The Lost Land of Lyonesse, or Lethowsow - Part 4

The Scillonian ferry regularly crosses the waters above the legendary Lyonesse.  If you wish to use my photo please attribute this blog!

[cont.] "...and, to increase the wonder, a gentleman, accidentally on horseback, is carried by this animal to the neighbouring shore of Whitsand Bay, or twenty miles further off, to Perranuthnoe, through a sea which had swallowed an entire country, and from which the largest of modern vessels could not possibly have escaped. This idle tale, related by one writer after another, has almost reached our own times. The editor remembers a female relation of a former vicar of St Erth who, instructed by a dream, prepared decoctions of various herbs, and, repairing to the Land's End, poured them into the sea, with certain incantations, expecting to see the Lionesse country rise immediately out of the water, having all its inhabitants alive, notwithstanding their long submersion. But

'Perchance some form was unobserved,
Perchance in prayer or faith she swerved.'

No country appeared, and although the love of marvellous events, and of tales exciting the passions, seems not to have diminished in recent times, yet the editor is unaware of any subsequent attempt having been made to rescue those unfortunate people from their protracted state of suspended animation."--The Parochial History of Cornwall, by. Davies Gilbert, vol. iii.pp. 109, 110.

"Although a sweep of ocean, twenty-seven miles in breadth, separates at present the Land's End from the Scilly Islands, there can yet be little doubt of their having been heretofore united to each other by the mainland. The records of history indeed do not rise so high as the era when this disjunction was first effected; but we have documents yet remaining which prove to us that this strait must have been considerably widened, and the number of the Sciilly Islands greatly increased within the last sixteen or seventeen centuries, by the waters of the Atlantic (receding probably from the coast of America) pressing towards this coast of Britain, accumulating upon Bolerium, and overwhelming part of the western shores of Cornwall...." [cont.]

Hunt 1903











Map - Perranuthnoe

Map - Land's End

Map - Isles of Scilly
Map - Whitesand's Bay
Map - Bolerium

The North Devon 'Savages', or the Cheriton family of Nymet Rowland

[This piece illustrates a classist diatribe of the age, the sort of ranting one would only find now-a-days in the Daily Mail or its ilk talking about 'Illegal Asylum seekers eating the queens swans' etc. A discussion of this story in its social context is to be found here.]

A circa 1860's image of the house of the Cheriton family at Nymet Rowland

"Although much has already been written about the North Devon Savages, a short though painful narrative of their habits and manners may not be uninteresting. The Cheriton family, fifty years ago, resided in the parish of Nymet Rowland, a hamlet sixteen miles from Exeter, situated in the very centre of the most picturesque part of our fair county.

The Doones mentioned by Mr. R. D. Blackmore, in Lorna Doone, had no connection whatever with Devonshire, nor were the Gubbings, of whom Mr. Baring-Gould writes, in any way connected with the Cheritons, who owned a small freehold farm, valued at about £1500, which had been their inheritance for a great many years.

In the early days of their possession they were respectable, hardworking yeomen, living on and cultivating their estate to advantage. Then a son married badly, and the children of this union grew up idle and dissolute, consequently the farm was neglected and in a short time it fell into a low state of cultivation. Each successive generation sank lower in the social scale till a condition insensible to shame was reached. The family lived in a most disreputable way.

Their language was, as Tickler in his Devonshire Sketches, says, " too horribly foul for repetition : they poured forth copious streams of the dirtiest and most obscene words conceivable."

A correspondent, who when a young man lived in the neighbourhood, tells me that no one could beat them at rough language, horseplay, and filthy discourse. They were a disgrace to the neighbourhood and a nuisance to their neighbours. One day, when passing the house, he was accosted by a woman of the tribe, who called him disgusting names, pelted him with mud and stones, performed indescribable offensive acts, and finally chased him brandishing a hay fork, with which she would have undoubtedly assaulted him had he not beaten a hasty retreat. The fame of these people spread through and beyond the county. Many inquisitive persons went to Nymet Rowland to get a peep at the "Savages."

One man, more curious than the general public, approached too near the house, and was at once pounced upon by a couple of Amazons, who demanded a reason for his visit. 

"Ladies," said he " I have lost my way, will you be so good as to put me on the right road to Dartmoor ?" 

" Aw, ess, tii be sure," replied Miss Cheriton, " come thease yer way an' I'll shaw'e."

She took him into the adjoining yard for the ostensible purpose of directing him, and the unsuspecting wayfarer, venturing too near the edge of the horse pond in following his guide, was suddenly thrust into the filthy liquid, as a "There, thicky's the way tii Dartymoor and be tii you," fell on his ears.

