FAIRIES.
The fairies of Cornwall may be divided into four classes, the Small People, the Pixies (pronounced Piskies or or Pisgies), the Spriggans, and the Knockers. The first are harmless elfish little beings known all over England, whose revels on fine summer nights have often been described by those favoured individuals who have accidentally had the privilege of seeing them. As a rule they, however, wish to think themselves invisible, and in this county it is considered unlucky to call them by the name of fairies. The stories told about them by our old folk differed but slightly from those related elsewhere. There was the well-known cow that gave the finest yield of milk, and retained it all the year round when others of the herd ran dry, but always ceased the flow at a certain time, and if efforts were made to draw more from her, kicked over the the milking-pail. The milkmaid discovered that the cow belonged to the small people, by reason of her wearing in her hat a bunch of flowers having in it a four-leaved clover, which rendered them visible, when she saw them climbing up the cow’s legs and sucking at her teats. The greedy mistress, when the maid told her of this discovery, contrary to advice, washed the poor animal all over with salt water, which fairies particularly dislike (as well as the smell of fish and grease), in order to drive them away. Of course she succeeded in her object, and by so doing brought nothing but ill-luck for ever after on herself and family. When unmolested, fairies bring good fortune to places they frequent; but they are spiteful if interfered with, and delight in vexing and thwarting people who meddle with them. It is well known “that they can’t abear those whom they can’t abide.” Then there were the tales of persons spirited away to fairyland, to wait upon the small people’s children and perform various little domestic offices, where the time has passed so pleasantly that they have forgotten all about their homes and relations, until by doing a forbidden thing they have incurred their master’s anger. They were then punished by being thrown into a deep sleep, and on awakening found themselves on some moor close to their native villages. These unhappy creatures never, after their return, settled down to work, but roamed about aimlessly doing nothing, hoping and longing one day to be allowed to go back to the place from whence they had been banished. They had first put themselves into the fairies’ power by eating or drinking something on the sly, when they had surprised them at one of their moonlight frolics; or by accepting a gift of fruit from the hands of one of these little beings. There are also two or three legends of curious women, who by underhand dealings have got hold of a mysterious box of green ointment belonging to the fairies, which, rubbed on the eyes, gave them the power of seeing them by daylight, when they look old, withered, and grey, and hate to be spied upon by mortals. These women are always interrupted when they have put the ointment on one eye before they have time to anoint both, and by an inadvertent speech they invariably betray their ill-gotten knowledge. They cannot resist making an exclamation when they see a fairy pilfering or up to some mischievous trick. Neither can they keep the secret of the side on which they see, and they are quickly made to pay the penalty of their misdeeds by a well-directed blow from the elf’s fist, which deprives them of the sight of that eye for ever. All these old wives’ tales are fully related by Mr. Bottrell in his three series of Traditions, &c., of West Cornwall.
Fairies haunt the ancient monuments of this county, and are supposed to be the beings who bring ill-luck on the destroyers of them. “Not long ago a woman of Moushal (a village near Penzance) told me that troops of small people, not more than a foot-and-a-half high, used, on moonlight nights, to come out of a hole in the cliff, opening on to the beach, Newlyn side of the village, and but a short distance from it. The little people were always dressed very smart, and if anyone came near them would scamper away into the hole. Mothers often told their children that if they went under cliffs by night the small people would carry them away into ‘Dicky Danjy’s hole.’ ”—Bottrell.
These small people are said to have been half-witted people who had committed no mortal sin, but who, when they died, were not good enough to go to Heaven. They are always thought, in some state, to have lived before.
The small people go about in parties, but pisky in his habits, at least in West Cornwall, is a solitary little being. I gather however, from Mr. T. Q. Couch’s History of Polperro that in the eastern part of the county the name of Pisky is applied indiscriminately to both tribes. He says two only of them are known by name, and quotes the following rhyme:
“Jack o’ the lantern! Joan the wad,
Who tickled the maid and made her mad;
Light me home, the weather’s bad.”
Here in the west he is a ragged merry little fellow (to laugh like a pisky is a common Cornish simile), interesting himself in human affairs, threshing the farmer’s corn at nights, or doing other work, and pinching the maidservants when they leave a house dirty at bed-time. Margery Daw, in our version of the nursery-song, meets with punishment at his hands for her misdoings—
“See saw, Margery Daw,
Sold her bed and lay upon straw;
Sold her bed and lay upon hay,
And pisky came and carried her away.
For wasn’t she a dirty slut
To sell her bed and lie in the dirt?”
Should the happy possessor of one of these industrious, unpaid fairy servants (who never object to taking food left for them by friends) express his thanks aloud, thus showing that he sees him, or try to reward him for his services by giving him a new suit of clothes, he leaves the house never to return, and in the latter case may be heard to say:
“Pisky fine, pisky gay!
Pisky now will fly away.”
Or in another version:
“Pisky new coat, and pisky new hood,
Pisky now will do no more good.”—(T.Q.C.)
