Chapter 3
At the same time there is probably a certain rough truth in the old legends, the details having been added from time to time. As Mr. Arthur Salmon says: "When we speak of a lost Lyonesse we are not dealing with absurdities. We must only be careful to date it far enough backward, or rather to leave it without date. It is an alluring vision on which we can linger without the sense of being actually unhistoric."
Certain is it that if we examine _The Life and Death of Prince Arthur_, the _History of Merlin_, or the _Mort d'Arthur_, we shall find "Cornewaile" and "The Lyonesse" spoken of with an airy indifference as to their geographical limits. Thus it may possibly be that, by the title of Lyonesse, Leonois, or any other of the various renderings of the name, it was intended to cover such portion of the west country as lay beyond that part of Devonshire, which, down to so late as the year 410 of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, continued to be known as Cornwall.
It is well worth while to stay the night at the little hostel near the Land's End for the purpose of viewing this westernmost piece of England under the magic spell of a stormy sunset or a misty dawn. The sun sinks beyond the vast expanse of open, wide, and illimitable sea, heaving with a deep and mysterious ground swell as the long waves roll shorewards. Between the great pinnacles of rock blue chasms yawn and pass away, and the bases of the nearer rocks are momentarily hidden by the foam of the surging waves.
Far out, far beyond where the Longships lighthouse blinks its warning light over the waste of waters, a solitary ship goes down into the western horizon; and the golden clouds of summer follow her, one by one, into the bosom of the night.
The holiday season, with its bands of health-seeking and somewhat noisy tourists, is not the best time of the year for a visit to Land's End. As a show place it has been compelled to provide certain conveniences for the traveller, and these jarring notes of modernity are rather aggressive. There is much to be said for Mr. W. H. Hudson's plea for a national fund that shall purchase the Land's End; but one fears much water will have flowed around the historic headland before a "Society for the Preservation of Noble Landscape" becomes an accomplished fact.
About a mile from the cliffs stands the rocky little islet of Carn Brâs, whereon is situated the Longships lighthouse. Although such a short distance away this lighthouse, and that on the Wolf Rock seven miles off, are frequently cut off from all communication with the mainland by stress of weather. The submerged crags that fringe this portion of the coast are many, while the larger of those whose jagged points appear above the water, are the Armed Knight, the Irish Lady, and Enys Dodman, the last being pierced by a fine natural arch about forty feet in height. The Cornish name for the Armed Knight was "An Marogeth Arvowed", and it was also called Guela or Guelaz, the "rock easily seen".
To enjoy fully these western cliffs, one should stay in the locality for some days; be on the spot at all hours, see the mists of morning and the mellow tints of evening when all is calm and peaceful. At such times those who love the sea breezes, and the hoary rocks bearded with moss and lichen; those who are fond of the legends and traditions of the past, will find much to interest them at the Land's End. It is a favourite spot with artists, many of whom come year after year to depict its frowning cliffs and heaving belt of sea, for, curiously enough, the grandest effects of the waves are frequently seen in calm weather, when the heavy ground swell causes the waves to break with great force on the rocks.
In his criticism on Turner's picture of the Land's End, Ruskin wrote:
"At the Land's End there is to be seen the entire disorder of the surges, when every one of them, divided and entangled among promontories as it rolls, and beaten back post by post from walls of rock on this side and that side, recoils like the defeated division of a great army, throwing all behind it into disorder, breaking up the succeeding waves into vertical ridges, which, in their turn, yet more totally shattered upon the shore, retire in more hopeless confusion, until the whole surface of the sea becomes one dizzy whirl of rushing, writhing, tortured, undirected rage, bounding and crashing, and coiling in an anarchy of enormous power, subdivided into myriads of waves, of which every one is not, be it remembered, a separate surge, but part and portion of a vast one, actuated by eternal power, and giving in every direction the mighty undulation of impetuous line, which glides over the rocks and writhes in the wind, overwhelming the one and piercing the other with the form, fury, and swiftness of lambent fire."
