Part 18
It was not to be thought of that any of the race of those who, a few years later, made the press-gang afraid to show their noses in the west, would allow Justice Jones to continue to act oppressively. It was about this time that upwards of four score men from St. Just, and scores from other western parishes, volunteered to man the Nymph, and went off in crowds to their Captain Pellew (whether he wanted them or no, they wouldn’t leave his ship, unless some few of them were to go a privateering, when he couldn’t tell what to do with all his Cornish crew.) But this is a matter of history, that all know or ought to know: above all, how he would never suffer any of his Cornish crew to be flogged, and, if old men’s tales are true, he allowed them such licence, when not in action, as the martinets of the service would now think very irregular.
THE ANCIENT GAMES OF HURLING AND WRESTLING.
We will now start for town in good earnest, as we don’t know what fine doings may be going on there this week, besides the wrestling-match on the Western Green, where the best gentlemen in the land do not disdain to try a hitch with the poorest labouring man—not for the value of the prize, but for the honour of proving their manliness. There is also to be a grand hurling-match on the Eastern Green between Ludgvan hurlers [22] and any two other parishes who have a mind to accept the challenge. There we shall see all the gentry from the eastward, who no more think themselves degraded by joining the commontry, in the ancient manly game, than a real old squire’s lady would think it unbecoming to ply the spinning-wheel in the ancient hall, surrounded by her maidens at the same work. So now we bid good morrow to the hearty old folks of the Land’s End, and hope we shall have a pleasant journey to Penzance.
OLD METHODS OF CONVEYANCE.
RIDING PILLION.
POPULAR SONGS OF THE TIMES, MARLBROOK, AND SENTIMENTAL DITTIES.
No people in the West Country had ever yet dreamed of such things as gigs, or any other wheel conveyance to take them to fair or market: so we must either go on foot, or jog into town on horseback. If your horse will carry double, you may be honoured with the company of a lady on a pillion behind you. If possible, decline the favour, unless the lass is young and fair; for to take one who wishes to pass for a maiden lady of a certain age is often as great a punishment as was ever invented in Purgatory, for the time. But if you cannot decently get rid of Miss Priscilla, or Aunt Jenefer, pray the Lord grant you an extra dose of patience.
First, before mounting Dobbin, you must have a handkerchief fastened round your middle for her to grasp with her long bony fins, because she does not think it decorous forsooth to put her arm round your waist and hug you comfortably, like a less-affected girl might, to steady herself on a rough road: with such a one we can jog along as happy as Darby and Joan. Fasten the handkerchief with a bow-knot, and if Priscilla gets too tormenting you can slip the knot and let her tumble off in going up hill.
As soon as Dobbin begins to trot she will be working her bony knuckles into your ribs: when she wants to take snuff or perform any other never-ending fidgety movements, the arm will be slipped inside the nackan, as far as her bony sharp elbow, which will be bored into the small of your back like a spit.
The lanes, in many places, are more like rocky water-courses than roads, and so narrow that a horse and panniers can scarcely pass between the high furzy hedges, and so uneven that one must be constantly on the look out to keep the nag from stumbling. However, you will be kept pretty straight and steady, with the dame pulling on the handkerchief behind, and the hard-mouthed horse dragging on the bridle in front (to get his head the nearer the ground, the better to see where he may tumble down without cutting his knees), till the girths give away. Dobbin gives a grunt, and down you tumble, heels over head, in going down some such rocky lane as that which crossed Trelew hill a short time ago. Ten to one but in the tumble you will be under. There is not the least danger of the lady being hurt, because with the protection of her cork-rump and the long stays of leather and steel, wood and whalebone, in which she is encased, the old girl is as safe from harm as a lobster in its shell, or a warrior in his coat of mail.
Her first concern will be to see if the cordial bottle of brandy-and-cloves is safe and sound among all the things in her knapsack of a pocket; then, if her pattens or clogs are fast and firm to the bow of her pillion.
