Malkin who had no share in Ding-Dong, being averse to this arrangement, his co-adventurers proposed that he should either sell his share, or buy theirs. Mr. Hosking became the purchaser of the whole of Wheal Malkin. Some say that a device, sometimes resorted to in similar transactions, was put in practice by a working miner, to induce him to close with the dear bargain. However that may have been, it is well known that he continued to work this property more to benefit the public than himself.

This worthy gentleman was generally known as Captain Hosking, from having been for many years captain of the Mount’s Bay Yeomanry Cavalry, or the Guides, as they were often styled, but his most popular designation in the part we are now rambling over was the Pusser (purser) Hosking; and this latter title seems likely to be long preserved, as well as some remembrance of the “Pusser’s” moils, in one of our odd every-day sayings.

After Mr. Hosking built the sturdy-looking house we still see in Lenine, he resided there for some years, and held the farm in hand. For the purpose of taking his tin to smelting house, the captain kept a great number of mules (here called moils) on the extensive furze-grounds of Lanyon. Some of the tinners, in passing over the downs, to and from their work, often tried to get a ride on the “Pusser’s moils” and others, for fun’s sake or out of pure wantonness, took great pleasure in tormenting these sedate-looking animals; but the Pusser’s moils, to show how they disapproved of practical joking, often imprinted the marks of their hoofs and teeth on their tormentors; and, at last, they, one and all, took to give chase to every person who ventured on their ground, except, indeed, the boys who brought them out straw or hay, now and then, in winter, and their well-known driver, Mr. Hosking’s Ralfey, who was as fond of the moils, and they of him, as if they had been brothers.

If one only pointed a finger, in derision, at these testy animals, and called them by their names, in a tone which they didn’t like, when they were filing along the lanes with sacks of tin on their backs, they would at once leave their ranks and show fight in spite of all Ralfey could do to soothe them. From these mulish traits of inordinate self-esteem and combativeness in Mr. Hosking’s cattle originated the common saying, often applied to a teasy person, “He’s like Pusser Hosking’s moils—waant bear jestan.”

Near Ding-Dong there are some ancient barrows, and the remains of what is supposed to have been a Druidic circle called the Nine Maidens.

THE PENZANCE OF OUR GRANDFATHERS.

THE OLD MARKET-HOUSE AND ITS SURROUNDINGS—BATTLE OF ARCHITECTURAL STYLES—THE SELF-TAUGHT ARCHITECT OF THE LAND’S END—BUSTLE OF A MARKET DAY—MADAM TREZILLIAN’S HEAD-DRESS—THE ANCIENT FISH-WOMEN OF PENZANCE—NEW MANSIONS IN THE NEIGHBOURHOOD—THE SCHOOLDAYS AND HOME OF PELLEW—THE WESTERN APPROACH TO PENZANCE (ALVERTON LANE)—PARSON SPRY, THE CURATE OF SENNEN AND ST. LEVAN, HALF-A-CENTURY AGO, AND HIS WOODEN HORSE AND DOG “SPORT”—“SPORT’S” BEHAVIOUR AT CHURCH AND IN CHURCHYARD—THE REV. JAMES BEVAN—COUNTRY CLERKS AND COUNTRY CHOIRS—OLD CHRISTMAS CAROLS—ANCIENT MODE OF CONDUCTING FUNERALS—FORMER MEANS OF INFORMATION AMONG THE PEOPLE—ASTROLOGERS OF THE WEST—CONJURORS AND THEIR SPELLS—OLD JUSTICE JONES AND CHEAP LABOUR—THE VINGOES OF TREVILLE—THE JUSTICE’S PUNISHMENT—PELLEW AND HIS CORNISH CREW—THE ANCIENT GAMES OF HURLING AND WRESTLING—OLD METHODS OF CONVEYANCE—RIDING PILLION—POPULAR SONGS OF THE TIME, MALBROOK, AND SENTIMENTAL DITTIES—GREEN LANES AND FOOTPATHS—PACK-SADDLES, OX-BUTTS, AND THE FIRST CARRIAGE—GOING TO TOWN ON MARKET-DAY—PENZANCE IN THE EARLY PART OF THIS CENTURY, &c.—Written September, 1867.