LAND'S END TO NEWQUAY
No visitor to Cornwall can fail to notice the remarkable number of wells, situated near stone circles, dolmens, cromlechs, or churches that have replaced them in more modern times, for well-worship was undoubtedly one of the most persistent of the pagan customs with which the early Christian missionaries had to deal. Sir Norman Lockyer writes:--"It seems to be accepted now that well-worship in Britain originated long before the Christian era; that it was not introduced by the Christian missionaries, but rather they found it in vogue on their arrival, and tolerated it at first and utilized it afterwards, as they did a great many other pagan customs."
It is of course quite easy to understand how a once devout custom degenerated into mere superstition, how some wells came to be called "wishing wells", &c., in which the modern village maidens drop their pins, in much the same way as their pagan ancestors left offerings to invoke the aid of the tutelary saint.
The superstitions attached to the wells of Cornwall are as strong to-day as ever they were in the past, and there seems little reason to doubt that the good condition of wells, cromlechs, and other antiquities in the county, is due to the widespread traditions that dreadful harm will befall those who disturb or mutilate any ancient remains.
Sennen Cove lying immediately to the north of Land's End is a very charming little spot that shows signs of becoming a fashionable watering-place. The church, situated a mile inland, is dedicated to St. Senan or Senannus, one of those numerous Irish saints who showed such a predilection for the land of Cornwall. It is a low, weather-beaten structure with a good tower, and standing nearly 400 feet above the level of the sea, it forms a conspicuous land- and sea-mark. Within, there is a mutilated alabaster figure that is thought to have represented the Virgin and Child, and a small piece of mural painting. East of the church, a few yards from the roadside, and near the end of a small cottage, is the stone known as the Table Mên, a block of granite nearly eight feet in length, and three feet high. The word "main", or "mên", is the old Cornish for "stone". Here, according to tradition, a great battle took place between King Arthur and some Danish invaders, and the stone is also said to have been used as a royal dining table, when the number of kings who dined here is given by some old topographers as three, while others speak of seven. Hals gives their names as follows: "Ethelbert, fifth king of Kent; Cissa, second king of the South Saxons; Kingills, sixth king of the West Saxons; Sebert, third king of the East Saxons; Ethelfred, seventh king of the Northumbers; Penda, ninth king of the Mercians; and Sigebert, fifth king of the East Angles; who all flourished about the year 600". Merlin, the Wizard, who appears to have prophesied something about every nook in the kingdom, foretold that a yet larger number of kings will assemble around this rock for a similar purpose on the destruction of the world. A rock near Lanyon Cromlêh claims a similar honour, and the same story is attached to another at Bosavern in the parish of St. Just.
Sennen Cove is situated on the curve of Whitesand Bay, which terminates to the northward in the fine bluff headland of Cape Cornwall. It was once a favourite spot for smugglers and wreckers, and here Athelstan, after his final defeat of the Cornish, started to conquer the Scilly Isles. Stephen landed here on his first arrival in England, as did Perkin Warbeck when he sought to seize the crown he claimed. King John is also said to have landed here on his return from Ireland. Cape Cornwall, a mile and a half from the village, is one of the most prominent headlands of the western coast, but being in the neighbourhood of the great mining district it is somewhat neglected by visitors, a remark that applies to the whole of this portion of the coast as far as St. Ives, the great exception being Gurnards' Head. The inland country is bleak and barren, with a number of mining shafts capping the hillocks, with the result that the uninviting hinterland has inspired few people with the desire to explore a really grand and rocky piece of coast.
Nearly a mile south-west of Cape Cornwall are the Brisons, two fearful and dangerous rocks, rising about seventy feet above high-water mark. Brison is Cornish for prison, and tradition affirms that these rocks were once used as prisons.
