Queen Victoria, whose footsteps along the south of Cornwall can be traced by various brass plates, was delighted with it. "We went up the Truro, which is beautiful, winding between banks entirely wooded with stunted oak, and full of numberless creeks. The prettiest are King Harry's Ferry and a spot near Tregothnan (i.e., Feock), where there is a beautiful little boat-house."
The Stannary Courts
When Richard, King of the Romans, was created Earl of Cornwall, he, to encourage the working of the mines—which brought him revenue—granted the tinners a charter. By this, except in cases that might affect lands, life, or limb, they were exempt from all jurisdiction but that of the Stannary Courts. No laws were to be enacted but by the twenty-four stannators chosen from the four stannary districts; and there was no appeal from the Stannary Court, generally held at Truro, except to the Duke or Sovereign in Council. These laws were concerned with maintaining the purity of the tin, which was tested by cutting off a coign (corner) and stamping the freshly exposed surface. The towns privileged to perform this and collect the dues payable to the earldom (later duchy) were called "coinage towns." It is said that some of their laws were sufficiently grim, as for instance that which compelled an adulterator of tin to swallow three spoonfuls of the molten metal. The last Stannary Parliament was held at Truro in 1752, the courts being finally abolished in 1897.
Old Truro
Truro was the town in which many of the local gentry spent the winter. This custom of the counties, if it made for insularity rather than a cosmopolitan culture, has given many of our old market-places, round the square of which the commodious homes were built, an air of quiet dignity. The gentry themselves, old people at their cards and supper-parties, young people at their routs and balls, must have found it more enjoyable—all friends and neighbours and very often connections—than the present-day fashion of a dip into the whirlpool of London.
Truro is a cathedral city, with a brand new cathedral, which some have been found able to admire, but about which the note struck is generally apologetic. The old houses are empty, simplicity has become complexity, and the local gentry, those that are left, go up to town "for the season." Yet these changes have taken place within the memory of man, and there are those who can talk of the old state of affairs. Life was even more a matter of compromise then than now. People lived simply and did not exact a high standard of comfort. Not even in Boscawen Street was gas or water laid on, but in the midst thereof was a pump, and thither came the pretty serving lasses to fill their red earthenware pitchers. Monday then, as now, was washing day, and in one godly household of which I wot the maids went early to bed on a Sunday night that as soon as midnight struck they might go forth and bring in enough of the precious fluid to fill tubs and coppers against the morn. It was believed that otherwise what with the competition of all the other maids in Boscawen Street, they would not be able to obtain a sufficiency. In those days sanitary arrangements were of the simplest and healthiest description, and as for baths—well, there was the wooden tub, big, round, and two-handled, the wooden tub and Saturday night!
Foote and Lowry
In households such as this were born Foote, the comedian, in 1721, and Lowry, Cornwall's greatest poet, in 1867. Of the former we have the story that when a wealthy man gave him a very small glass of wine, at the same time boasting of its age and quality, he, glancing at it, remarked, "My lord, surely it is very little for its age?" Of Lowry we have no humorous stories. Cornwall has not produced many great men—some gallant soldiers; in Sir Humphrey Davy a man of science; the painter Opie; and in Lowry, as every one must acknowledge who has read "The Hundred Windows," a poet! It will be a distinct loss to the nation if, in the hurly-burly of modern life, the clear true note of this Cornish singer should be lost.