Part 17

One Sunday, a dog belonging to a farmer who sat near the chancel, seemed inclined to come nearer the parson’s ground than he liked. Both dogs then said as plain as looks could express, “Come then, to decide which shall look the biggest; let’s try our right, down in the belfry, by a quiet bit of a fight.” Off walked the two dogs, began and continued their fight without making much noise, until the parson was in the midst of reading the second lesson. Then Sport gave some dreadful yells, which so much alarmed his master, that he stopped reading, bundled up his surplice under his arm, ran in all haste down to the belfry, drove out the country dog, and shut in his own by way of penance among the shovels, brooms, pickaxes, bell-ropes, planks, and other lumber. When the parson returned to the reading-desk, he leaned over towards the old clerk, and asked “Where was I, Josey?” meaning the verse of the lesson at which he left off. Uncle Josey, the clerk, being rather deaf, like most deaf people spoke rather loud—loud enough to be heard all over the church—when he intended only to whisper “Where war ’e? What do ’e mean, master? Why down in the belfry, parting the dogs to be sure!” Sport took it in high dudgeon, to be imprisoned like a felon. When he found barking and howling of no use towards procuring his release from durance vile, he contrived to entangle himself in the bell-rope (left dangling up and down) by getting his head into the running noose, made by the sexton for his foot, to assist in tolling the great bell, which Sport set a ringing and soon rung himself out.

Another day, whilst the parson was reading the burial service over the defunct, his dog Sport behaved himself in a very unseemly manner, for such a solemn occasion, by kicking up a dust among the dry-bones, howling at the mourners, catching their dresses in his mouth, and renting off yards of the deepest affliction or crape from the young widow, and other such like pranks. The parson, reading, with one eye on the book, the other on his dog, at the end of every portion where the clerk had to respond Amen, called “Sport!” and Sport replied with a bark. At the conclusion, in the same breath with the words, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, I commit this body to the ground,” the parson called out louder than ever “Sport! Sport! Come here;” turning quickly round at the same time as if to catch the dog and bury him.

There is much more told by good folks of the two most western parishes about the freaks of this reverend gentleman who had the cure of their souls half a century ago; but enough has been related to give some idea of the greater simplicity of those times, when there certainly was not the same sourness, and disposition to magnify faults and failings into mortal sins, as there is now by the rampant religionists, who display their ferocious virtue principally by circulating slander, under the guise of pity for those who do not choose to adopt their morbid notions, whining cant, and grimace.

A short time after the velocipede adventure, Mr. Spry removed hence to Morwelham, and soon became as well known on the Tamar as here, for his eccentric freaks.

THE REV. JAMES BEVAN.

A little more than sixty years ago, the Rev. James Bevan, of Glamorganshire, died at St. Levan. This gentleman lived amongst his parishioners, and served as curate in the two western parishes, nearly half a century. Old folks of the West always speak with great respect of this venerable clergyman and his family, who were regarded by the people with as much affection as if they had been their near relatives. A handsome tablet has recently been erected to the memory of this gentleman in St. Levan church, as also one to Miss Thomazine Dennis. This lady was born at Sawah, and noted for her literary and scientific acquirements, which were the more notable in one brought up in that remote part of the world. We hope these memorials, and many other objects of interest in the remarkable old church, will long remain undisturbed in spite of the contemplated destruction of one of the most interesting monuments of ecclesiastical architecture to be found in the county, and which is hallowed by traditions dear to the people who properly belong to the place.

COUNTRY CLERKS AND COUNTRY CHOIRS.

In conjunction with the good parsons, we have a pleasing remembrance of the respectable, unaffected old clerks, to be found in most of the country churches half a century ago. In general, the clerks were small farmers sufficiently well educated to be able to read the Bible and church service fluently (occasionally passing over hard words); but, from their having no other books to read in country schools than the universal spelling-book, psalter, and Bible, they were incapable of understanding any work of general literature (as a great part of our agricultural population are now, in fact.)

OLD CHRISTMAS CAROLS.