The farmhouse and outbuildings were originally trim and well kept, but had been gradually allowed to reach the last stage of dilapidation. The thatch was stripped from the rafters, and the rooms below received all the rain which fell, the wind played havoc with, and carried away every scrap it could dislodge. The windows had long been denuded of glass, and in winter were stuffed with bundles of hay or straw to protect the inmates from the severity of the weather ; the air had free passage from basement to roof. A person standing in what was at one time the kitchen, could see the clouds passing and the birds flying above the roof. The doors were nowhere. The living room was almost destitute of furniture, and in place of seats a hole had been dug in the lime-ashfloor in front of the fireplace, which was on the hearth. Into this hole the legs of the members of the family rested as they sat on the bare floor around the fire.

In this hovel resided as many Cheritons, men, women, and children, as could find resting-places; the surplus members of the family found shelter and repose in holes cut into hayricks and woodstacks. The patriarch of the tribe, Christopher Cheriton, slept at night, and reclined during the greater part of the day in solitary state, within the friendly shelter of a cider cask well bedded up with hay and dried ferns. A more primitive state of things could not possibly be found anywhere.

Their land being freehold no one dared interfere with the family so long as they kept upon their own ground. Many strong efforts were made to clear them out of their holding but without success, and for many years these disgraceful conditions continued.

Over their social life one would wish to draw a curtain, for they regarded not the holy rites prescribed by the Church, nor the authority of bishops, archdeacons, or civil laws. They had all things in common, and multiplied into a large family without marriage. Their conduct, habits, manners, and language, made them a terror and a nuisance to their immediate neighbours. Their misdeeds were the cause of their making frequent appearances before the magistrates in the local police courts. The surrounding farmers, after a time forbore to summon them as their ricks, stacks, barns, and homesteads were fired. By whom ? None could tell, though pretty shrewd guesses were levelled at the Cheritons. Their larder was at all seasons well filled. Game and every portable kind of dairy and farm produce found a way to it, brought thither by the sons, who were noted poachers and purloiners of other men's belongings. They baked three kinds of bread, namely, black or barley bread for the men servants, whole wheaten meal bread for the family, and white bread for the children.

The only persons who dared venture to visit them with impunity, were Lady Portsmouth and the Revd. and Mrs. Gutteries. This was in 1870-3. A former rector of this parish, a tall robust man, standing six foot, two inches, in his stockings, whenever he passed the premises was assailed with showers of stones and inexpressibly revolting abuse. The property has long ago changed owners, and of the fate of the Cheritons very little is known. The old folks are dead, and the younger ones have emigrated or married, thus breaking up a family notorious for evil in all its forms."

Hewett 1900

Map - Nymet Rowland

Devon "Christmas Block"

A Yule Log being burnt - location unknown - Some rights reserved by MotleyOklahoman

"A Clergyman of Devonshire informed me that the custom of burning the Christmas-block, i. e.the Yule Clog, still continues in that county."

Brand 1813

The Wicked Weaver of Dean Prior

"But first we must find the Hound's Pool, where a vicar of Dean Prior transformed the spirit of a wicked weaver, who had been a trouble to the village, into a black dog, and set him to bale out the pool with a nut-shell.  The story makes us think of Binjie in Cranmere, and Tregeagle, who, over the Cornish border, is emptying Dosmary Pool with a limpet-shell."

Cresswell 1921

Map - Hound's Pool
Map - Dean Prior
Map - Cranmere Pool
Map - Dosmary Pool

Mrs and Mr Bray, and Rev. Samuel Rowe - part one

"Little has been written about Dartmoor until the early part of the nineteenth century. The Rev. Samuel Rowe, incumbent of St George's, Stonehouse, and afterwords vicar of Crediton, was much interested in the Moor, and in 1830 read a paper on it in the Plymouth Institution, afterwords working at the Preambulation of Dartmoor, published in 1848. Mr. Bray, who was a Tavistock man, and vicar of that town in 1811, commenced his investigations about 1801. To his wife's friendship with Southey we owe her delightful book The Borders of the Tamar and the Tavy, containing many extracts from her husband's journals, and addressed as letters to the poet..."[cont.]

Cresswell 1921

Map - Stonehouse
Map - Crediton
Map - Tavistock

The Devil comes to Widecombe

"Widecombe on a summer's day does not, however, suggest its evil repute as the haunt of his Satanic Majesty.  "What do you know about your ghostly enemy?" asked the west-country parson in Sunday-school.  "Please, sir, he lives to Widecombe."  came the prompt reply.

