Part 20

Four Gospels written true— John, Luke, Mark, and Matthew.

Three persons in the Trinity, The Father, Son, and Ghost Holy.

Two Testaments, as we are told, The one is New, the other Old.

We have but One God alone, In Heaven above sits on His throne. And in those twelve days,” &c.

Old country folk may still be often heard chanting this ancient effusion, with all its repetitions. It is more frequently, however, recited or taught to children as a kind of pious exercise for their memories at Christmastide.

Cornish people have been famous for their carols from an early date. Scawen says:—“They had them at several times, especially at Christmas, which they solemnly sung, and sometimes used in their churches, after prayers, the burthen of them being ‘Nowell, Nowell, good news, good news, of the Gospel.’”

These old joyful Christmas songs have long held their own—thanks to their wonderfully interesting legends and their lively tunes, that seem like the echoes of merry peals of bells.

ANCIENT MIDSUMMER CUSTOMS.

Our bonfires, torches, and tar-barrels, with the peculiar hand-in-hand dance around the blazing piles, remind us of ancient times when similar customs were regarded as sacred rites by our forefathers; and it would seem as if some vestiges of these time-honoured religious notions were still connected with Midsummer bonfires in the minds of old-fashioned people, living in remote and primitive districts, where the good folks still believe that dancing in a ring over the embers, around a bonfire, or leaping (singly) through the flames, is calculated to ensure good luck to the performers, and to serve as a protection from witchcraft and other malign influences during the ensuing year.

Many years ago, on Midsummer’s eve, when it became dusk, very old people in the West country would hobble away to some high ground, whence they obtained a view of the most prominent hills, such as Bartinney, Chapel Carn-brea, Sancras Bickan, Castle-an-dinas, Trecrobben, Carn Galvar, St. Ann’s Bickan, and many other beacon hills far away to north and east, which vied with each other in their Midsummer’s blaze. Some of them anxiously watched for a sight of the first fire. From its position, with respect to them, they drew a presage of good or bad luck. If first beheld in the east it was a good sign. There are now but few bonfires seen on the western heights; yet we have observed that Tregonan, Godolphin, and Carn Marth hills, with others away towards Redruth, still retain their Baal fires. We would gladly go many miles to see the weird-looking yet picturesque dancers around the flames on a carn, or high hill top, as we have beheld them some thirty years ago.

We are sorry to find that another pleasing Midsummer’s observance, which also appears to be ancient, has almost died out. Yet within the memory of many who would not like to be called old, or even aged, on a Midsummer’s eve, long before sunset, groups of girls, of from ten to twenty years of age, neatly dressed and decked with garlands, wreaths, or chaplets of flowers, would be seen dancing in the streets.

One favourite mode of adornment was to sew or pin on the skirt of a white dress, rows of laurel-leaves, often spangled with gold leaf. Before Midsummer small wooden hoops were in great demand, to be wreathed with green boughs and flowers for garlands, to be worn over one shoulder and under the opposite arm. Towards sunset, groups of graceful damsels, joined by their brothers, friends or lovers, would be seen “threading the needle,” playing at “kiss-in-the-ring,” or simply dancing along, every here and there from Chyandour to Alverton, from the Quay to Caunsehead, as the upper part of the town used then to be called, perhaps with more propriety than Causewayhead.

And here, at Caunsehead, this innocent pastime was most generally observed and lingered longest.

THE “HILLA.”