Mr. Cornish, the Town Clerk of Penzance, mentioned at an antiquarian meeting recently held in that town, “that there was a brownie still existing in it; that a gentleman, whose opinion he would take on many matters, had told him that he had often seen it sitting quietly by the fireside.” When mischievously inclined pisky often leads benighted people a sad dance; like Will of the Wisp, he takes them over hedges and ditches, and sometimes round and round the same field, from which they in vain try to find their way home (although they can always see the path close at hand), until they sit down and turn their stockings the wrong side out, as an old lady, born in the last century, whom I well knew, once told me she had done. To turn a pocket inside out has the same effect. But to quote the words of a late witty Cornish doctor, “Pisky led is often whiskey led.”
Mr. T. Q. Couch in his before-mentioned book has two or three amusing stories of their merry pranks. One is called “A Voyage with the Piskies.” A Polperro lad meeting them one night as he was going on an errand heard them say in chorus, “I’m for Portallow Green” (a place in the neighbourhood). Repeating the cry after them, “quick as thought he found himself there surrounded by a throng of laughing piskies.” The next place they visited was Seaton Beach, between Polperro and Plymouth; the third and last cry was “I’m for the King of France’s cellar.” Again he decided on joining them, dropped the bundle he was carrying on the sands, and “immediately found himself in a spacious cellar, engaged with his mysterious companions in tasting the richest wines.” Afterwards they strolled through the palace, where in a room he saw all the preparations made for a feast, and could not resist the temptation of pocketing one of the rich silver goblets from the table. The signal for their return was soon given, and once more he found himself on Seaton Beach, where he had just time to pick up his bundle before he was whisked home. All these voyages were made in the short space of five minutes. When on his return he told his adventures they were listened to with incredulity until he produced the goblet, which proved the truth of his tale. After having been kept for generations this trophy has disappeared. “These little creatures seem sometimes,” Mr. Couch says, “to have delighted in mischief for its own sake. Old Robin Hicks, who formerly lived in a house at ‘Quay Head’ (Polperro), has more than once, on stormy winter nights, been alarmed at his supper by a voice sharp and shrill—‘Robin! Robin! your boat is adrift.’ Loud was the laughter and the tacking of hands (clapping) when they succeeded in luring Robin as far as the quay, where the boat was lying safely at its moorings.”
Another of his legends is about a fisherman of his district, John Taprail, long since dead, who was, on a frosty night, aroused from his sleep by a voice which called to him that his boat was in danger. He went down to the beach to find that some person had played a practical joke on him. As he was returning he saw a group of piskies sitting in a semicircle under a much larger boat belonging to one of his neighbours. They were dividing a heap of money between them by throwing a piece of gold alternately into each of the hats which lay before them. John was covetous, and forgot that piskies hate to be spied upon; so he crept up and pushed his hat slily in with the others. When the pile was getting low he tried to get off with his booty without their detecting the fraud. He had got some distance before the cheat was discovered; then they pursued him in such hot haste that he only escaped with his treasure by leaving his coat-tails in their hands. “The pisky’s midwife” is common,—a mortal who has been decoyed into fairyland discovers it by accidentally rubbing her eye with a bit of soap whilst washing the baby. Like those who have stolen and applied the green ointment, she loses the sight of it by a blow from an angry pisky’s fist. She meets and recognizes the father at a fair where, as usual, he is pilfering, and foolishly asks after the welfare of mother and child. But all these stories in West Cornwall would be told of the “small people,” as well as the well-known “Colman Grey” (of course the name varies), which relates how a farmer one day found a poor, half-starved looking bantling, sitting alone in the middle of a field, whom he took home and fed until he grew quite strong and lively. A short time after a shrill voice was suddenly heard calling thrice upon “Colman Grey.” Upon which the imp cried “Ho! ho! ho! my daddy is come!” flew through the keyhole, and was never heard of after. Unbaptised children were, in this county at the beginning of the century, said to turn, when they died, into piskies; they gradually went through many transformations at each change, getting smaller until at last they became “Meryons”[1] (ants) and finally disappeared. Another tradition is that they were Druids, who, because they would not believe in Christ, were for their sins condemned to change first into piskies; gradually getting smaller, they too, as ants, at last are lost. It is on account of these legends considered unlucky to destroy an ant’s nest, and a piece of tin put into one could, in bygone days, through pisky power be transmuted into silver, provided that it was inserted at some varying lucky moment about the time of the new moon.
Moths were formerly believed in Cornwall to be departed souls, and are still, in some districts, called piskies.
There is also a green bug which infests bramble-bushes in the late autumn that bears the same name, and one of the reasons assigned for blackberries not being good after Michaelmas is that pisky spoils them then. Pisky is in some places invoked for luck at the swarming of bees.