North of the cape is Kenidjack headland, Porthleden being the name of the cove that divides the promontories. Skirting the coast from Kenidjack many fine bits of rocky scenery are passed. Botallack Head, with its old engine houses perched on its rocky crags, has a singularly savage appearance. The mine is one of the oldest in Cornwall, and the ancient workings continued for a considerable distance under the bed of the sea. The Levant, another submarine mine to the north, has also considerable workings beneath the sea.
The next point of interest is Pendeen, or Pendinas, the "castled headland", near to which is Pendeen House, now a farm, but once a seventeenth-century manor house, in which the celebrated Cornish historian and antiquary, Dr. William Borlase, was born in 1695. He corresponded with Pope to whom on one occasion he sent a Cornish diamond, which was thus acknowledged by the poet: "I have received your gift, and have so placed it in my grotto, that it will resemble the donor, in the shade, but shining". The famous cave called the Pendeen Vau, was discovered a few yards from his home. For his day he was quite an enlightened antiquary, and although modern research has shown his _Antiquities of Cornwall_ to be full of pitfalls for the unwary, it is a book that has formed the basis for many an interesting volume on the county. The church of Pendeen occupies as bleak a site as could anywhere be found in England. It was designed and built by Robert Aitken the famous Cornish missioner. It was fashioned on the plan of the ancient cathedral of Iona, and was built almost entirely by the people themselves.
A little eastward of Pendeen is the church town of Morvah, "the place by the sea", which has traditions relating to mermaids. Northward is Porthmorna, or Porth Moina, the Monk's Port, formed on one side by the fine cliff of Bosigran, where the rocks of granite have a pale reddish tint; so that when lit up by the sun they have a very brilliant appearance. A few years ago the bleak hills and towering cliffs in this locality were a favourite haunt of the peregrine falcon, the cliff hawk, while the blue rock dove, and Baillon's crake have been found in the district. Bosigran lies just under Cairn Galva, whose boldly-formed outline is a conspicuous landmark. Just beyond Porthmeor is the Gurnard's Head, the finest and most romantic point on the north side of the Land's End, and one of the show places of the county. The ancient name for the headland was Treryn Dinas. Portions of a small chapel remain on the isthmus, and there was once a holy well close by.
The village of Zennor, about a quarter of a mile distant, lies in a wild and stony district. Within the very interesting church are some quaint bench ends, one of which depicts a mermaid, complete with comb, mirror, and fishy tail, but the carving is of a very primitive order. On Zennor Beacon is the famous Zennor Quoit or Cromlech, the largest in Cornwall, and one of the finest in the country. Between Zennor and St. Ives a wild tract of country forms the parish of Towednack with an ancient church within which is a true chancel arch, a constructional feature that is of rare occurrence in Cornish churches.
The irregularly built little town of St. Ives, which has not inaptly been called the "Art Centre of England", is made up of two distinct parts. The older portion, which consists of oldfashioned houses, and narrow tortuous streets, is situated on a low spit of land called the "island", while "up-along" on the higher ground above the station, is the favourite and fashionable holiday resort. The ancient name of the place, Porth Ia, perpetuates the memory of another Irish saint, Ia, who is claimed as a convert of St. Patrick, and who is said to have floated from the shores of the Emerald Isle to those of Cornwall on a miraculous leaf, "by which", Mr. Arthur Salmon tells us, "is clearly meant a coracle of the kind still to be seen in parts of Wales". The cell of St. Ia stood on the site of the present parish church, which is said to contain her bones, and this saint is not to be confounded with those of St. Ive, near Liskeard, or St. Ives in Huntingdonshire. The position of St. Ives, on the western slope of an extensive bay, and with two remarkably fine sandy beaches, is one of uncommon beauty. The finest views of the town and the neighbourhood are those obtained from the grounds of the Tregenna Castle Hotel, and from the Battery Rocks.