From the ideas of old folks respecting this distemper, one may conjecture that its Cornish name meant some kind of spirit which had, for the time, taken a material form. Forty years or more ago, an old farmer of Sancreed, who had been a noted hurler when in his prime, told me that in his younger days, when hurling matches came off between Sancras and some neighbouring parish almost every Sunday afternoon, he seldom missed a game, and if the silver ball came into his hands it seldom left them until he brought it to Sancras churchtown. When hard pressed, as they always were on arriving near the “gold” (goal) the cry of “Gare teag” (fair play) “for Sancras boys” would be heard for a mile or more from churchtown, and put them in heart for their last run; while St. Just men would be calling “One and ale (all) for Santusters,” as they came down round the Bickan to cut off their opponents, if they could, as their last hope. But that they could seldom do. Then, after resting awhile, with his comrades, he steered his course for Sellan, where he lived with an uncle, or grandfather, one old Uter Bossence. “I can’t say how long we stayed in the comfortable old public house, I’m sure,” said the hurler, “for we were all so happy together and loath to part; those from a distance just stepped in, had a drink, and away; at such times, too, the usually quiet old inn would wake up an be all alive for a bit. Then the ‘tenders’ (waiters) on coming into the rooms with pewter flagons of foaming ale would sing out, ‘The bird in hand, my dears; we can’t stay to use the chalk!’ A fluttering bird with his legs grasped by a hand, was painted on the old signboard, and under this picture the couplet:—

‘A bird in hand is better fare Than two that in the bushes are.’”

The old man went on to say how every now and then, he got piskey-led on his way home to Sellan. As sure as he missed the church-road he would be led miles about, round and round the same field, ere he could find it again. If he left the field he seldom knew where he was again before the break o’ day, and then was most likely to find himself near Brane Rings (Caer Brane) instead of on the other side of churchtown. Near the Rings piskey would leave him, laughing like nothing else but a piskey!

When once inside the Castle enclosure, he lay down and slept soundly till sunrise or after. For everybody knew that anywhere within the Rings on Brane hill, the same as at Bartinney, nothing evil that wanders the earth by night could harm them. They meant spirits of the Bucka-boo (dhu) tribe. Small people (fairies) are friendly to man and beast, unless interfered with, and Brane Rings was one of their haunts.

If he wanted to get home early and tried to break through the fog, which always surrounds a piskey, he would oftener find himself in broad daylight, down by Chappel Uny than over in Sellan. Sometimes, however, when by bad luck the ball was carried off to another parish, he was ready, on returning homeward, to drop down and sleep in a pool of water. “At such times,” said he, “I tumbled into the first house I came by, no matter where ’twas, for in these times, a Bossence was home anywhere in Sancras or Santust either.” Just as soon as he lay down—whether in bed, among the hay, or elsewhere,—the Hilla would be on him and lay with such a dead weight that he could neither move hand nor foot, nor call for help if it were to save his life, which seemed to be almost squeezed out of him sometimes. When the Hilla left he came to himself and found all about him wet with sweat. “And I felt as sore,” said the old hurler in conclusion, “as if I’d ben thrashed with a thrashal on a barn-boards; then, when I cud, I stretched myself in the sunshine on the bare ground, for there’s nothing like the sun and earth for healing the bruises in one’s flesh and getting the pain out of one’s bones; and I’m sure as I’m speakan to thee, my son, that the Hilla was nothan else but the same cussed piskey, in another form; and older and wiser people say the same thing.”

Only a few weeks since an elderly native of St. Just told me he had often heard his father say that people who were subject to the Hilla, or feared it, were in the habit of taking to bed with them a couple of forks, one of which was placed on either side within reach of the hand. If the troubled person could stretch his or her arms, or only one arm, and touch a fork with one finger even, that instant the Hilla would decamp; for this sprite, like all other evil ones, feared cold iron so much that the Hilla-ridden never had the chance to stab the thing.

The elder St. Just man did not know for certain about the Hilla’s form, as it was never seen; yet, from the feeling on the breast, or whatever it was, people said it was a great hairy thing which lay on them with a dead weight that almost stopped their breathing.

The “Stag” is a lighter creature of the same class. People whose rest has only been slightly troubled say they only had the “Stag” and not the “Hilla,” by good luck.

THE ANCIENT CORNISH LANGUAGE IN THE COLONIES.