The horse has long kicked himself clear of all the trappings, and galloped off toward home: yet take it easy, sit ye down and drain the bottle until you have sucked out the last drop. But hearken! There is a regular drove of market-women, you may know by their clatter, coming down the hill. Get up quick do, and shake yourselves straight, before they arrive, for you don’t know what a story the old dames will make of it before they leave the butter-market; above all, they delight to overhaul such a precise piece of prudery as Miss Priscilla, who, by pretending to be shocked into “high strikes” at what are most innocent things to the simple, shows as plain as a pike-staff that something bad is always uppermost in her thoughts.
The runaway horse is caught and brought back, by some of the market folks; the girths mended with a piece of rope-yarn; and from the rock at the bottom of the hill you mount again. The worst of the road being passed, you will get on like fighting cocks, and tune your pipes for the new song of
“Moll Brooks [23] is gone to the wars. Vezy vazzy vumfra. She will never return no more. Ran tan tore, ran tan tore.”
The tender Priscilla will treat you to some such touching ballad as—
“Cold blows the wind to-day, sweetheart; Cold are the drops of rain; The first true love that ever I had, In the green wood he was slain,” &c., &c.
If that does not bring the briny tears, she will try another doleful sentimental ditty that was very fashionable in her time—
“I have been bad, since you have been gone; Tweedle, tweedle, go twee; If you had been out in the garden green, You would have heard the great moans Of me, of me, of me, of me.”
Then you may both join in singing the innocent old song of—
“There did a frog live in a well, Close by a merry mouse in a mill. To my rigdom bomenary kimey. Kimé naré gildé caré, Kimé naré caré,” &c., &c.
By the time you have got throughout this you will have arrived in town, and be safely landed at the “Duke of Cumberland” public-house, which is one of the oldest, and was one of the most respectable, hostels in Penzance.
GREEN LANES AND FOOTPATHS.
Those who walked to town always found near the narrow lanes a pleasant foot-path, which often cut off the corners and shortened the route. In other places, where the road passed between the lands, which formerly belonged to different proprietors, or when the adjoining land was enclosed for different farms, broad pieces of ground were left by ancient proprietors for the purpose of the king’s highway, that, when one horse-track was worn impracticable, others might be found in better condition, at the same time affording plenty of pleasant greensward for the foot-passenger and poor man’s cow. Almost all these broad green lanes have now been stolen from the public, by the greedy proprietors of adjoining farms, who had no more right than you or I to the ground which was open to the Queen’s highway. A few years ago, many such pleasant green glades might be found in the road from Penzance to Hayle; as, for example, where Canon’s town now stands was one of those old broad highways which belonged to the public, and which the public should have kept, as well as many other strips of greensward, that the weary, worn, and footsore traveller might find some verdant spot whereon to repose his feet and eyes.
These old green lanes were altogether distinct from the commons through which a highway might pass. There are some portions,—few and far between,—yet remaining of these old highways, to which the foot passenger turns with pleasure, to get out of the way of the wheels and dust.
PACKSADDLES, OX-BUTTS, AND THE FIRST CARRIAGE.
About four score years ago, there was no wheel-carriage for the high-road West of Trereife. On some of the farms, there were werries, with three solid wheels (druchars.) These things, between wheel-barrow and cart, were used for bringing home the turf from the moors, taking out manure on level ground, &c. Corn, hay and furze were carried in trusses on horse-back; but horses, furnished with pack-saddles, dung-pots, or crooks, were then generally used for conveying almost everything we now see on some sort of wheel-carriage. Ox-butts and wains were in use long before carts became common. One end of the axle was fast in the wheel, and the axle was made to work in gudgeons under the butt or wain. For building the many large mansions about in the West, the timber had to be dogged from Market-jew, or floated to some of the Coves near the building site. Slate, lime, laths, &c., were all borne on the poor horses’ backs.