Our clerks were mostly the leaders of the choir, if such a term may be applied to the four or five old men who droned out the psalms from the singing-loft, where every Sunday one or two psalms from the old version were sung in parts, much after the manner of the old three-man’s-songs. One might often hear the old clerk in Sennen give out the lines beginning with, “My saule is like a timmersone bur-r-d-e, &c.” Then, after he had made the pitch-pipe produce a shrieking squeak, the three or four old souls, accompanied by their bass-viol, would quaver on, making such shrill and startling sounds as would set your hair on end and shake your teeth loose. Down in St. Levan, Uncle Josey, the clerk, would always have his own way about the singing, in spite of the parson and everybody else. His favourite psalm was all about “the precious ointment running from Aaron’s beard down unto the skirts of his raiment.” From the old man’s admiration of this odorous and unctuous song of praise, one seldom had any other than what were known as the Aaron psalm and “t’other.” In the carol singing, on Christmas eve at night, the old men sang, and their brass buttons shone in all their glory, when, with heart and soul, they were ringing out such joyous strains as “Now let us be merry, and set sorrow aside,” &c.

Another favourite was an older carol, with the chorus of “Noel, noel, noel, born is the king of Israel.” There were often sung still older ones, which contain many such old catholic traditions as are found in the apocryphal gospel of St. Nichodemus and Lives of the Saints, such as one about the blessed Mary walking through the orchard, when she longed for a red ripe apple far above her reach, “Then up spoke the babe in blessed Mary’s womb; bow down, apple tree, bow down, apple tree, that mother may have some.”

These simple ditties were then regarded with much reverence for their high antiquity. Some of the old manuscript carol-books, formerly used in churches at Christmas-tide, are still preserved with religious care by old folks of the West.

ANCIENT MODE OF CONDUCTING FUNERALS.

At this time, and long before, the men of Zennor were noticeable for their singing and other musical attainments, which they made a source of pleasure and profit, to themselves at least, from their being often asked to parish-feasts from a good distance off, especially down West (the wise folk live t’other side) that the feasters might be gratified by their harmonious strains in church on the Sunday, and brisk dancing tunes on their fiddles to set their heels a-shaking on other nights of the feasten week, besides for the sake of the new songs they often contrived to learn from the show people in Corpus Christi fair. But they were not often asked two years following, because when they once got into comfortable quarters, it was no easy matter to get rid of them until long after servy-day, [20] when they had more than eaten their welcome. For the sake of their psalm-singing they used also to be often asked to attend funerals round about, when the friends wished to show more than ordinary respect to the deceased or themselves, and have the disconsolate widows cheered. The Zennor men, with their wives and children, never failed to come, with half a word’s asking, from miles away, and they have the same fondness for funerals still; whether seed-time or harvest, sunshine or rainy day, Zennor folks, old and young, will leave their work and scamper over hills and moors miles away to “a good buryal” (burying), where there is likely to be plenty of toddy and tobacco, cake and biscuit, provided for all comers. But their room is often better liked than their company; for, after the men have smoked and pocketed up as much good shag as opportunity would favour them to take, by stuffing into the palm of the hand instead of the bowl of the pipe, drunk as much toddy as they could possibly contrive to get hold of by shifting about from place to place, so as to be always near the jug of hot liquor as it is carried round for the people who remain outside, the women and children all push indoors that can, to look sharp after the cake and biscuits, of which they contrive to pocket up a good store for the children left home, and don’t forget the toddy, believe me, even if they have a “dish of nice, sweet, strong tea, shure enough.” After having stuffed and quaffed till near bursting point, they will scamper away home like prall’d [21] dogs, and the devil a finger will they lend to help take the poor defunct to his last home, often miles away, leave alone the singing. They are often too drunk to raise the funeral note, and make some fun, which serves just as well, by getting into an old ballad-tune by mistake. Zennor folks are not often asked to parish feasts for the sake of their singing now: they may stay home and bleat to Carn Galver for what anyone cares about the greedy goats.

FORMER MEANS OF INFORMATION AMONG THE PEOPLE.

We may here take leave of our old clerks, observing that they were in general better educated, or at least better informed, than the rest of the community, few of whom knew anything about what might be regarded as the current literature of the time. Yet, with all their ignorance of every work of fiction, except Robinson Crusoe and the Pilgrim’s Progress (the former always regarded as literally true), the oldest of old folks of fifty years ago knew many scraps of Grecian and Roman lore, as well as rare legends of ordinary saints, besides all those of our local ones. The story of the taking of Troytown was as well known to many as the game of that name. I well remember an old farm labourer who did not know his a, b, c; yet he would tell you much about the principal heroes of mythic history, and acquired the nickname of Plato from his always going about singing, when alone, the old song almost worthy of the sage, “Says Plato, why should man be vain, since bounteous heaven has made him great?” &c., or another about Aurora and Flora.