A lofty hill to the south of the town, has a pyramidical erection of granite in memory of John Knill, born in 1733. The obelisk bears three inscriptions: "Johannes Knill, 1782"; "I know that my Redeemer liveth"; and "Resurgam". After serving his apprenticeship to a solicitor, Knill became Collector of Customs, and afterwards Mayor of St. Ives. Long before his death, which took place in 1811, he erected this mausoleum on Worvas Hill, but it was never applied to its purpose, as he was buried in London. Among the provisions of a curious will he ordained that "certain ceremonies should be observed once every five years, on the festival of St. James the Apostle; ten pounds to be spent in a dinner for the mayor, collector of Customs, and clergyman, and two friends to be invited by each of them, making a party of nine persons, to dine at some tavern in the borough; five pounds to be equally divided amongst ten girls, natives of the borough and daughters of seamen, fishermen, or tinners, each of them not exceeding ten years of age, who shall, between ten and twelve o'clock of the forenoon of that day, dance for a quarter of an hour at least, on the ground adjoining the mausoleum, and after the dance sing the 100th Psalm of the old version, to the fine old tune to which the same was then sung in St. Ives Church; one pound to a fiddler who shall play to the girls while dancing and singing at the mausoleum, and also before them on their return home therefrom; two pounds to two widows of seamen, fishers, or tinners of the borough, being sixty-four years old or upwards, who shall attend the dancing and singing of the girls, and walk before them immediately after the fiddler, and certify to the mayor, collector of Customs, and clergyman, that the ceremonies have been duly performed; one pound to be laid out in white ribbons for breast-knots for the girls and widows, and a cockade for the fiddler, to be worn by them respectively on that day and on the Sunday following". The observances have been duly carried out since the death of John Knill. The next observance will be in 1911, and when once at St. Ives the present writer was fortunate enough to witness the quaint ceremonies that are enacted every five years around the mausoleum of John Knill, who has succeeded in making a posthumous name for himself at a very trifling cost.
It was at St. Ives that Anders Zorn, the celebrated Swedish artist, painted his first picture with oils, a fine work that now hangs on the walls of the Luxembourg. The sketcher from nature who clambers along this rocky coast in search of colour notes or impressions, will perpetually experience the difficulty of not knowing where to halt, always a difficult problem for a painter in a new territory. Many are they who have seen the day draw to a close with nothing accomplished. This is not the result of idleness, but on account of the feeling of expectancy, the ever-alluring idea, that by going a little farther something really uncommon will be found. Points of interest innumerable will be passed in the pursuit of this beautiful will-o'-the-wisp, this perfect composition which never can, and never will, materialize on paper or on canvas.
Hayle and Lelant are both worth visiting. The former has a fine beach for bathing, and the latter is renowned for its golf course. Lelant is a very ancient town whose fine old church is the mother church of both Towednack and St. Ives.
Redruth and Camborne are important mining towns to which no one would go in search of the picturesque, and the bleak and barren surroundings may not inaptly be called the "Black Country" of Cornwall. Gwennap Pit, near Redruth, was the natural amphitheatre where John Wesley preached with marked success to thousands of Cornish miners. For the antiquary there are many interesting remains at Carn Brea, a rocky eminence overlooking the town, and capped with a monument, erected in 1836, to Francis, Baron de Dunstanville and Basset, of Tehidy.
The best mine to explore, should one's tastes run in that direction, is the Dolcoath Mine, near Camborne station. The mine yields both copper and tin, and has reached the depth of 2250 feet. Portreath is to a certain extent the port of Redruth. The cliffs are rather fine and the seas exceptionally so in rough weather, but as a good deal of refuse water from the mines is discharged here the result is that the sea for a considerable distance is frequently tinged with a thick reddish colour.
Between Portreath and St. Agnes the coast scenery is rendered very attractive by reason of the number of coves into which it is broken, such as Porth Towan, a very favourite spot with visitors.
The little town of St. Agnes is steadily growing in popularity, while St. Agnes Beacon is of great geological interest, and from the summit a fine view is obtained of the Cornish coast from Trevose Head to St. Ives.