Cornishmen’s clannish propensities are well known and are most apparent when they meet in foreign lands. At the gold-fields of Australia, as elsewhere, they stand by and support each other “through thick and thin.” Cornishmen are also preferred for many kinds of work which require some degree of engineering skill, and they seldom undertake any employment for which they are incompetent. Consequently, many persons from other shires who have never been west of the Tamar try to pass themselves off as Cornishmen, and sometimes succeed in being received into the fellowship of “One and All.” If, however, the stranger be suspected of “sailing under false colours,” when they are all in familiar chat about nothing in particular, “Cousin Jackey” will take occasion to say to the new chum “My dear; ded ’e ever see a duck klunk a gay?” If the stranger be up to the intent of the question he will probably reply, “Learn thy granny to lap ashes,” which is the West Country equivalent for teaching the same venerable dame to suck eggs; but, if ignorant of what the question means, he is given to understand that they regard him as an interloper and will be no more deceived by him than a duck can be made to klunk (swallow) a gay (fragment of broken crockery.)

The proverbial saying of “nobody ever saw a duck klunk a gay”—meaning that no one will be deceived beyond a certain point—may be puzzling to some Cornish readers as well as to strangers; those, however, who are country-born and bred remember that when children they often left the table with their meals unfinished and ran out with their morsels in their hands and their “gays” in their pockets, eager to join their playmates in the town-place; and how the village ducks—knowing the childrens’ custom—gathered around them to pick up the crumbs, or to snatch the food from the childrens’ hands, and the urchins often tossed them a “gay,” which the greedy fowl gobble up and drop, one after the other, but never swallow. It is a comical sight to see how the ducks, on having discovered the cheat, look askaunt at the “didjan” of broken clome, shaking their tails and quacking in anger or scorn the while.

The Gileadites’ Shibboleth served much the same purpose in the times of the Judges of Israel as the old proverb does to-day among Cornishmen abroad. (Judges xii chap., 5 and 6 verses.)

The usual test above-mentioned fails sometimes, chiefly from young Cornishmen making comrades of strangers, as they are apt to do for short spells, in which case they have other tests for the next opportunity, but all turn on the same idea—that of using words only understood by themselves. One more will serve as an example.

A Cornishman will come behind the stranger who wishes to pass for a genuine Cornubian and say, quite natural-like, “Mate! there’s a green myryan on thy nudack.” The venomous bite or sting of a green myryan (ant) being much dreaded, a Cornishman would either put his hand to the nape of his neck, to brush it off, or show in some way that he understood the meaning—looking “as dazed as a duck against (on hearing) thunder” the while.

ACCORDING HOW ET MAY DROP.

Shortly after Jackey came a-courting, one Sunday afternoon, his sweetheart placed on the board all she required for making a heavy cake. Last thing, before mixing flour and cream, she took a hearty pinch of snuff and wiped her fingers on her “touser.” Whilst making the cake, she said to Jackey, “thee hast been courtan me now for years, off and on, and always promised thee west marry me soon; now west a marry me before Christmas?” Whilst the woman was talking and working up the cake, Jackey noticed a snuffy drop quivering on the tip of her nose. “Can’t tell thee yet,” Jackey replied, “es accordan how a may drop.” An instant after he stamped away to the door, and turning round, called out, “No! I’ll neither marry thee before Christmas nor after, nor eat any more cakes of thy makean.” How it dropped was made plain enough by Jackey’s behaviour.

CORNISH WORDS IN USE.

“SA! SA!”

The exclamation “Sa!” which is frequently heard in the country, and sometimes in town, is probably the old Cornish word sa, “stand!” It has continued in use, though its meaning has been forgotten. It is employed instead of “stand still!” “hold!” “avast!” “enough!” and such-like words, uttered in haste to arrest speech or action. Its usage, however, will be best shown by a few familiar examples.