It was once a common custom in East Cornwall, when houses were built, to leave holes in the walls by which these little beings could enter; to stop them up would drive away good luck. And in West Cornwall knobs of lead, known as pisky’s paws or pisky feet, were placed at intervals on the roofs of farm-houses to prevent the piskies from dancing on them and turning the milk sour in the dairies.
Country people in East Cornwall sometimes put a prayer book under a child’s pillow as a charm to keep away piskies. I am told that a poor woman, near Launceston, was fully persuaded that one of her children was taken away and a pisky substituted, the disaster being caused by the absence of a prayer book on one particular night.—H. G. T., Notes and Queries, December, 1850.
Small round stones, known as “Pisky Grinding Stones,” are occasionally found in Cornwall; they are most probably parts of old spindles.
If piskies are kind and helpful little beings, spriggans or sprites are spiteful creatures, never doing a good turn for anyone. It is they who carry off poor babies from their mothers, when they have been obliged to leave them for a few hours alone, putting their own ugly, peevish brats in their cradles, who never thrive under the foster-mother’s care, in spite of all the trouble they may bestow upon them. Mr. Bottrell tells the story of a spriggan, a married man with a family, who took the place of a poor woman’s child one evening when she was at work in the harvest field. For although an innocent baby held in the arms is thought in Cornwall to protect the holder from mischief caused by ghosts and witches, it has no power over these creatures, who are not supposed to have souls. The scene of this legend was under Chapel Carn Brea, on the old road from Penzance to St. Just in Penwith. The mother, Jenny Trayer by name, was first alarmed on her return one night from her work in the harvest field by not finding her child in its cradle, but in a corner of the kitchen where in olden days the wood and furze for the then general open fires were kept. She was however too tired to take much notice, and went to bed, and slept soundly until the morning. From that time forth she had no peace; the child was never satisfied but when eating or drinking, or when she had it dandling in her arms. The poor woman consulted her neighbours in turn as to what she should do with the changeling (as one and all agreed that it was). One recommended her to dip it on the three first Wednesdays in May in Chapel Uny Well,[2] which advice was twice faithfully carried out in the prescribed manner. The third Wednesday was very wet and windy, but Jenny determined to persevere in this treatment of her ugly bantling, and holding the brat (who seemed to enjoy the storm) firmly on her shoulders, she trudged off. When they got about half-way, a shrill voice from behind some rocks was heard to say,
“Tredrill! Tredrill!
Thy wife and children greet thee well.”
Not seeing anyone, the woman was of course alarmed, and her fright increased when the imp made answer in a similar voice,
“What care I for wife or child,
When I ride on Dowdy’s back to the Chapel Well,
And have got pap my fill?”
After this adventure, she took the advice of another neighbour, who told her the best way to get rid of the spriggan and have her own child returned was “to put the small body upon the ashes’ pile, and beat it well with a broom; then lay it naked under a church stile; there leave it and keep out of sight and hearing till the turn of night; when nine times out of ten the thing will be taken away and the stolen child returned.” This was finally done; all the women of the village after it had been put upon a convenient pile “belabouring it with their brooms,” upon which it naturally set up a frightful roar. After dark it was laid under the stile, and there next morning the woman “found her own ‘dear cheeld’ sleeping on some dry straw,” most beautifully clean and wrapped in a piece of chintz. “Jenny nursed her recovered child with great care, but there was always something queer about it, as there always is about one that has been in the fairies’ power—if only for a few days.”
There are many other tales of changelings, but they resemble each other so much that they are not worth relating. In the one before quoted from Mr. Bottrell he gives a third charm for getting a child restored, as follows: “Make by night a smoky fire, with green ferns and dry. When the chimney and house are full of smoke as one can bear, throw the changeling on the hearthstone; go out of the house, turn three times round; when one enters, the right child will be restored.” Spriggans, too, guard the vast treasures that are supposed to be buried beneath our immense carns and in our cliff castles. No matter if the work be carried on by night or by day, they are sure to punish the rash person who ventures to dig in hopes of securing them. When he has got some way down, he finds himself surrounded by hundreds of ugly beings, in some cases almost as tall as he, who scare the unhappy man until he loses all control over himself, throws down his tools, and rushes off as fast as he can possibly go. The fright often makes him so ill that he has to lie for days in bed. Should he ever summon up courage to return to the spot, he will find the pit refilled, and no traces to show that the ground had been disturbed.
