On a green knoll in the centre of the intersection of the roads from Helston to the Lizard, and Mawgan to Cury, flourished an ash-tree of magnificent dimensions. The peculiarity of its position, together with its unusual size, in the midst of a district singularly destitute of trees, rendered it famous throughout the surrounding neighbourhood; and in designating a special locality, reference was, and still continues to be, made to “Cury Great Tree,” as a position generally known. During the last fifty years the tree has been gradually decaying, and at present only a portion of the hollow trunk remains, which is rapidly disappearing. It stands about half way up a gentle rise facing the north; and in passing over the road, the country people speak of a dim tradition of a time when the “road ran with blood.” The occasion of this, which is almost forgotten, was a faction fight, on a large scale, between the men of the parishes of Wendron and Breage, happening about a hundred years since. A wreck took place near the Lizard, and the Wendron-men being nearest, were soon upon the spot to appropriate whatever flotsam and jetsam might come in their way. Returning laden with their spoils, they were encountered at the Great Tree by the Wendron-men bound on a similar errand, and a fight, as a matter of course, ensued, which was prolonged till the following day. The contest is said to have been a most terrible one, each party being armed with staves. The savage nature of the fight may be inferred from the following fact:—A Wendron-man named Gluyas, having been disabled, was put upon the top of the roadside hedge, out of the mêlée, when he was seen by a Breage termagant known as “Prudy the Wicked,” and by her quickly dragged into the road, “Prudy” exclaiming, “Ef thee artn’t ded, I make thee,” suiting the action to the word by striking Gluyas with her patten iron until he was dead. There is some account of Prudy’s having been taken before the “Justice,” but she does not appear to have been punished. These fights between parishes were so common in those days that any death occurring in the fray was quietly passed over as a thing of course, and soon forgotten. “So late as thirty years since it was unsafe to venture alone through the streets of the lower part of this town (Helston) after nightfall on a market-day, owing to the frays of the Breage, Wendron, and Sithney men.” So writes a friend residing in Helston.
TOWEDNACK CUCKOO FEAST.
The parish feast takes place on the nearest Sunday to the 28th of April.
It happened in very early times, when winters extended further into the spring than they now do, that one of the old inhabitants resolved to be jovial notwithstanding the inclemency of the season; so he invited all his neighbours, and to warm his house he placed on the burning faggots the stump of a tree. It began to blaze, and, inspired by the warmth and light, they began to sing and drink; when, lo, with a whiz and a whir, out flew a bird from a hollow in the stump, crying, Cuckoo! cuckoo! The bird was caught and kept by the farmer, and he and his friends resolved to renew the festal meeting every year at this date, and to call it their “cuckoo feast.” Previous to this event Towednack had no “feasten Sunday,” which made this parish a singular exception to the rule in Cornwall.
This feast is sometimes called “crowder” feast, because the fiddler formed a procession at the church door, and led the people through the village to some tune on his “crowd.”
THE DUKE OF RESTORMEL.
A very singular custom formerly prevailed at Lostwithiel, in Cornwall, on Easter Sunday. The freeholders of the town and manor having assembled together, either in person or by their deputies, one among them, each in his turn, gaily attired and gallantly mounted, with a sceptre in his hand, a crown on his head, and a sword borne before him, and respectfully attended by all the rest on horseback, rode through the principal street in solemn state to the church. At the churchyard stile, the curate, or other minister, approached to meet him in reverential pomp, and then conducted him to church to hear divine service. On leaving the church, he repaired, with the same pomp and retinue, to a house previously prepared for his reception. Here a feast, suited to the dignity he had assumed, awaited him and his suite; and, being placed at the head of the table, he was served, kneeling, with all the rites and ceremonies that a real prince might expect. This ceremony ended with the dinner; the prince being voluntarily disrobed, and descending from his momentary exaltation, to mix with common mortals. On the origin of this custom but one opinion can be reasonably entertained, though it may be difficult to trace the precise period of its commencement. It seems to have originated in the actual appearance of the prince, who resided at Restormel Castle in former ages; but, on the removal of royalty, this mimic grandeur stepped forth as its shadowy representative, and continued for many generations as a memorial to posterity of the princely magnificence with which Lostwithiel had formerly been honoured.[56]
This custom is now almost forgotten, and Lostwithiel has little to disturb its quiet.