I have often heard that the first coach, or chariot, as the old Noah’s arks on slings or springs were called, was the old machine still at Trewinnard, which was constructed to take out the old Hawkins’ in great state, if not in a state of comfort. The Hawkins’ lived in such grand style at the time their chariot was set up (so that everything might be in keeping with the grandeur of their land-ship) that they very much impoverished themselves, and their descendants were consequently obliged to live with such economy as appeared mean for persons of their rank, which gave rise to the lines about Trewinnard:—
“Here is a grand hall, and no cheer; A great cellar, and no beer; A great park, and no deer; And Sir Christopher Hawkins lives here.”
When the ladies and gentlemen of Trewinnard drove out in their chariot, accompanied by a cavalcade of belles and beaux, with hawk and hound, they must have thought themselves as grand and glorious as the Queen of Sheba and King Solomon, till stuck fast in a hole, or jolted out in the mud, when the half-a-dozen or more men by whom they were attended, with poles and ropes, picks, spades, and led horses, contrived to set them in motion again, at about the rate of three miles an hour, at least where the roads were the best.
GOING TO TOWN ON MARKET DAY.
Many farmers’ wives and daughters would now think it too fatiguing to ride on horseback ten miles or more with the marketing in all sorts of weather. Yet I remember that the inconvenience was little felt half a century ago; on the contrary, old and young looked with pleasure for the market-day to come round—the young folks especially, large parties of whom would always contrive to meet together in rain or shine, and race along the lanes to the tune of “the devil take the hindmost,” often jumping over hedges and ditches, to try the springing qualities of their horses, or galloping off to fair, “three on a horse,” as is still proverbial for Morvah fair.
Then old folks would often stop to have a chat with people working in the fields, or with the smiling women looking out of the open doors of their wayside cottages for the accustomed gossip of the market-day, when they hail their cronies with something like “Alight, and come in, my dear; how glad I am to see ’e looking so well. Fasten your horse to the crook in the wall close by the heaping-stock, and we will soon have something warm to drink.” Then they would soon have a merry chat, and often coursey for an hour or two. The dear old souls were never in such a violent hurry as we all seem to be in now: they didn’t care whether they had to return by daylight or dark night.
Many used to go to Penzance every Thursday more for the sake of hearing the news than on any business of importance. Besides, it was a welcome relief from the wearying monotonous life at the Land’s End and other remote, lonely places.
It seems to me that the market was more like a fair then, from the crowd of people in the street, than the fair is like a market now. Perhaps it is only a fancy; or the reason of the more crowded appearance of the streets might be owing to the various markets being more concentrated fifty years ago. So many alterations and improvements have taken place during the last half century that there are scarcely any indications remaining to show what Penzance was in the days of our grandfathers.
PENZANCE IN THE EARLY PART OF THIS CENTURY, &C.
Yet, fortunately, Dr. Davy has given us a graphic description of the town and country as it existed about the year 1780. “Cornwall,” the doctor observes, “was then without roads. Those which traversed the country were rather bridle-paths than carriage roads; carriages were almost unknown, and even carts were very little used. I have heard my mother relate that when she was a girl there was only one cart in the town of Penzance, and, if a carriage occasionally appeared in the streets, it attracted universal attention. Pack-horses were then in general use for conveying merchandise, and the prevailing manner of travelling was on horseback at that period, the luxuries of furniture and living now enjoyed by people of the middle class were confined almost entirely to the great and wealthy, and in Penzance, where the population was about two thousand persons, there was only one carpet. The floors of the rooms were sprinkled over with sea-sand, and there was not a single silver fork. The only newspaper which then circulated in the West of England was the ‘Sherbourne Mercury,’ and it was carried through the country, not by the post but by a man on horseback specially employed in distributing it. In the year 1761, the turnpike road only reached as far as Falmouth. At that period the Land’s End district must have been a sort of unknown land.”
AN OLD-FASHIONED GREETING.