In all parts of the country hereabouts, it is spoken to a restless cow to bid her be still whilst milked,—“Sa! Molly! sa!” Very likely most words used to cattle and poultry are ancient Cornish, and had meanings, now lost. “Sa, sa! eat petats, let the crust for supper!” is a saying often addressed to persons who want to enjoy all their good things at once. It is suggested by the well-known potato-pie with its substantial roll of crust and the custom of reserving a good portion of the latter, to serve, instead of cake for supper.

A short time ago, a butcher belonging to a western town had a horse of an uncertain age and no remarkable qualities; yet the owner was always “cracking it up” as the best beast in town, of its size—equally good for saddle and harness; sure-footed, staunch to collar, and so on. He also gave his fellow tradesmen to understand that anyone who coveted this choice animal must pay a good sum to tempt him to part with it. For a few days, butchers in surrounding stalls, to their surprise, heard no mention of the famous horse; then they learnt that it had changed owners, and for a lower price than it was expected the seller would have accepted. Butchers in general are much given to banter, and those of the town in question, liking this pastime very much, renewed their jibes by telling the seller of Dobbin that if he had at first only asked a fair price for his horse he would have got much more for it. One of them remarked that what he had stated in favour of the beast was as near the truth as could be expected from a jockey, and nearer than the owner knew of. Another, who was two or three stalls off, bellowed, “Aye by golls! [29] He nearly told the truth, for a wonder, but all through’s ign’rance.” In short, they tried to persuade the seller that he had made a bad bargain, though they knew the horse had fetched its full value, or more. The jockey-butcher sat listening to the others’ jeers with good humour, or returning them in the same vein, till, becoming tired of their long harping on the same string he sprang up, and shouted, “Sa! sa! lev’n go, es dry eatan” (let him go, he is dry eating), “as the old man said for the hare.”

The (native?) fable, or story from which our jolly butcher took his apt reply, runs thus:—

An old couple lived all alone in a little old house “out by night” (an out-of-the-way place). The old woman was constantly in a bad temper, because a hare got into their garden and ate the cabbages; she scolded and tormented her old man all day long because he didn’t build the garden hedges higher, or do something else to keep the hare out. To all her aggravating “jaw,” he would only reply, “Sa, sa, dear, when that hare es fat enow we’ll have a good pie.” One Saturday night, accordingly, he set a jin among the cabbages. On Sunday morning he got up by break o’ day, and ran out to see if the hare were “come to trap.” There it was, a fine one, caught by a fore leg. The old man, overjoyed by his good luck, without stopping to take up the hare, ran in, calling to his wife all the way, “come ’e along out, my dear; be quick; and see what a capital pie we shall have for dinner to-day.” She tore out in great “stroath” (confused haste), slipped on her clogs, crossed the garden, and got to the trap before her old man; but all she saw of the hare was a fore foot in the jin, and the white of its tail passing through a hole in the hedge, as it scampered off. The hare, on hearing the old woman’s clogs coming clap-a-clap among the cabbages, gave a twist, severed a bit of skin, which alone held it; the trap in closing had broken the bone. “That’s like thee, thee old buffle-head,” screamed she, “not to take up the hare at once and bring am in, instead of hobblan away to bring me out, draglan through the dew to catch my death this cold mornan, all undressed as I am; and that while, the hare, twistan and turnan, broke’s leg and es gone.”

“Sa! sa!” said the old man, “lev’n go, es dry eatan.”

CORNISH OBSERVANCES WITH REGARD TO THE SUN AND MOON.

Only a few years ago elderly farmers of the Land’s End district commenced the breaking of grass land with a sort of religious solemnity, to bring it into its three years’ course of tillage. On entering the field, the cattle, attached to the plough, were turned towards the west; and the ploughman saying, “In the name of God let’s begin,” proceeded with the course of the sun to “break ground” by turning a few yards of sod in that direction; afterwards the field might be ploughed towards any point that was convenient.

The same rite was observed by some on beginning to plough an arable field; and when they commenced to sow a few handfuls of grain were cast round—with the same formality—from east to west, for luck. Following the sun’s course in several other kinds of work was also regarded as a means of ensuring success.