How came these uneducated and poor folks to get hold of so much of the old world lore? It may partly be accounted for by the more gregarious, or sociable, customs of the olden times, when there was much less to do in the winter season, before turnips were introduced into the west country (in a great measure by the example of the late Colonel Scobell), there being then but few cattle housed. Great part of the winter’s day was passed in hunting, in which sport one and all joined. After the substantial supper—no slops of tea then, but good home-brewed, with bread and cheese, beef, mutton, or bacon—the mistress and her maids spun, whilst the men carded the wool, song-singing and story-telling going on all the time, or the master read from their favourite Robinson Crusoe, or from Moore’s Almanack, which was also a great resource, or recited some drolls which all knew by heart; yet they never tire of hearing them repeated, with such variations and embellishments as some recent occurrence might often suggest.

A vast amount of curious information may also be traced to the sociable and beloved old parson, who kept up such familiar intercourse with his flock as to sympathise with all their joys and griefs, and to join in all their sports and pastimes during nearly half a century.

THE ASTROLOGERS OF THE WEST.

We are long lingering amongst those old folks whom we are much inclined to regard as rude and uncouth. Yet our vaunted refinement has not discovered anything much better to supply the loss of the honest simplicity and the all-above board character of people of the last century.

We may observe that the foregoing remarks, with respect to the restricted education of the generality of people of the west, do not apply to many who were regarded as the bettermost class of farmers, or rather gentlemen-farmers, as they all resided on, and farmed their own estates. Many of this class were kept long enough at a grammar-school, in Penzance, or elsewhere, to learn a little Latin and mathematics; at least they acquired a sufficient knowledge of mensuration to enable them to measure their own fields. Many of those gentlemen were so much given to the study of astrology that they were regarded as conjurors by their domestics and more ignorant neighbours, who, seeing the horoscopes and schemes in the gentlemen’s old books, believed these strange-looking figures to be the secret signs of the means used for dealing with the invisible world, or for commanding the spirits of light and darkness, over whom it was devoutly believed that many skilful astrologers of the west had (by means of their books) perfect control. Among the most noted adepts in this science, the best known were Parson Corker, of Buryan; Mr. Jenkyn, of Trezidder, or Alverton; Dr. Maddron, of St. Just; Mr. Ustick, of Morvah; and Mr. Matthew Williams, of Mayon.

Some of the stories still related of this gentleman will serve as examples of the light in which he, and others of his class, were regarded by the more ignorant:—

One Sunday morning, whilst this gentleman was in Sennen church (which is only a few minutes’ walk from his house) he felt very uncomfortable. Something told him that all was not right at home. He left the church in the midst of the service, and ran home just in time to find that his over-curious old housekeeper had taken one of the conjuring-books out of the chest, the key of which he had missed and which she had stolen that morning for the sake of satisfying her itching curiosity. When he entered the room, he found her transfixed in her master’s arm-chair looking like death in a fright, the book open before her in the place of some of the most powerful spells for calling up the worst of evil spirits. The woman appeared like one in a fit, without the power to speak or move, until her master came in the very nick of time to prevent the spirits (that she had unwittingly summoned by reading the words, and tracing over the signs in the book with her finger) from carrying her off bodily. Some of the spirits became visible; others lifted her, chair and all, off the floor when she stopped reading; and her fright made her fall into a fit. Mr. Williams read and read till the sweat boiled from his body, before he had the power to drive the evil spirits from the room, and the old housekeeper had to undergo a severe penance before she could be free of all danger from them.

Another time it was found that the gentleman’s furze rick was diminishing much faster than could be accounted for, for the consumption of fuel in his own house. He consulted his books, and discovered by his art that some women from the Cove made a practice of carrying away the furze every night. The very next night, after all honest folks should be in their beds, an old woman of the Cove came as usual to the rick for a burn of furze. She made one of no more than the usual size, which she tried to lift on to her back, but found that she could not move it. Then she took out half the furze, but was still unable to lift the faggot or so left in the rope. Becoming frightened, she tried to get out the rope and run, but found that she had neither the power to draw out the rope, nor move from the spot herself. Of course, the conjuror had put a spell on her, and there she had to remain throughout the cold winter’s night, until Mr. Williams came out and released her in the morning from the spell, and as she was a very poor old soul let her have a burn of furze, but she took good care never to come any more, nor any of the rest of the women, who soon found out how she had been served.