Knockers (pronounced knackers) are mine fairies, popularly supposed to be (as related elsewhere) the souls of the Jews who crucified Christ, sent by the Romans to work as slaves in the tin mines. In proof of this, they are said never to have been heard at work on Saturdays, nor other Jewish festivals. They are compelled to sing carols at Christmas time. Small pieces of smelted tin found in old smelting-works are known as “Jews’ bowels.” These fairies haunt none but the richest tin mines, and many are reputed to have been discovered by their singing and knocking underground; and miners think when they hear them that it is a sign of good luck, because when following their noises they often chance on lodes of good ore. When a miner goes into an “old level” and sees a bright light, it is a sure sign that he will find tin there. Knockers like spriggans are very ugly beings, and, if you do not treat them in a friendly spirit, very vindictive. “As stiff as Barker’s knee” is a common saying in Cornwall; he having in some way angered the knockers, either by speaking of them disrespectfully or by not leaving (as was formerly the custom) a bit of his dinner on the ground for them (for good luck), they in revenge threw all their tools in his lap, which lamed him for the rest of his life. Mr. Bottrell tells a similar story of a man named Tom Trevorrow, who when he was working underground heard the knockers just before him, and roughly told them “to be quiet and go.” Upon which, a shower of stones fell suddenly around him, and gave him a dreadful fright. He seems however to have quickly got over it, and soon after, when eating his dinner, a number of squeaking voices sang,
“Tom Trevorrow! Tom Trevorrow!
Leave some of thy ‘fuggan’[3] for bucca,
Or bad luck to thee to-morrow!”
But Tom took no notice and ate up every crumb, upon which the knockers changed their song to
“Tommy Trevorrow! Tommy Trevorrow!
We’ll send thee bad luck to-morrow;
Thou old curmudgeon, to eat all thy fuggan,
And not leave a ‘didjan’[4] for bucca.”
After this such persistent ill-luck followed him that he was obliged to leave the mine.
Bucca is the name of a spirit that in Cornwall it was once thought necessary to propitiate. Fishermen left a fish on the sands for bucca, and in the harvest a piece of bread at lunch-time was thrown over the left shoulder, and a few drops of beer spilled on the ground for him, to ensure good luck. Bucca, or bucca-boo, was, until very lately (and I expect in some places still is) the terror of children, who were often when crying told “that if they did not stop he would come and carry them off.” It was also the name of a ghost; but now-a-days to call a person a “great bucca” simply implies that you think him a fool. There were two buccas—
“ ‘Bucca Gwidden,’ the white, or good spirit,
‘Bucca Dhu,’ the black, malevolent one.”
[1] The word Meryons is also used in Cornwall as a term of endearment, “She’s faather’s little Meryon.” [↑]
[2] See ante, “Cornish Feasts and Feasten Customs.” [↑]
[3] Fuggan, a cake made of flour and raisins often eaten by miners for dinner. [↑]
SUPERSTITIONS:
Miners’, Sailors’, Farmers’.
Although Cornish miners, or “tinners” as they are generally called, are a very intelligent, and since the days of Wesley a religious body of men, many of their old-world beliefs still linger. To this day it is considered unlucky to make the form of a cross on the sides of a mine, and when underground you may on no account whistle for fear of vexing the knockers and bringing ill-luck, but you may sing or even swear[1] without producing any bad effect. Down one mine-shaft a black goat is often seen to descend, but is never met below; in another mine a white rabbit forebodes an accident.
“The occurrence of a black cat in the lowest depths of a mine will warn the older miners off that level until the cat is exterminated.”—Thomas Cornish, Western Antiquary, October, 1887.
A hand clasping the ladder and coming down with, or after a miner, foretells misfortune or death. This superstition prevails, also, in the slate quarries of the eastern part of the county.
The miners in the slate quarries of Delabole have a tradition that the right hand of a miner, who committed suicide, is sometimes seen following them down the ladders, grasping the rings as they let them go, holding a miner’s light between the thumb and finger. It forebodes ill to the seer.—Esmè Stuart. See “Tamsin’s Choice,” Longman, June, 1883.
Miners, too, had some superstition in regard to snails, known in Cornwall as “bullhorns;” for if they met one on their way to work they always dropped a bit of their dinner or some grease from their lanthorn before him for good-luck.
Miraculous dreams are related; warnings to some miners, which have prevented on particular days their going down below with their comrades, when serious accidents have happened and several have lost their lives. Rich lodes, too, have been discovered through the dreams of fortunate women, who have been shown in them where their male relatives should dig for the hidden treasure.
“ ‘Dowsing’ (divining with the rod) is of course believed in here as elsewhere, and some men are known as noted ‘dowsers.’ A forked twig of hazel (also called a ‘dowser’) is used by our Cornish miners to discover a vein of ore; it is held loosely in the hand, the point towards the ‘dowser’s’ breast, and it is said to turn round when the holder is standing over metal.”
Miners still observe some quaint old customs; a horse-shoe is sometimes placed on a convenient part of the machinery, which each, as he goes down to his day’s work, touches four times to ensure good-luck. These must be “Tributers” (pronounced trib-ut-ers), who work on “trib-ut,” when a percentage is paid on ores raised; in contradistinction to “Tut-workers,” who are paid by the job.
A miner, going underground with shoes on, will drive all the mineral out of the mine.—Cornubiana, Rev. S. Rundle.
In 1886, at St. Just in Penwith two men of Wheal Drea had their hats burnt one Monday morning, after the birth of their first children.