Dim, dream-like forms! Your shadowy train Around me gathers once again, The same as in life’s morning hour, Before my troubled gaze you pass’d: Oh! this time shall I have the power— Shall I essay to hold you fast?

—Goethe’s Faust, Filmore’s Translation.

THE OLD MARKET-HOUSE, AND ITS SURROUNDINGS.

The completion of Penzance Public Buildings forms an epoch in the history of the place, and an elderly person cannot help contrasting the present appearance of the town with what it was three score years, or a century, ago; as we know it to have been from well-remembered vestiges of the old time, and from the accounts of our grandparents, who, if they revisited the glimpses of the gaslight in our town at the present time would be much surprised, and not over well pleased, at all the changes which have taken place during the last hundred years, many of which are alterations without improvement, nay often wanton destruction of what can never be restored, however regretted. Who that remembers the picturesque and interesting old market-house, with the corresponding buildings surrounding or near it, such as the house in which Sir Humphry Davy was born, the cosy nook under the balcony of the ‘Star’ Inn, where often of an evening he held his youthful comrades spellbound by the wonderful stories that his poetical imagination inspired, can help regretting removal and loss? I can’t understand, nor can many others, what was the inducement to remove the old balcony from this inn, and other houses throughout the town. They were no obstruction to the footpath, and the very aspect of these appropriate, cosy-looking entrances to the old inns infused a feeling of comfort and seclusion that one misses very much in the glaring lantern-like modern hotels. Besides, as an interesting memorial of our most illustrious townsman, it is ten thousand pities it should have been destroyed. The picturesque scene is gone, never to be restored, which was formed by the projecting balcony, with its rustic pillars and casemented lights, combined with the high gables, mullioned and labled windows, with the penthouse-like projections of the old market-house. It is much to be regretted that, when the old building was taken down, its site should have been occupied by any structure more massive than an elegant monument to Sir Humphry Davy—suppose it had been a fountain, of an antique Gothic pattern, surmounted by the statue of Sir Humphry, with niches in the basement for memorials of other celebrities connected with the town, or its vicinity, as Pellew, Davies Gilbert, &c., &c. The first mistake was to build on the site at all; the second to adopt the Italian style for a building to be erected in such a confined space. It must be apparent to anyone who has studied the matter that the Gothic or old English style, with its acute gables, pinnacles, pendants, balconies, oriels, and other projecting appendages for use or ornament, which that style admits, is felt to be more suitable to a confined space, because any imitation of the classical styles is very unsatisfactory, unless it has sufficient breadth and massiveness to produce the impression of grandeur, as well as just proportion, which cannot be appreciated, however just it may be, unless there is sufficient space around to allow the spectator the choice of a station from which the whole facade of the building may be taken into the view. In the old English, on the contrary, one does not look for breadth, massiveness, and correspondence in the various portions of the structure, but rather to that lightness and variety which is even more interesting when seen only in such broken portions, and from such points of sight as would spoil the effect of the regular styles. Besides, perhaps from being accustomed to meet with the picturesque old style in ancient walled towns, where the streets are always narrow, it never seems out of place in a confined space, if the surrounding buildings are of a simple or corresponding style, or at least are not such as to produce a violent contrast.

Any small building, designed after classical examples, looks naked and poor, and particularly mean, unless the building-materials are of the best description and finish, and is quite unsuitable for the houses of a narrow street, which must necessarily be small and irregular, where the frontages range only from about 20 to 40 feet, and where the adjoining houses belong to different proprietors, who delight to display their independence of each other and common sense, by each one building on his 20 or 30 feet frontage according to his own caprice, and desire to show off his own originality of conception.

THE BATTLE OF ARCHITECTURAL STYLES.