From the bitter cold of the winter fog and snow, from the wild winds that sweep down the valley, and howling round Bell Tor and Hound Tor, echo to the yell of the Wisht Hounds, has Widecome earned its reputation. The story of the great storm everywhere repeated keeps this notoriety alive.

In October, 1638, On a Sunday when all the folk were in church, the tower was struck, - it shows marks of the rents to this day - the lightning injuring many of the congregation, while a storm of never-to-be-forgotten awfulness swept over the valley.  A long rude poem printed on boards, and now placed in teh tower, tells of the this storm, and its ravages, and of the very miraculous escapes of many of the people.

The verses were written by the village schoolmaster, Richard Hill, who is related to one of the victims of the storm.

Local legend has minute particulars to account for this fearful thunderstorm. At Poundsgate, near Leusdon, an old woman who happened to be at home that morning saw a man ride up on a coal-black horse.  He inquired the way to Widecombe and and asked for a drink.  This she gave to him and the awful identity of the stranger was revealed by the liquor hissing as it went down his throat! She fled with a scream, and the Evil One galloped all the way to Widecombe.  Here everyone was in church, but alas! a member of the congregation was asleep.  This gave the devil his opportunity : he snatched up the culprit and flew with him through the roof of the church tower, vanishing with his victim on the wings of a storm so terrific, that it has never been forgotten.

Some say the soul of the sleeper was due that day to the devil, who came to fetch him and caught him napping."

Cresswell 1921 (Dartmoor with its surroundings: a handbook for visitors)

Map - Widecombe on the Moor

The Mermaids Vengence - part 12

"...Walter was statue-like, and he awoke from this trance-like state only when the waves washed his feet, and he became aware that even now it was only by wading through the waters that he could return around the point of rocks. He was alone. He called; no one answered. He sought wildly, as far as he now dared, amidst the rocks, but the lovely woman was nowhere to be discovered.

There was no real danger on such a night as this; therefore Walter walked fearlessly through the gentle waves, and recovered the pathway up from the sands. More than once he thought he heard a rejoicing laugh, which was echoed in the rocks, but no one was to be seen. Walter reached his home and bed, but he found no sleep; and in the morning he arose with a sense of wretchedness which was entirely new to him. He feared to make any one of his rough companions a confidant, although he felt this would have relieved his heart. He therefore nursed the wound which he now felt, until a bitter remorse clouded his existence. After some days, he was impelled to visit the grave - of the lost one, and in the fullness of the most selfish sorrow, he sat on the sands and shed tears. The priest of the Oratory observed him, and knowing Walter Trewoofe, hesitated not to inquire into his cause of sorrow. His heart was opened to the holy man, and the strange tale was told--the only result being, that the priest felt satisfied it was but a vivid dream, which had resulted from a brain over-excited by drink. He, however, counselled the young man, giving him some religious instruction, and dismissed him with his blessing. There was relief in this. For some days Walter did not venture to visit his old haunt, the cottage of Chenalls. Since he could not be lost to his companions without greatly curtailing their vicious enjoyments, he was hunted up by Chenalls, and again enticed within the circle. His absence was explained on the plea of illness. Walter was, however, an altered man; there was not the same boisterous hilarity as formerly. He no longer abandoned himself without restraint to the enjoyments of the time. If he ever, led on by his thoughtless and rough-natured friends, assumed for a moment his usual mirth, it was checked by some invisible power. On such occasions he would turn deadly pale, look anxiously around, and fail back, as if ready to faint, on the nearest seat. Under these influences, he lost health. His uncle, who was really attached to his nephew, although he regretted his dissolute conduct, became now seriously alarmed. Physicians were consulted in vain; the young man pined, and the old gossips came to the conclusion that Walter Trewoofe was ill-wished, and there was a general feeling that Penna or his wife was at the bottom of it. Walter, living really on one idea, and that one the beautiful face which was, and yet was not, that of Selina, resolved again to explore the spot on which he had met this strange being, of whom nothing could be learned by any of the covert inquiries he made. He lingered long ere he could resolve on the task; but wearied, worn by the oppression of one undefined idea, in which an intensity of love was mixed with a shuddering fear, he at last gathered sufficient courage to seize an opportunity for again going to the cavern. On this occasion, there being no moon, the night was dark, but the stars shone brightly from a sky, cloudless, save a dark mist which hung heavily over the western horizon. Every spot of ground being familiar to him, who, boy and man, had traced it over many times, the partial darkness presented no difficulty. Walter had scarcely reached the level sands, which were left hard by the retiring tide, than he heard again the same magical voice as before. But now the song was a joyous one, the burthen of it being --

"Join all hands--
Might and main,
Weave the sands,
Form a chain,
He, my lover,
Comes again!"..."

