Port Isaac and the Fishing: Pentire: St. Enodoc and the Sand: Lovebond's Bridge: Wadebridge and Egloshayle: "Jan Tergeagle": Menhirs: Padstow and the Hobby Horse: Prehistoric Inhabitants: Harlyn Bay: Trevose Head: Constantine: A Fogou: Bedruthan: The Vale of Lanherne.
Port Isaac
So long and so steep is the hill between Port Gavernoe and Port Isaac that the Cornishman, though not noted for kindness to animals, does not often ask his horse to negotiate it, and indeed these Cornish hills are a sovereign specific for nerves. No one who has been up and down them, behind one of the surefooted country-bred ponies, can fear any ordinary descent.
From the hill the view of the little grey town is hardly inviting. It lies huddled together as if it had slipped down the sides of the cleft in which it rests. Very crooked are its narrow roads; all sideways, askew and anyhow the small houses; there are no gardens, hardly any backyards; and at certain seasons of the year young and stalwart men seem to be conspicuous by their absence. "They'm all away at work and they do belong to go, for there edn't no money here, only the fishin'," is the explanation.
Fishing is indeed the reason for Port Isaac's existence and for that of her smaller neighbours, Port Gaverne and Port Quin, each of which lies at the head of a similar sandy inlet. Port Isaac, it is true, has a harbour deep enough to admit steamers of 150 tons burden, and most of the Delabole slates are shipped from here, but fishing is the main interest. "Cousin Jack" is a strict Sabbatarian, but not so his rival from the east coast. It is bad enough to see the fish caught in waters he looks upon as his, but particularly so under the circumstances; and, as a consequence, he has sometimes taken the law into his own hands. "If à must fishey," says he, "leave en fishey fair," and one Monday morning when the strangers endeavoured to land eight boatloads that had been captured during Sunday night, his patience reached its limit. "All that day gulls swarmed in the little harbour, and thereafter the place reeked of decaying fish. So now the east countrymen deem it wiser to land their Sunday's catch elsewhere."
Is it possible that this nook of the coast also reeks somewhat of decaying fish? What of it? Many a fishing town lies ahead, and they were not called "Fishy-gissy" and "Polstink" for nothing. May be-as you are told when you get a whiff of the gasworks-it is a healthy smell; any way, healthy or no, like those same gasworks it is not to be denied.
Pentire
"From Padstow Point to Hartland Light,
Is a watery grave by day or night"
runs the country saying, voicing the fear that haunts every fisherman's cottage along the coast; and if the children, in their carelessness, lay a loaf cut-side down, so that it looks like a boat turned bottom upwards, the elders shiver and bid them right it at once. Pentire, which stands out at one side of the estuary above low-lying Padstow, has two points, the Eastern and the Western Horns; and a view up the entire coast of Cornwall and onward to blunt Trevose that should not be missed. On the eastern point of the bay is a well-defined cliff castle. It is evident that the triple mounds and ditches were for purposes of defence, but neither local history nor tradition has a word about those by whom they were built. This only is certain, that the folk must have been desperate who came to make their last stand on this wild and lonely spot.
On the headland is a cave in some way connected with "Cruel Coppinger," who, by his brutality for years, dominated the western coast (though he was perhaps less seen at Padstow than elsewhere). His smuggling lugger, the Black Prince, was known from Morwenstow to Newquay, and many are the wild deeds-he did not even stop short of murder-recorded of this desperado, from the day he was landed on these shores to that other day when, the measure of his iniquities being full, he set sail never to return. Not that all smuggling was undertaken in so lawless a fashion. It was rather an agreeable diversion spiced with adventure, and gentleman, parson, farmer, and peasant all lent a hand. "Cruel Coppinger's" is not the only cave along this coast that is said to have been haunted by "spirits"-as indeed they were, and by silks and lace as well! Nor were the hiding-places only those provided by Nature. The pulling down of old houses has revealed many a hollow in the thick walls and under the flagged floors; there is even a story that one great gentleman used to conceal a store of illicit goods-in his carriage!