Three hundred fathoms below the ground at Cook’s Kitchen mine, near Camborne, swarms of flies may be heard buzzing, called by the men, for some unknown reason, “Mother Margarets.” From being bred in the dark, they have a great dislike to light.
Swallows in olden times were thought to spend the winter in deep, old disused Cornish tin-works; also in the sheltered nooks of its cliffs and cairns. It is the custom here to jump on seeing the first in spring.
A water-wagtail, in Cornwall a “tinner,” perching on a window-sill, is the sign of a visit from a stranger.
Carew says—“The Cornish tynners hold a strong imagination, that in the withdrawing of Noah’s floud to the sea the same took his course from east to west, violently breaking vp, and forcibly carrying with it the earth, trees, and rocks, which lay anything loosely neere the vpper face of the ground. To confirme the likelihood of which supposed truth, they doe many times digge vp whole and huge timber-trees, which they conceiue at that deluge to haue been ouerturned and whelmed.”
Miners frequently in conversation make use of technical proverbs, such as “Capel rides a good horse.” Capel is schorl, and indicates the presence of tin. “It’s a wise man that knows tin” alludes to the various forms it takes. To an old tune they sing the words—
“Here’s to the devil, with his wooden spade and shovel,
Digging tin by the bushel, with his tail cocked up.”
And on the signboard of a public-house in West Cornwall a few years ago (and probably still) might be read—
“Come all good Cornish boys[2] walk in,
Here’s brandy, rum, and shrub, and gin;
You can’t do less than drink success
To copper, fish, and tin.”
Miners believe that mundic (iron pyrites) being applied to a wound immediately cures it; of which they are so sure that they use no other remedy than washing it in the water that runs through the mundic ore.—A Complete History of Cornwall, 1730.
It is an easy transition from mines to fish, the next staple industry of Cornwall, and to the superstitions of its fishermen and sailors. Fish is a word in West Cornwall applied more particularly to pilchards (pelchurs). They frequent our coasts in autumn.
“When the corn is in the shock,
Then the fish are on the rock.”
And if on a close foggy day in that season you ask the question,—“Do you think it will rain?” the answer often is—“No! it is only het (heat) and pelchurs,” that sort of weather being favourable for catching them.
“A good year for fleas is a good year for fish,” the proverb says; and when eating a pilchard the flesh must be always taken off the bone from the tail to the head. To eat them from head to tail is unlucky, and would soon drive the fish from the shore. There are many other wise sayings about pilchards; but I will only give one more couplet, which declares that—
“They are food, money, and light,
All in one night.”[3]
Should pilchards when in bulk[4] make a squeaking noise, they are crying for more, and another shoal will quickly be in the bay.
Fishermen dread going near the spot where vessels have been wrecked, as the voices of the drowned often call to them there, especially before a storm. Sometimes their dead comrades call them by their names, and then they know for certain that they will soon die; and often when drowning the ghosts of their friends appear to them. They are seen by them sometimes taking the form of animals.
Mr. Bottrell speaks of a farmer’s wife who was warned of her son’s death by the milk in the pans ranged round her dairy being agitated like the sea waves in a storm. There is a legend common to many districts of a wrecker who rushed into the sea and perished, after a voice had been heard to call thrice, “The hour is come, but not the man.” He was carried off by the devil in a phantom ship seen in the offing. But ships haunted with seamen’s ghosts are rarely lost, as the spirits give the sailors warning of storms and other dangers.
In a churchyard near the Land’s End is the grave of a drowned captain, covered by a flat tombstone; proceeding from it formerly the sound of a ghostly bell was often heard to strike four and eight bells. The tale goes that when his vessel struck on some rocks close to the shore, the captain saw all his men safely off in their boat, but refused himself to leave the ship, and went down in her exactly at midnight, as he was striking the time. His body was recovered, and given decent burial, but his poor soul had no rest. An unbelieving sailor once went out of curiosity to try if he could hear this bell; he did, and soon after sailed on a voyage from which he never returned.
Spectre ships are seen before wrecks; they are generally shrouded in mist; but the crew of one was said to consist of two men, a woman, and a dog. These ships vanish at some well-known point. Jack Harry’s lights, too, herald a storm; they are so called from the man who first saw them. These appear on a phantom vessel resembling the one that will be lost.
On boarding a derelict, should a live cat or other animal be found, it is thrown into the sea and drowned, under the idea that if any living thing is in her, the finders can claim nothing from the owners. In fact she is not a derelict.
The apparition of a lady carrying a lanthorn always on one part of the Cornish coast[5] foretells a storm and shipwrecks. She is supposed to be searching for her child who was drowned, whilst she was saved, because she was afraid to trust it out of her arms. For the legends of “The Lady of the Vow” and “The Hooper or Hooter of Sennen Cove,” see ante, p. 71.[6] Mermaids are still believed in, and it is very bad to offend them, for by their spite harbours have been filled up with sand. They, however, kindly take idiot children under their protection. The lucky finder of one of their combs or glasses has the power (as long as it remains in his possession) of charming away diseases.