Opie, the painter, was a native of St. Agnes, where he was born in 1761. The house is passed on the way to Perranporth, and is known as "Harmony Cottage". Opie's artistic talent is said to have been first recognized by "Peter Pindar", when that worthy resided at Truro. A large number of his early paintings may still be seen in many of the houses in the vicinity of his birthplace, although a considerable number have been carried off by discerning collectors.
A few years ago Perranporth was nothing but a small cluster of fishermen's cottages, but the fine stretches of golden sand and some imposing masses of arched rocks have brought many visitors, for whom increased accommodation has had to be found. One and a half miles from Perran Round, an ancient amphitheatre, are portions of an old church, long hidden in the sand, over which St. Piran, or St. Piranus officiated in the sixth century. The church of Perranporth is a chapel of ease to Perranzabuloe, i.e., _Piran-in-sabulo_.
Although Max Müller satisfied himself that St. Piran was a purely mythical figure, and that the word "Piran" meant merely a "digger", others assure us that there is enough evidence to satisfy a court of law that Piran was connected with the school founded by Patrick, and that in the fifth century he was a missionary in Cornwall. Excavations are being made constantly around this little church half-buried in the fine sand, and many important discoveries have resulted. There appears to be little doubt that the church shares with Gwithian oratory the distinction of being the earliest Christian edifice of which any considerable portions remain in England. At the same time it is as well to bear in mind that the part of the material structure revealed by the spade is some two centuries later in date than St. Piran, the patron saint of the Tinners.
"There is a charm in the Cornish coast which belongs to no other coast in the world." So wrote Dean Alford many years ago, and no portion of Cornwall possesses greater charm than the section as seen from Newquay Beacon. Like so many of its neighbouring holiday resorts, Newquay was a very small and not very well known little place until the Great Western Railway gave it four trains a day from London, advertised its charms in the press, and depicted them in glowing colours on innumerable posters. The result is that Newquay has boomed to such an extent that it is now the great centre of attraction on the north coast. Twenty years ago Newquay was little more than a cluster of cottages, but so rapid has been its development that we seem to be centuries away from the days when there was no fashionable hotel on the Headland, and when the place was reached along a jolting little mineral line from Par Junction.
The town itself is not old enough to be interesting, and as it possesses no "front" but few of its streets command a view of the bold promontories, fine beaches, tidal inlets, and the singularly blue sea, that make it such an attractive place for a holiday.
As Mr. J. Henwood Thomas says: "One of the chief glories of Newquay is its grand headland. Running right out into the Atlantic it forms a bold, natural pier, in comparison with which the costly artificial piers which are to be found at most watering-places of repute are mere toys. Nothing can be more exhilarating than a walk to the extreme end of this jagged promontory. It is like breathing a vitalizing essence."
Here, on the beaches of Newquay and Fistral Bay, one may go to the verge of the waves, and breathe the ozone that rises from the line of breakers, without the necessity of making detours to avoid fruit-stalls and bathing-saloons. Fortunately the fine sands around Newquay have not yet become a mart for sweetmeats and cocoanuts, nor are they the happy hunting ground of the negro minstrel and other troupes of fantastic entertainers.
The chief, and one might say the only glory of North Cornwall, is the magnificent line of coast, particularly that portion of it bounded by Bedruthan Steps on the one hand, and Watergate Bay on the other, with Mawgan Porth and Beacon Cove lying between.
At low tides Watergate Bay has a splendid stretch of sands, more than two miles in length, and along the cliffs here sea-pinks, sea-lavender, and golden samphire may be found, although the last named is becoming extremely rare. The cliffs along this portion of the coast are pierced by numerous shady caves and caverns, some of which, like the Cathedral Cavern and the one known as the Banqueting Hall, are of vast extent, and are not infrequently used for concerts and other entertainments held in aid of local charities.
In spite of the necessary changes and improvements due to the ever increasing number of visitors, there is still much that is primitive to be seen around Newquay. Almost every ruin, rock, and church has its legend, more or less ancient and authentic, and once off the beaten track there is much that will interest the lovers of saint and folklore, as well as the admirers of coast scenery of a bold and broken kind.