These puerile stories, and many more of the same class, often recounted about Mr. Williams, and many other gentlemen comparatively well educated for those times, are not without some significance, as they denote the power that in all times and places may be acquired by the learned over the minds of the ignorant, through their fears of the mystical and unknown.

It has been said that Miss Dennis (the learned lady before spoken of) caught the disorder, which was the cause of her slow but premature decease, by watching the courses of the stars during cold winter’s nights, for the sake of making calculations. This lady corresponded with many of the learned of her time. As these old astrologers had perfect faith in the principles of their ancient science, Astrology with them was not such mere imposition as it is generally supposed to have been.

CONJURORS AND THEIR SPELLS.

They were consulted, not only with regard to the fortunes of those whose exact time of coming to light was known (the time of birth was then carefully registered, even to a minute, to serve as data on which to construct the horoscope), but were relied on for raising the spells of witchcraft, and often by their hints, advice, or threats of exposure, procured the restoration of stolen property. They were generally believed to have the same faculty of divination as is now assumed by the Pellar of Redruth, who is making a fortune out of the credulity of people in our enlightened times.

We will now however leave them, and (by way of change) endeavour, after a few more tales, to get back to town by the usual mode of travelling in the last century.

OLD JUSTICE JONES AND CHEAP LABOUR.

As the notion of the transmigration of souls is not at all new to Cornish people, you may imagine that, in some former state of existence, you lived out west about the time that old Justice Jones resided in Penrose, and was long the unquestioned tyrant of that part of the country. In complaisance with the good pleasure of the justice, many old men in the parish, even farmers, did the work on his farms of Penrose and Brew, for no other payment than his worthless promise that their sons should not be impressed and sent off to serve the king on board a man-of-war. It seems that in the time of this ancient edition of Colonel Peard, the magistrates were intrusted with warrants which empowered them to draft off whomsoever they pleased for the king’s service, and to gratify their ill-will they had only to intimate to the press-gang that the disliked were eligible men.

THE VINGOES OF TREVILLE.—THE JUSTICE’S PUNISHMENT.

Old Jones’s usual mode of proceeding was to compel all the labouring class to go to church every Sunday (in case of non-attendance these guardians of the law might also fine or imprison.) The justice would be first to leave the church, and would remain in the churchyard (where those who feared him were collected to learn his pleasure) until he had intimated what work he wished to have done, and by whom, during the week. When he wanted any extra hands during the week, as was often the case in harvest, furze-carrying, and other times of work requiring quick despatch, he would hoist a flag on a flag-staff which used to be placed in a large holed stone, which was perforated for that purpose, and built into the top of the angle formed by the green court and garden walls. It was a common saying that not to give anyone sufficient wages was like old Jones’s payment, of a kick in the rear, which many, who neglected their own harvest work to save the old justice’s corn, richly deserved. But he was not long allowed to domineer over the poor folks of the west. Many of the old families belonging to the parish, among whom the Vingoes, of Treville, were the most prominent, did all they could to check his proceedings. This ancient Norman family, who had held Treville ever since the Conquest, and had been the wine-tasters to unknown Norman chiefs for equally unknown ages, regarded old Jones, for all his riches, as nothing but an upstart stranger in the west; yet they did not succeed in bringing the justice to act in a reasonable way until a smuggling crew came to their aid. Most of the young men of the west country (many of them farmers’ sons) belonged to this band, as well as two young men of Morvah—a Daniel and Ustick, who were related to the Vingoes, and might be styled gentlemen. Their head-quarters were at Priest’s Cove and Pendeen, as best suited their convenience. One fine day in the harvest, when old Jones had summoned folks from all over the parish to save his corn, the smugglers, taking the law into their own hands, marched down to Penrose well-armed, took the old justice and his man (as big a rogue as himself) from the house, hung them head downwards to a tree in the town-place, and gave them the bastinado until they were within an inch of giving up the ghost; then made the old sinner give them money to treat the men, and sent them off to pass a jovial day, “One and All,” at the First and Last. Before the smugglers left, they told the justice that, if he ever attempted to practice any of his old tricks again, they would come some fine morning when he least expected, and take him off to his cousin Davy Jones’s locker, and from this time he had such a wholesome fear of the smugglers that he seldom left his den, nor any more interfered in the neighbourhood.

PELLEW AND HIS CORNISH CREW.