A year or two later, however, Stratton told a different tale. Cornwall might in the main be Royalist, but all England was for a change in the government; and presently Lord Essex, driving Sir Richard Grenville—a brother of Sir Beville—before him, crossed the Tamar and stormed the house at Stowe. It was the beginning of evil days. In 1646 Hopton, the Royalist General, retired to Stratton with a broken, dispirited and, alas! disorderly army, and from thence Sir Thomas Fairfax drove him back across the pass at Wadebridge which Cromwell—it is the only mention of him in Cornish annals—was sent to secure.
The Battle of Lansdowne Hill
But by then Sir Beville was dead. After the—surely the name is ironical—battle of Stamford Hill, he and his victorious troops had marched to the King's aid. At the battle of Lansdowne, on the heights above Bath, Sir Beville, sorely wounded, was struck out of his saddle by a pole-axe. The pikemen he was leading fell into confusion, and in an instant the Parliamentarians were among them, hewing them down. Then did Anthony Payne, Sir Beville's giant retainer, come to the rescue. Catching his master's riderless horse, he set on it young John, a stripling of sixteen, Sir Beville's eldest son; and led him to the head of the wavering pikemen. The appeal was irresistible. The Cornish followed their beloved leader's son like men possessed; and so, while Sir Beville lay dying on the hillside, his regiment, led by his faithful servant and his young son, swept all before them.
One is glad to remember that at the Restoration when the family's confiscated estates were restored to them, young John, in memory of his own deeds and those of his greater father, was created Earl of Bath.
Tennyson at Bude
Bude with its wide sands and unsafe harbour is without historical associations, but it can be used, having hotels, as a centre from which to visit the more interesting towns (so-called, but they are no bigger than an ordinary village) and hamlets of the neighbourhood. Tennyson, when he had it in mind to write his Arthurian Idylls, came here—no doubt for local colour, though being a Victorian what he said was, "That he must go to Bude and be alone with God!" During his visit he rode out to Morwenstow to call on Mr. Hawker, and the less-known bard has left an interesting account of their interview.
"I found my guest … a tall, swarthy, Spanish-looking man with an eye like a sword. He sate down, and we conversed. I at once found myself with no common mind. … Before he left the room, he said: 'Do you know my name?'
"I said: 'No, I have not even a guess.'
"'Do you wish to know it?'
"'I don't much care—that which we call a rose, &c.'
"'Well, then,' said he, 'my name is Tennyson.'
"'What!' said I, 'the Tennyson?'
"'What do you mean by the Tennyson? I am Alfred Tennyson, who wrote "Locksley Hall," which you seem to know by heart.'
"So we grasped hands, and the Shepherd's heart was glad."
Churches of the Neighbourhood
With regard to certain old churches, St. Olaf's, at Poughill, has two rather crudely restored mural paintings and, set heavily in the south door, what is reputed to be one of the few genuine sanctuary rings still in existence. The church at Marhamchurch also shows the remains of frescoes, while Stratton has a fine stoup, and in the north wall of the chancel an Easter sepulchre, probably the only one in the county. That of Swithin—dear apple saint—at Launcells, has a circular font reputed to date from Saxon times, and the fifteenth century bench-ends, though rudely carved, show a play of symbolic fancy, unusual in Cornwall. On one you see the visit of Mary when she mistook the gardener for Christ, Mary being represented by a spice-box, the gardener by a spade! On another the Harrowing of Hell is represented by the jaws of a dragon, and so with the various subjects. An empty grave and cross triumphant tells the story of the resurrection, while the supper at Emmaus, though faithfully suggested, is given without the introduction of a single human figure. It is all symbolism—riddles which are interesting to guess, but not always easy.
Week St. Mary
Some five miles or so south of Marhamchurch lies Week St. Mary, about a native of which village a sort of Dick Whittington story is told. In a field adjoining the churchyard the remains of extensive buildings can be traced, and these, once a chantry, were said to be due to the pious energy of Dame Thomasin Perceval. As a girl she herded geese on the common of Greenamore, until in the shape of a staid and, alas! already married merchant, the Prince came riding by. He spoke to the girl and found her as pleasant in discourse as to the eye. Without more ado, therefore, he took her away with him—and here, though propriety is preserved, the fairy-tale suddenly drops to unromantic fact—he took her to wait upon his wife! In course of time, however, that good lady died and the middle-aged Prince was free to marry his goose-girl.
After many years she returned as a rich widow to her native parish, and there spent the remnant of her days in a cheerful and rather bustling philanthropy, repairing anything in the way of churches, bridges, and roads that required attention, portioning the virtuous and hard working of her own sex and generally playing Lady Bountiful—or so it is said!
In the churchwardens' Accounts of Stratton under date 1513 we read:
"paid for my lady parcyvale ijs Meneday [i.e. day of prayer for her soul] to iiij preistes & for bred & ale 1s. 1d."
CHAPTER II
NOOKS AND CORNERS FROM WIDEMOUTH BAY TO ST. TEATH
The Headlands
The cliffs from Marsland Mouth to Trevose Head are fine, much finer than those on the better known south coast. The seas also are wilder, these shores seeming to suffer from fiercer onslaughts of the Atlantic. On a blustery day it is nothing to see the tortured waves break into a spray that is flung full forty feet into the air, while except in sheltered dips and coves—of which there are none too many in this part—neither tree nor shrub can live. This gives the headlands a barren look, the bold outlines are of grey boulders rather than vegetation, and behind them on the windy downs crouch the grey hamlets and solitary farms. For sheer beauty of crag and precipice, of mighty seas and broken slipped sea-front, there is nothing in the duchy that can compare with this piece of coast. Upon the great cliffs of Widemouth Bay, of which the name is sufficiently descriptive, follow Dizzard Point (500 ft.) with its landslip, Castle Point, so called from the circular earthwork on its summit, Pencarrow Head (400 ft.), between which and Cambeak (500 ft.) at the mouth of a wooded valley lies the lovely Crackington Cove and which brings us to the High Cliff with its sheer drop of 735 ft. This last is the highest in Cornwall, nearly double the height of the Dodman, that glory of the southern coast, while it is far higher than the Land's End and the Lizard. A little inland is yet higher ground, for Tresparret Down, a barren and desolate heath, is some 850 ft. above sea level!
Somewhat to the north of the High Cliff is St. Genys, the saint of which is said to have been one of three brothers, all of whom were beheaded. This particular brother is believed to have walked about afterwards, his head held under his arm, a proceeding which reminds us that "King Charles walked and talked, half an hour after his head was cut off!"
There is here an interesting example of an Elizabethan communion cup and paten cover, but it must be remembered that many cups of that date are older in material than in shape.