We leave it for those, better qualified for the Task, to describe how the Arduous Labour of Years, in endeavouring to obtain Public Buildings worthy of the town has progressed until, crowned with the Success WHICH WE UNITE IN CELEBRATING to-day with Joy and Gratitude; only hoping that the Sun may be as bright and cheering as the open countenance of our Indefatigable Chief Magistrate, that THE GLADSOME SOUNDS OF TRUMPET, BUGLE, FIFE, AND DRUM MAY PENETRATE THE GLOOMY HAUNTS OF ALL THE SOUR AND SULLEN, MAKING THEM LEAVE THEIR MOPING MELANCHOLY, AND HEARTILY UNITE, “ONE AND ALL,” LIKE TRUE CORNISH PEOPLE, IN SHOWING THAT THEY PARTICIPATE IN THE GENERAL SATISFACTION NOW FELT, AND SOUGHT TO BE EXPRESSED IN THE MOST PLEASING MODE THAT AT LAST THE NOBLE BUILDING HAS BEEN RAISED. LONG MAY IT GATHER WITHIN ITS WALLS A HEALTHY, UNITED, AND PROSPEROUS PEOPLE.
THE GHOSTS OF CHAPEL-STREET AND St. MARY’S CHAPEL-YARD.
Little more than fifty years ago, the building in Chapel street, which now (1867) serves as a dispensary, with the adjoining house at the entrance to Vounderveor-lane, formed a mansion which belonged to, and was occupied by an elderly lady, Mrs. Baines. At that time there was, in the rear of this mansion, a large garden, or rather orchard and garden, extending westward nearly to New-road, and bounded on the south by Vounderveor. The south side of the lane was an open field, and at its west end there were no dwellings.
Where the School of Art, the Methodist vestries, and other houses stand, was all known as Mrs. Baines’s orchard. This pleasant spot, in which the lady took great delight, was stocked with the choicest apple, pear, plum, and other fruit trees then known. The town boys soon found out the fine flavour of Mrs. Baines’s fruit, which was to them all the sweeter for being stolen. When the apples were ripe and most tempting, the mistress and her serving-man watched the garden by turns—the man during the first part of the night, and madam would descend in her night-dress, every now and then, to see that all was right, in the small hours of morning.
One night Mrs. Baines, suspecting that man John was rather careless in keeping guard, sallied forth to see if he was attending to his duty; and, not finding him anywhere about the garden, she went to a tree of highly-prized apples and shook down a good quantity, intending to take them away, and thus prove to John that, through his remissness, the fruit was stolen. But her man Jan, armed with an old blunderbus, charged with peas and small shot, was at no great distance dozing under a hedge. The rustling of shaken branches, and noise of falling apples, awoke him, and, seeing somebody, as he thought, stealing apples from their favourite tree, he up with his gun and let fly at his mistress, exclaiming, at the same time, “Now you thief, I’ve paid ’e off for keeping me out of bed to watch ’e! I know ’e, I do, and will bring ’e before his worship the mayor to-morrow!” “Lord help me, I’m killed!” cried the lady, as she fell on the ground. Jan stayed to see no more, but, frightened out of his wits, ran away and couldn’t be found for several days. At last he was discovered up in Castle-an-dinas, half starved. By good luck the old lady’s back was towards her man when he fired, and the greatest portion of the charge took effect below her waist. Doctor Giddy was fetched, and, after some delicate surgical operations, which the lady bore with exemplary patience, pronounced her fright to be more than the hurt.
However, a short time after the old lady got shot, she died; and then she kept such ward and watch over her orchard that few were so bold as to enter, after day-down, into the haunted ground, where the ghost of Mrs. Baines was often seen under the tree where she was shot, or walking the grounds of her garden. Everybody knew the old lady by her upturned and powdered grey hair under a lace cap of antique pattern; by the long lace ruffles hanging from her elbows; her short silk mantle, gold-headed cane, and other trappings of old-fashioned pomp.