Dairy-women always place their pans of milk so that they shall be skimmed, in turn, going with the sun, or from left to right. The scalded or clouted cream, for making butter, being placed in a shallow tub, is stirred round with the hand, or a wooden peel, in the direction of the sun’s course; if turned in a reverse manner, butter cannot be properly made—so it is believed. Young people dance round the Midsummer’s bonfire in the same order; if any of them take the wrong course it is believed, or at least said, they will die unmarried. When the bonfire has burned sufficiently low, old and young leap through the flames towards the place of the setting sun.

In the spring, people visit a “Pellar” (conjuror) as soon as there is “twelve hours’ sun,” to have “their protection renewed,” that is, to be provided with charms; and the wise man’s good offices to ward off, for the ensuing year, all evil influences of beings who work in darkness. The reason assigned for observing this particular time is, that “when the sun is come back the Pellar has more power to goodé” (do good).

In curing diseases, charms are worked against the sun to backen the complaint. Ricketty children bathed in a holy well on the three Wednesdays in May, are dipped thrice and taken round the spring as often against the sun’s course. For the cure of boils or eruptions, the afflicted crawl nine times from east to west, under a bramble, rooted at both ends. Many other examples might be given of practices regarding the sun, but are much to the same effect.

One may notice a remarkable belief, however, that if a person, by false swearing, compasses the life of another, the sun is thereafter invisible to the perjured one. This idea is so well known that to hint at a person’s inability to behold the sun is regarded as a great insult.

An observance with regard to the moon may be here mentioned. Most folks are acquainted with a practice called “washing in a dry dish,” for the cure of warts and other ailments. To get rid of warts on the hands they are shown the moon nine times on three successive nights before full moon; three times on the full, at intervals of three quarters of an hour; and thrice afterwards, on three following nights. On each occasion the patient, or rather the supplicant, looks from the moon to his hands, and from his hands to the moon—whilst rubbing them together as if washing them—and holds them towards the moon nine times, saying:—

“I wash my hands in this thy dish, O, Man in the Moon, do grant my wish, And come take away this.”

For the cure of various other ailments this charm is worked in much the same way. The above-mentioned remnants of Zabaism are suggestive of Phœnician tin-traders’ connection with old Bellerion.

There are many ancient beliefs and practices with respect to the moon still lingering in West Cornwall, which seem to be almost forgotten elsewhere. The following are a few examples amongst many.

Herbs for drying, to be used in fomentation, or for other medicinal purposes, are gathered at the full of the moon; when winter’s fruit should also be picked and stored, in order that it may retain its plumpness. Elderly persons prefer to sow their garden seeds and others during the moon’s first quarter, from the idea that they will then germinate quicker and grow stronger than on the decrease.

Timber should be felled on the “bating” of the moon, because the “sap is then down,” and the wood will be more durable.

When the old iron “chills” (lamps) were in general use, rushes for making “porvans” (wicks) were cut at the full moon, because it was believed that they were then fuller of pith and less liable to shrink than if cut at other times.

Old gentlemen who wore their hair long behind, or in “pigtails or queues,” and other persons as well, of that day, were very particular about having their heads trimmed at the time of full moon, that their hair might grow the more luxuriantly.

The first money taken of a market-day is still frequently spit on for good luck; and if silver, kept for luck-money, to be shown to the next new moon, and turned three times towards the person who shows it. Three wishes were made whilst showing the money, which the wisher turned three times from the moon towards himself.

It is considered unlucky to get the first sight of a new moon through glass, and many persons go out of doors purposely to see her for the first time, when they hold towards her a piece of silver to ensure their success whilst that moon lasts. Those who offer this kind of adoration to Luna are mostly provided with a crooked sixpence, which they call a pocket-piece, and wear as a means to retain good luck. This observance of showing money to the new moon is, probably, a vestige of an ancient rite connected with the worship of Luna or Astarte.