Boats are said to come to a sudden standstill when over the spot where lies the body of a drowned man, for whom search is being made. The body is supposed to rise when drowned, on the seventh, eighth, or ninth day. Sailors regard many things as bad omens, such “as a loaf of bread turned upside-down on a table.” (This will bring some ship to distress.) They will not begin a voyage on Childermas-day, nor allow a piece of spar-stone (quartz) to be carried on board a vessel: that would ensure her striking on a rock. Of course, they neither whistle when there, nor speak of hares, two most unlucky things; and should they meet one of these animals on their way to the place of embarkation they think it far wiser to turn back home, and put off sailing for a tide. Hares (as already noticed) play a great part in Cornish folk-lore. The following amusing story I had from a friend:—“Jimmy Treglown, a noted poacher living in a village of West Cornwall, became converted at a revival meeting; he was tempted on his way to class-meeting one Sunday morning soon after by the devil in the form of a beautiful hare. Jimmy said, ‘There thee art, my dear; but I waan’t tooch thee on a Sunday—nor yet on a weeky day, for that matter.’ He went briskly on his way for a few paces, and then, like Lot’s wife, he was tempted to look behind him. Alas! in Jimmy’s own words, ‘There she was in her seat, looking lovely. I tooked up a stone, and dabbed at her. Away she runned, and fare-ee well, religion. Mine runned away with her. I went home, and never went to class no more.[7] You see it was the devil, and ‘simmen to me’ (seeming) I heard ’un laugh and say, ‘Ah! ah! Jimmy, boy, I had thee on the hip then. Thee must confess thee’st had a fair fall.’ So I gave in, and never went nigh the ‘people’ (Wesleyans) no more. Nobody should fire at hares of this sort, except with a silver bullet; they often appear as white, but the devil knowed I couldn’t be fooled with a white ’un.’ ” Nothing is too ridiculous to be told of hares. Another old man from St. Just (still living) once recited this anecdote in our kitchen, and from his grave manner evidently expected it to be believed:—“I was out walking (he said) one Sunday morning, when I saw a hare in a field which I longed to have; so I shied a bit of ‘codgy wax’ (cobbler’s wax), the only thing I had in my pocket, at ’un, when he ran away. What was my surprise on getting over a stile to see two hares in the next field face to face, the ‘codgy wax’ had stuck to the nose of the first, and he in his fright had runned against the other, and was holden ’un fast, too. So I quietly broke the necks of both, and carried em home.”
“The grapes are sour” is in Cornwall often changed to “Lev-un go! he’s dry eaten after all,” as the old man said when he couldn’t catch the hare.
Sailors and fishermen have naturally many weather proverbs, of which I will give a few:—
“A north wind is a broom for the Channel.”
“A Saturday’s moon is a sailor’s curse.”
“A Saturday’s and Sunday’s moon
Comes once in seven years too soon.”
“Between twelve and two you’ll see what the day will do.”
“A southerly wind with a fog bring an easterly wind in ‘snog’ (with certainty).”
“Friday’s noon is Sunday’s doom.”
“Friday and the week are never alike.”
“There’s never a Saturday in the year
But what the sun it doth appear,” etc.
“Weather dogs” are pillars of light coloured like the rainbow, which appear on the horizon generally over the sea in unsettled weather, and always foretell storms. The inland dwellers of Cornwall have also their wise sayings on this subject. Rooks darting around a rookery, sparrows twittering, donkeys braying, are signs of rain. Cats running wildly about a house are said to bring storms on their tails. Some of their omens are simply ludicrous, such as “We may look for wet when a cat, in washing its face, puts its paw over its ear,” or when “hurlers” (small sparks) play about the bars of a grate. A cock crowing on a stone is a sign of fine weather; on the doorstep, of a stranger. But here it is well known “That fools are weather-wise,” and “That those that are weather-wise are rarely otherwise.”
In West Cornwall, not very long ago farmers, before they began to break up a grass field or plough for sowing, always turned the faces of the cattle attached to the plough towards the west and solemnly said, “In the name of God let us begin,” and then with the sun’s course proceeded on their work. Everything in this county, even down to such a small thing as taking the cream off the milk-pans set round the dairy, must for luck be done from left to right. Invalids, on going out for the first time after an illness, must walk with, not against, the sun, for fear of a relapse.
Farmers here are taught that if they wish to thrive they must “rise with the craw (crow), go to bed with the yow (ewe),” not be “like Solomon the wise, who was loth to go to bed and loth to rise,” for does not “the master’s eye make the mare fat?” “A February spring,” according to one proverb, “is not worth a pin,” and another says “a dry east wind raises the spring.” Sayings current in other counties, such as “a peck of March dust is worth a king’s ransom,” are also quoted, but those I shall not give. There should be as many frosty mornings in May as in March, for “a hot May makes a fat church-hay.” A wet June makes a dry September. “Cornwall will stand a shower every day, and two for Sundays.” There is always a black month before Christmas. The farmer too is told—
“A rainbow in the morn, put your hook in the corn;
A rainbow in the eve, put your hook in the sheave.”