There are many still living in Penzance who remember the time when they wouldn’t venture on any account to pass through Vounderveor-lane after night-fall, for fear of Mrs. Baines’ ghost. Sometimes she would flutter up from the garden or yard (just like an old hen flying before the wind), and perch herself on the wall: then, for an instant, one might get a glance of her spindle legs and high-heeled shoes before she vanished.
Her walking in the garden might have been put up with, but she soon haunted all parts of the premises, and was often seen where least expected both by night and at noon. The ghost became so troublesome, at last, that no person could be found to occupy the house, where she was all night long tramping about from room to room, slamming the doors, rattling the furniture, and often making a fearful crash amongst glass and crockery. Even when there was no living occupant in the house, persons, standing in Chapel street, often saw through the windows a shadowy form and lights glimmering in the parlours and bed-rooms.
The proprietors, driven to their wits’ end, unwilling that such valuable property should become worse than useless, all through the freaks of this vexatious ghost, at last sent for a parson, who was much famed in this neighbourhood as an exorcist (we think the name of this reverend ghost-layer was Singleton), that he might remove and lay the unresting spirit; and he succeeded (by what means our informant knoweth not) in getting her away down to the sand-banks on the Western Green, which were then spread over many acres of land where the waves now roll. Here, this powerful parson, single-handed, bound her to spin from the banks ropes of sand for the term of a thousand years, unless she, before that time, spun a sufficiently long and strong one to reach from St. Michael’s Mount to St. Clement’s Isle. The encroaching sea having swept away the sandbanks, Mrs. Baines’ ghost is probably gone with them, as she hasn’t been heard of for some years, and, if she returns, the present occupiers of the old abode wouldn’t mind her.
About the time that Mrs. Baines’s ghost carried on its freaks in the mansion, an open pathway passed through St. Mary’s chapel-yard, which was then often crossed, as it shortened the distance to the Quay; but, for a long time, few persons liked to pass through the burial-ground by night, because a ghostly apparition, arrayed in white, was often seen wandering amongst the tombs, from which doleful sounds were frequently heard. Sometimes the fearful figure was also met on the path or seen in the chapel porch. One dark and rainy night, however, a sailor, who neither knew nor cared anything about the ghost of St. Mary’s, in taking the short cut through the chapel-yard, came as far as the chapel-porch, when the ghost issued forth on the path and there stood, bobbing its head and waving its shroudings before him.
“Halloa! Who or what are you?” said the sailor.
“I am one of the dead!” the ghost answered.
“If you are one of the dead, what the deuce do you do here above ground? go along down below!” said the sailor, as he lifted his fist and dealt the ghost a stunning blow over its head, which laid it sprawling on the stones, where it remained some time, unable to rise or descend, until a person passing by assisted it to get on its legs, and discovered that a frolicksome gentleman, called Captain Carthew, who then lived in the house which is now Mrs. Davy’s property, had long been diverting himself and frightening the towns’-folk out of their wits by personating the ghost, which was most effectually laid by Jack Tar, and served out for its tricks on the timid and credulous.
LOCAL NICKNAMES.
CAMBORNE MERRY-GEEKS AND MARKET-JEW CROWS.—LUDGVAN HURLERS AND GULVAL BULLS.—MOUSHAL CUT-THROATS AND NEWLYN BUCKAS.—SANCRAS PIGS AND BURYAN BOARS.—ST. LEVAN WITCHES AND SENNEN ——.—SANTUST FUGGANS AND MORVAH CHICK-CHACKS.—NANCLEDREA RATS AND ZENNOR GOATS.—TOWEDNACK CUCKOOS AND ST. IVES HAKES.
The inhabitants of almost all West-country parishes and of several villages are known by nicknames peculiar to them as natives of the respective places. The origin of these names is for the most part forgotten. A few, however, may be accounted for.
CAMBORNE MERRY-GEEKS AND MARKET-JEW CROWS.
Camborne people are now frequently called “Merry-geeks.”