Hunt 1903

The Mermaids Vengence - part 8

"...The dying girl was sensible of the presence of creations other than mortal, and with these she appeared to hold converse, and to derive solace from the communion. Penna and his wife alternately watched through the night hours by the side of their loved child, and anxiously did they mark the moment when the tide turned, in the full belief that she would be taken from them when the waters of the ocean began to recede from the shore. Thus days passed on, and eventually the sunlight of a summer morning shone in through the small window of this humble cottage,--on a dead mother--and a living babe.

The dead was buried in the churchyard on the sands, and the living went on their ways, some rejoicingly and some in sorrow.

Once more Walter Trewoofe appeared in Perran-on-the-sands. Penna would have sacrificed him to his hatred; he emphatically protested that he had lived only to do so; but the good priest of the Oratory contrived to lay the devil who had possession, and to convince Penna that the Lord would, in His own good time, and in His own way, avenge the bitter wrong. Tom Chenalls had his hour of triumph; but from the day on which Selina died everything went wrong. The crops failed, the cattle died, hay-stacks and corn-ricks caught fire, cows slipped their calves, horses fell lame, or stumbled and broke their knees,--a succession of evils steadily pursued him. Trials find but a short resting-place with the good; they may be bowed to the earth with the weight of a sudden sorrow, but they look to heaven, and their elasticity is restored. The evil-minded are crushed at once, and grovel on the ground in irremediable misery. That Chenalls fled to drink in his troubles appeared but the natural result to a man of his character. This unfitted him for his duties, and he was eventually dismissed from his situation. Notwithstanding that the Squire refused to listen to the appeals in favour of Chenalls, which were urged upon him by Walter, and that indeed he forbade his nephew to countenance "the scoundrel" in any way, Walter still continued his friend. By his means Tom Chenalls secured a small cottage on the cliff, and around it a little cultivated ground, the produce of which was his only visible means of support. That lonely cottage was the scene, however, of drunken carousals, and there the vicious young men, and the no less vicious young women, of the district, went after nightfall, and kept "high carnival" of sin. Walter Trewoofe came frequently amongst them; and as his purse usually defrayed the costs of a debauch, he was regarded by all with especial favour..." [cont...]

Hunt 1903

Morva or Morveth (Sea-daughters) part 2

"...Mr Blight, in his "Week at the Land's End," speaking of the church in the adjoining parish, Zennor, which still remains in nearly its primitive condition, whereas Morva church is a modern structure, says--"Some of the bench ends were carved; on one is a strange figure of a mermaid, which to many might seem out of character in a church." (Mr Blight gives a drawing of this bench end.) This is followed by a quotation bearing the initials R. S. H., which, it is presumed, are those of the Rev. R. S. Hawker, of Morwenstow: - "The fishermen who were the ancestors of the Church, came from the Galilean waters to haul for men. We, born to God at the font, are children of the water. Therefore, all the early symbolism of the Church was of and from the sea. The carvure of the early arches was taken from the sea and its creatures. Fish, dolphins, mermen, and mermaids abound in the early types, transferred to wood and stone."..." [cont...]

Hunt 1903

Dean Coombe - The Pool of the Black Hound

'In the parish of Dean Combe is a narrow wooded valley, watered by a streamlet, that in two or three places falls into cascades of considerable beauty. At the foot of one of these is a deep hollow called the Hound's Pool. Its story is as follows : There once lived in this hamlet a weaver of great fame and skill. After long prosperity he died, and was buried. But the next day he appeared sitting at the loom in his chamber, working diligently as when he was alive. His sons applied to the parson, who went accordingly to the foot of the stairs, and heard the noise of the weaver's shuttle above. " Knowles !" he said, " come down ; this is no place for thee." "I will," said the weaver, "as soon as I have worked out my quill " (the quill is the shuttle full of wool). " Nay," said the Vicar, "thou hast been long enough at thy work; come down at once !" So when the spirit came down, the Vicar took a handful of earth from the churchyard and threw it in his face. And in a moment it became a black hound. " Follow me," said the Vicar, and it followed him to the gate of the wood. And when they got there, it seemed as if all the trees in the wood were "coming together," so great was the wind. Then the Vicar took a nutshell with a hole in it, and led the hound to the pool below the waterfall. "Take this shell," he said, "and when thou shall have dipped out the pool with if, thou mayest rest, not before." And at mid-day or at midnight the hound may still be seen at its work. —Notes and Queries, 1 S., ii. 515'

Hope 1893