In Cornwall, as well as in Devon, there is an old prophecy quoted to the effect, that “in the latter days there will be no difference between summer and winter, save in the length of the days and the greenness of the leaf.” It is erroneously asserted to be in the Bible.—Cornubiana, Rev. S. Rundle, Transactions Penzance Natural History Society, etc., 1885–1886.
“Countrymen in Cornwall, if the breeze fail whilst they are winnowing, whistle to the spriggan, or air spirit, to bring it back.”—Comparative Folk-lore, Cornhill, 1876.
A swarm of bees in May is worth a “yow” (ewe) and lamb same day. It is considered lucky in these parts for a stray swarm to settle near your house; and if you throw a handkerchief over it you may claim it as your own. To sell them is unlucky; but you may have an understanding with a purchaser that he will give you an equivalent for your bees. The inside of hives should be rubbed with “scawnsy buds” (elderflowers) to prevent a new swarm from leaving them. Honey should be always taken from the hive on St. Bartholomew’s Day, he being the patron saint of bees. Of course all the principal events happening in the families to whom they belonged, in this as in other counties, were formerly whispered to them, that the bees might not think themselves neglected, and leave the place in anger. At a recent meeting of the Penzance Natural History and Antiquarian Society a gentleman mentioned that when a boy he had seen thirty hives belonging to Mr. Joshua Fox, of Tregedna, tied up in crape (an universal practice) because of a death in the Fox family. Another at the same time said that when, some years since, the landlady of the “First and Last” Inn, at the Land’s End, died, the bird-cages and flower-pots were also tied with crape, to prevent the birds and plants from dying. When withering, because this has not been done, if the plants be remembered in time and crape put on the pots, they may revive. Enquiring a short time ago what had become of a fine maiden-hair fern that we had had for years, I was told “that we had neglected to put it into mourning when a near relative of our’s had died, or to tell it of his death; and therefore it had gradually pined away.” After a death, pictures, but especially portraits of the deceased, are also supposed to fade. Snails as well as bees are thought here to bring luck, for “the house is blest where snails do rest.” Children on meeting them in their path, for some reason stamp their feet and say,
“Snail! snail! come out of your hole,
Or I will beat you black as a coal.”
Another Cornish farmers’ superstition is that “ducks won’t lay until they have drunk ‘Lide’ (March) water;” and the wife of one in 1880 declared “that if a goose saw a Lent lily (daffodil) before hatching its goslings it would, when they came forth, destroy them.” Some witty thieves, many years ago, having stolen twelve geese from a clergyman in the eastern part of the county, tied twelve pennies and this doggerel around the gander’s neck—
“Parson Peard, be not afeard,
Nor take it much in anger,
We’ve bought your geese at a penny a-piece,
And left the money with the gander.”
Hens must never be put to sit on an even number of eggs, eleven or thirteen are lucky numbers; Basilisks are hatched from cock’s eggs.
When cocks crow children are told that they say,
“Cock-a-doodle-doo!
Grammer’s lost her shoe,
Down by the barley moo (mow),
And what will grammer do,
Cock-a-doodle-doo.”
Moles in this county are known as “wants,” and once in the Land’s End district I overtook an old man and asked him what had made so many hillocks in a field through which we were passing. His answer was, “What you rich people never have in your houses, ‘wants.’ ”
To this day in Cornwall, when anything unforeseen happens to our small farmers, or they have the misfortune to lose by sickness some of their stock, they still think that they are “ill-wished,” and start off (often on long journeys) to consult a “pellar,” or wise man, sometimes called “a white witch” (which term is here used indiscriminately for persons of both sexes). The following I had from a dairy-man I know, who about twelve years ago quarrelled with a domestic servant, a woman living in a neighbouring house. Soon after, from some reason, two or three of his cows died; he was quite sure, he told me, that she had “overlooked” and “ill-wished” him. To ease his mind he had consulted a “pellar” about the matter, who had described her accurately to him, and, for payment, removed the “spell” (I do not know what rites were used), telling him to look at his watch and note the hour, as he would find, when he returned home, that a cow he had left sick would have begun at that moment to recover (which he says it did). The “pellar” also added, “The woman who has ‘ill-wished’ you will be swaddled in fire and lapped in water;” and by a strange coincidence she emigrated soon after, and was lost in the ill-fated Cospatrick, that was burnt at sea.
Water from a font is often stolen to sprinkle “ill-wished” persons or things.