Relics of an older civilisation have been dug up on these headlands. It is possible, before the sand swept in overwhelmingly, that the coast may have supported a larger population. Roman coins and beads, strange blue iridescent glass, and bits of red glaze, the glaze of Samian ware, have been found; and among these things articles of a yet earlier date, as for instance, a roughly made coral necklace thought to be British or earlier.
St. Enodoc and the Sand
From this point westward the coast has been afflicted with sandstorms, churches have been buried, towns obliterated by the drifting particles. Blowing steadily for three days at a time, the frightened people have left their houses to escape suffocation, and fled inland only on their return to find the face of the country changed beyond recognition. St. Enodoc Church, during one of these visitations, was covered with sand above the level of the roof, only the thirteenth-century broach spire remaining above the waste to indicate the whereabouts of the building. In order to perform service, the parson, after some digging, managed to enter by the roof; and it may be wondered why on that lonely waste a service should be required. It was not, however, a matter of saving souls, but of obtaining tithes. About forty years ago the church was excavated, and it now lies in a deep trench. The path is lined with a curious collection of stone mortars or measures, which however are not ecclesiastical. Near by rises the desolate Bray Hill, under which, early last century, storms having shifted the sands, the ruins of what is thought to be an oratory came to light.
The churches of St. Minver and St. Kew are both interesting. The former contains three octagonal slate piers supporting pointed arches, the remains of a fine oak rood screen, and-an article which seems nowadays somewhat out of place, but no doubt is stored there against destruction or oblivion-the stocks. St. Kew lies in a lovely wooded valley, and is one of the finest churches in Cornwall, but is not often visited. Fine woodwork is to be seen in the cradle roof, while the chancel screen was carefully modelled on one of earlier date. The communion cup is Elizabethan, but more interesting is a glass egg-shaped bowl with silver mounts of 1598. When Bodmin Church was restored (1472) it seems to have sold its fine old windows to any church that would buy, and St. Kew was fortunate enough to secure one, that in the north chapel. Not far from here is Polrode, where, serving as part of the bridge, is a good, though mutilated, example of a roundheaded cross with beaded angles. At St. Endellion, a little north of Kew, is a stoup carved with the arms of Roscarrock, Chenduit, and Pentire-and heraldic stoups are rare.
Lovebond's Bridge
On the road to Wadebridge is an earthwork known as Castle Killibury or Kelly Rounds, which was known to have been in existence-and out of repair-as early as 1478. Commanding the road down to the ford it was evidently once a place of considerable strength. This ford was not bridged until the reign of Edward IV., when a fine bridge with a span of seventeen arches was built by a man named Lovebond. At first it was so narrow that only pack-horses could cross, and over every pier protecting angles were placed for the need of pedestrians. The bridge was 320 ft. long, and the finest of its kind in England. It has been widened, but its character carefully preserved. For a long time it was believed that on account of the shifting sands the piers rested on packs of wool. Examination, however, has proved the story an invention, for they are on a rock foundation.
It was over this bridge that the broken Royalists hurried in 1646, a long disorderly straggle of men and guns and baggage, with Cromwell, grimly patient, at their heels. Had there been union and discipline in the forces, they would have been no easy conquest; but there had long been dissension among the leaders, and the condition of the common soldiers was both wretched and demoralised. As Clarendon records, they were "feared by their friends, scorned by their enemies, terrible only in plunder and resolute in running away." With such troops as these nothing could be done. Sir Richard Grenville, tyrannical and quarrelsome, had been committed to Launceston gaol, Prince Charles himself had left the country, and only the loyal Hopton was left. Once across the Camel and the soldiers were penned into the western half of the peninsula; but a spark of that old spirit which had won so many victories for the king was shown in a skirmish at St. Columb Major. It was the last flicker of life. In March the commissioners met at Tresillian Bridge, terms were agreed on, and the Royalist army disbanded on honourable conditions.
Wadebridge and Egloshayle
Wadebridge is a little market town, so little that it has not even a resident dentist! It has, however, an air of life which is unusual in Cornwall; but that may be partly due to the cheery little streams that run through the open gutters of the main streets. Here you buy chickens by the pound and...
