Stories and folk-lore of West Cornwall. Third Series

In Short

This collection serves as a preservation of the oral history, superstitions, and social customs of West Cornwall during the nineteenth century. Through a series of "drolls"—traditional tales told by local storytellers—the author captures the vanishing atmosphere of a region steeped in fairy lore, ghostly visitations, and the sturdy, often stubborn, character of its working people. It functions as both a literary archive and a portrait of a vanishing way of life, recording the specific dialect, beliefs, and social rhythms of a community that was rapidly changing under the pressures of modernization.

The Story

The narrative arc of the book is not a singular, linear progression, but rather a panoramic view of the Cornish soul, moving from the intimate, domestic sphere of feast days and village quarrels to the supernatural periphery of mines, barrows, and lonely moors. It begins with the somber context of its own creation, acknowledging the author’s failing health and the desperate need to capture these fading memories before they vanish entirely. The reader is then introduced to the "droll-tellers"—the local men and women who, through their storytelling, act as conduits for a history that exists outside of books, rooted instead in the shared memory of the parish.

The stories themselves are deeply grounded in the physical reality of the Cornish landscape. We encounter the "crony" who scolds her neighbor for pride and affectation, grounding the reader in the social friction of the time, and the champion wrestler Jackey, whose physical prowess is accompanied by a ghostly encounter that serves as both a moral lesson and a local legend. The narrative expands to include the "Feathered Fiend" and the spectral carouses at Kenegie, where spirits and restless shades of former squires disrupt the peace of the living. These hauntings are not portrayed as mere horrors; they are depicted as part of the fabric of daily life, often resolved not by exorcism, but by the pragmatic, sometimes weary, intervention of a local parson or a clever steward.

As the book progresses, the focus shifts to the "Hallantide" feasts and the seasonal rituals that defined the community. Through the experiences of characters like Dick Rastram, the reader learns of the importance of these gatherings, where feasting, storytelling, and the exchange of local news reinforced social bonds. The stories of the "small-people," the spriggans, and the "knockers" (the restless spirits of ancient tin miners) provide a bridge between the historical and the mythical. These entities are not merely background color; they represent the deep-time heritage of the land, from the ancient Druidic remains at Ding-Dong to the ruins of Chysauster.

The arc concludes with a reflection on the changing nature of the world. The host of the tales laments that the old, robust stories of adventure have been replaced by "mere quibbles" and that the world has grown too "learn’d and grand" for the fairies to remain. Yet, the final pages offer a sense of continuity. By recording the carols, the local dialect, and the specific, idiosyncratic memories of the inhabitants, the book manages to secure a space for these traditions. Even as the author’s own strength fades, the stories—the "pious exercises" of memory—are successfully passed down, ensuring that the ancient, rhythmic life of West Cornwall survives the transition into a new, more modern age.

How It Unfolds

The invocation of memory The introduction sets a tone of urgent preservation, framing the act of collecting these tales as a vital service to the history of the working class. It emphasizes that the true study of mankind lies in the customs and beliefs of the common people rather than the deeds of kings.

The domestic and the droll The middle sections anchor the reader in the sharp-tongued, colorful interactions of villagers, using authentic dialect to portray everyday pride and social rivalry. These mundane human dramas provide the grounding necessary to believe in the supernatural events that soon follow.

The spectral landscape The narrative moves into the countryside, populating the barrows and moors with ghosts of squires and miners. These hauntings are treated with a matter-of-fact tone, showing how the supernatural was woven into the physical geography of the Cornish west.

The cycle of the seasons Detailed accounts of feast days, market trips, and seasonal gatherings illustrate the social structure of the region. These sections highlight the resilience and joy of a population that found fulfillment in simple, communal traditions despite the harshness of their labor.

The fading of the tradition The final chapters address the erosion of these stories as modernization takes hold. A lingering sadness pervades the text as the author reflects on the loss of the old ways, yet concludes with the hopeful preservation of the songs and beliefs that defined a generation.

The People

Jackey, the champion wrestler, stands as the embodiment of local pride and physical vigor. His journey involves reconciling his own earthly strength with the unsettling reality of supernatural intervention, ultimately becoming a link between the mundane world of the village and the mysteries of the night.

Dick Rastram, the wandering almanac seller, serves as the primary witness to the social life of the region. His stubbornness and his penchant for argument reflect the character of the Cornish people, while his role as a messenger and news-bearer allows the author to weave disparate village stories into a cohesive whole.

The unnamed "host" and his guest, who recount the tales, act as the bridge between the reader and the tradition. They are the guardians of memory, ensuring that even as the "old droll-tellers" pass away, their stories remain audible. Through their dialogue, they provide the necessary context for understanding the cultural significance of the stories they tell.

The "Pusser" Hosking, though a figure from the past, represents the legacy of the region’s economic history. His mule-drivers and his own temperament serve as the foundation for the local proverbs and attitudes that define the community, showing how individual characters in Cornwall inevitably become the stuff of legend.

In Its Own Voice

Regarding the transient nature of the old ways:

“Our Cornish drolls are dead, each one. The fairies from their haunts have gone; There’s scarce a witch in all the land, The world has grown so learn’d and grand.”

Regarding the social friction found in the village:

“All the neighbours do say that of late, since thee hast had thy new rig out, from top to toe, thee art become so huffish and toit that they can’t venture to say ‘What cheer,’ or give thee the ‘time o’ day’.”

Regarding the endurance of ancient memory through song:

“These gay beings are the spirits of old inhabitants who dwelt—it may be thousands of years ago—in the ‘Crellas,’ at Chysauster.”

What It's Really About

At its core, this work is an argument for the dignity of common life. It posits that the "aspirations, thoughts and feelings of the working classes" are as worthy of historical record as the grand narratives of political history. The book explores the tension between the inevitability of change and the human desire for continuity. It asks how a culture maintains its identity when the physical landscape is altered and the old, oral methods of transmission—the droll-tellers and the singers—begin to fall silent. It is a meditation on memory, suggesting that the preservation of local stories is a necessary act of resistance against the homogenization of the modern world.

Why Read It Today

Readers who appreciate the texture of regional history and the haunting quality of folklore will find this book an essential, if challenging, companion. It provides a rare, unvarnished look at a nineteenth-century English culture that feels worlds away from the polite literary standards of the era. The dialect—thick with local idiom and archaic phrasing—requires patience, as do the occasional digressions into genealogical or architectural detail. However, those who persist will be rewarded with a profound sense of place. The book feels like a conversation held in a room where the hearth is dying down, full of warmth, wisdom, and a touch of melancholy for things that are slipping away. It does not shy away from the prejudices or the harsh living conditions of the time, providing an honest, sometimes jarring, snapshot of a community that defined itself against the loneliness of the land. What stays with the reader is the image of the "small-people" dancing on the barrows, a reminder of the unseen life that once animated the Cornish hills, and the realization that the act of storytelling is, and always has been, the primary way we keep our past alive.