The two next examples were communicated to me by a friend: “Some twenty-six years ago a farmer in a neighbouring village (West Cornwall) sustained during one season continual losses from his cows dying of indigestion, known as ‘loss of cud,’ ‘hoven-blown,’ etc. After consulting an old farrier called Armstrong he was induced to go to a ‘pellar’ in Exeter. His orders were to go home, and, on nearing his farm, he would see an old woman in a field hoeing turnips, and that she was the party who had cast the ‘evil eye’ on him. When he saw her he was to lay hold of her and accuse her of the crime, then tear off some of her dress, take it to his farm, and burn it with some of the hair from the tails of his surviving stock. These directions were fully carried out, and his bad health (caused by worry) improved, and he lost no more cows. A spotted clover that grew luxuriantly that summer was no doubt the cause of the swelling.” “Another farmer in the same village eighteen years since lost all his feeding cattle from pleuro-pneumonia; believing them to be ‘ill-wished’ by a woman, he also consulted the Exeter ‘pellar.’ He brought home some bottles of elixir, potent against magic, and made an image of dough, pierced it from the nape of the neck downward, in the line of the spine, with a very large blanket-pin. In order to make the agonies of the woman with the ‘evil eye’ excruciating in the last degree, dough and pin were then burnt in a fire of hazel and ash. The cure failed, as anyone acquainted with the disease might have forecast.”
Besides those remedies already mentioned for curing cattle, you may employ these:—“Take some blood from the sick animal by wounding him; let the blood fall on some straw carefully held to the place—not a drop must be lost; burn the straw; when the ill-wisher will be irresistibly drawn to the spot; then by violence you can compel him to take off the spell.” Or, “Bleed one animal to death to save the whole herd.”
A local newspaper, in 1883 (Cornishman), gives the following:—“Superstitions die hard.—A horse died the other day on a farm in the neighbourhood of St. Ives. Its carcase was dragged on a Sunday away up to the granite rock basins and weather-worn bosses of Trecoben hill, and there burnt, in order to drive away the evil spell, or ill-wishing, which afflicted the farm where the animal belonged.” I, a few years since, saw a dying cat taken out of a house on a mat, by two servants, that it might not die inside and bring ill-luck. “In 1865 a farmer in Portreath sacrificed a calf, by burning, for the purpose of removing a disease which had long followed his horses and cows.” And in another case a farmer burnt a living lamb, to save, as he said, “his flock from spells which had been cast on them.”—Robert Hunt.
The Cornishman, in another paragraph, says:—“Our Summercourt (East Cornwall) correspondent witnessed an amusing affair on Thursday morning (April, 1883). Seeing a crowd in the street, he asked the reason, and found that a young lady was about to perform the feat of throwing a pig’s nose over a house for good luck! This is how it was done. The lady took the nose of a pig, that was killed the day before, in her right hand, stood with her back to the house, and threw the nose over her head, and over the house, into the back garden. Had she failed in the attempt her luck was supposed to be bad.” “Whet your knife on Sunday, you’ll skin on Monday,” is a very old Perranuthnoe and St. Hilary (West Cornwall) superstition, so that, however blunt your knife may be, you must use it as it is, lest by sharpening it you bring ill-luck on the farmer, and he lose a sheep or bullock. Mr. T. Q. Couch, W. Antiquary, 1883, says of one, “He is an old-fashioned man, and, amongst his other ‘whiddles’ (whims), keeps a goat amongst his cattle for the sake of keeping his cows from slipping their calves.” Branches of care (mountain ash) were, in the east of the county, hung over the cattle in their stalls to prevent their being “ill-wished,” also carried in the pocket as a cure and prevention of rheumatism. “Rheumatism will attack the man who carries a walking stick made of holly.”—Cornubiana, Rev. S. Rundle.
The belief in witchcraft in West Cornwall is much more general than most people imagine. Several cases have lately come under my own notice; one, that of a man-servant in our employ who broke a blood-vessel, and for a long time was so ill that his life was despaired of. He was most carefully attended by a Penzance physician, who came to see him three times a day. But directly that his strength began to return he asked permission to go to Redruth to consult a “pellar,” as he was quite sure that he had been “overlooked” and “ill-wished.” An old Penzance man, afflicted with rheumatism, who gained his living by selling fruit in the streets, fancied himself ill-wished. He went to Helston to see a “wiseman” residing there, to whom he paid seven-and-sixpence, with a further promise of five pounds on the removal of the “spell.” As he was too poor to pay this himself a brother agreed to do it for him, but somehow failed to perform his contract. Now the poor old man thinks that the pellar’s ill-wishes are added to his former pains.
The “pellars” wore formerly magical rings, with a blue stone in them, said to have been formed by snakes breathing on hazel-twigs. Our country-people often searched for these stones.
[1] Some say you must neither whistle nor swear, but you may sing and laugh. [↑]
[2] All men are boys in Cornwall. [↑]
[3] Train-oil is expressed from them. [↑]
[4] To “bulk” pilchards is to place them, after they have been rubbed with salt, in large regular heaps, alternately heads and tails. [↑]
[6] And “Cornish Feasts and Customs.” [↑]
[7] The illiterate Cornish often double their negatives: “I don’t know, not I;” “I’ll never do it, no, never no more.” [↑]
