Legends of St. Levan
They had their lodges in the wilderness,
Or built them cells beside the shadowy sea,
And there they dwelt with angels, like a dream!
Rev. R. S. Hawker.
St. Levan and His Sister
An old habitation, in which, according to tradition, St. Levan dwelt, is still standing. This humble dwelling, situated in Bodellan, is on the eastern side of Parcurno Bottom, near its upper part within a hundred yards of the road, towards which stands the end that contains its sole fire-place. The hearth-stone may still be there, much as it was when St. Levan’s sister, the good midwife, St. Breage, cooked on it the fatal chads which choked her children.
The story says that good old St. Levan was one evening down fishing from his accustomed place in Rospeltha cliff—still called Old St. Levan’s Rocks. He cast in his hook-and-line, intending to take one fish only for his supper, from the multitude that always came around the rock on which he stood as soon as he cast in “browse” (garbage to attract fish). Contrary to St. Levan’s wish, two chads, or young breams, fastened on his hook at the same time, and not to show favour to either he threw both of them into the sea again. And no sooner was his hook-and-line in the waves a second time than the same chads, or two others, hooked themselves together again, and were again restored to the sea. For the third time he cast in his line; and, seeing two fishes on his hook again, he regarded this occurrence as a providential intimation that he was to take them both home, and acted accordingly. When he came to Bodellan he found that his sister, St. Breage, had just arrived with two children. The chads were boiled for supper, and St. Breage’s hungry children, being careless of bones, got choked, and remembrance of this event is handed down in St. Levan’s parish by chads being there called “chuck-cheeld” to this day.
Some thirty-five years ago the writer often noticed, on a bench-end in St. Levan church, near the belfry door, a panel, or shield, on which two fishes, with their heads touching each other, were carved in bold relief. The fishes were much like chads, or young breams, in outline, and the foregoing legend might have suggested this design, or the device have originated the story. It is to be feared that this bench-end, and much more tastefully-designed and boldly-wrought carving, disappeared before the Rev. C. C. Anstey came to preserve and restore the interesting remains of this once beautiful church. Loads of as fine carved work, and no more decayed than what remains, were, from thirty or forty years since, carried off by the carpenters, who were, every now and then, employed to demolish the curious old oak benches, and to replace them with painted deal boxes, in many variations of ugliness.
It is said that the path which St. Levan took across Rospeltha fields to his accustomed fishing-place, may still be traced by the ground his holy footsteps trod bearing finer grain when in corn, and by the grass being greener when in pasture than in other parts of the fields.
Johanna’s Garden
St. Levan road passed by a small enclosure in Rospeltha, called Johanna’s Garden, (at least it retained that name a few years ago when the writer knew it well).
One Sunday morning the holy hermit, going down to cliff to get a fish for his dinner, in passing by this garden saw a woman called Johanna gathering pot-herbs. St. Levan rested the end of his rocking-rod on the ground, stopped, and gave her a kindly greeting. But she, looking over the hedge, exclaimed, “Oh sinful man that you are, for going a fishing of a Sunday! Whatever can ’e think will become of ’e?”
“Self-righteous hypocrite that thou art,” answered the saint, “in looking for other people’s faults thou canst not behold thine own. Think not that thou—with thy fingers spread out and thy eyes turned up—art better than others, for a more strict or a more lazy observance of Sunday. And tell me,” he continued, “sharp as thou art to mark others’ faults, and blind as thou art to thine own, wherefore should it be a sin for me to take my daily fish from the sea any more than for thee to gather herbs from thy garden?”
St. Levan said much more, but all in vain were his endeavours to bring the woman to reason, for, in spite of all he could say, she would still have the last word and contend that there was more sin in catching fish than in picking greens of a Sunday.
At last the good man being provoked by her obstinacy, pretended piety, and conceited clack, raised his hand and cursed her, saying, “From this time, for ever, thou shalt be known, if known at all, as the Foolish Johanna! And thy garden shall ever continue, as now, to bear more hemlock and nettles than leeks and lentils. Moreover,” he continued, “mark this—To make thy remembrance the more accursed for all time to come, if any child by thy name be baptised in the waters of Parchapel Well it shall become a fool like thyself and bad luck follow it.”
Down to very recent times, so great was the fear of old St. Levan’s curse that anyone in this parish desirous of having a child named Johanna took it to Sennen to be christened.
It may be remarked that, until the roof fell into St. Levan’s Well, and it became choked up, the sexton always kept it clean and fetched water thence for the baptismal office.
We don’t know what state “Johanna’s Garden” is now in, but some thirty years ago it always bore more weeds than pot-herbs.
These simple traditions—thus handed down and kept alive by St. Levan people, who believed them to be literally true—mark a lingering veneration for the holy fisherman who, in this secluded place, led his tranquil life.
The St. Levan Stone
In St. Levan Churchyard is a cloven rock called St. Levan’s stone. For some reason, now unknown, this must have been a venerated object when the church was built, or it would have been used in the building. The common notion, however, is that long before St. Levan’s time this rock was regarded as sacred, because Merlin prophecied—
“When, with panniers astride,
A pack-horse one can ride
Through St. Levan stone,
The world will be done.”
It is stated that Merlin came here with King Arthur, when he slaughtered the Danes at the battle of Velan-druchar. The separation of this prophetic stone is so slow that there appears to be no danger of the world’s ending just yet.
Parchapel Well
To find the Saint’s Well one should take a pathway bearing westward, from a little below the church, and which leads over Roskestal cliff to Pargwarra (we spell all names as the inhabitants pronounce them). After crossing the brook and mounting a hedge keep straight towards the sea, and on a pretty level spot the ruined walls of St. Levan’s baptistry will be found, as also some traces of rude steps on a pathway that connected this holy fount with an ancient chapel and burying-ground which stood on ground so near the precipice that little, if any, of its site now remains. We have heard old folks of St. Levan (who were born there more than a century ago) say that in their younger days Parchapel Well, as they always called it, was, twice a year, regularly cleaned out and repaired, and the ground, for a good space around, as well as the steps, cleared of weeds, swept, and sanded. The first week of May being a time of general well-dressing, Parchapel Well was never neglected then, and it was also cleaned up against the feasten tide, when many christenings usually took place.
Old folks also spoke of another time-honoured observance in which the Saint’s Well was shown due respect. Until within half a century or so, it was a custom on Christmas-eve for carol singers belonging to the higher side hamlets to assemble in Sowah town-place round a large flat table-like rock called the Garrack Zans (holy rock). Here they would commence singing, and proceed to Roskestal, where at another Garrack Zans in that town-place they would be joined by others, and all would thence go singing down to Parchapel Well, where they would meet with many singers from Treen and other lower-side places. At the Well many an old carol would be chanted. One was never forgotten, in which, according to our West Country version, Holy Mary says to her dear child:—
“Go thee wayst out, child Jesus;
Go thee wayst out to play
Down by God’s holy well.
I see three pretty chelderen
As ever tongue can tell.”
This, for its sweet simplicity, is still a favourite in the west.
The rude steps, which may yet be traced (though almost overgrown by rushes and other water-plants) will be regarded with interest, as we learn from St. Levan traditions that great sinners did penance by crawling over these rough stones on their bare knees, and that the devout who desired or aspired to acquire extraordinary grace, or indulgence, scrambled up all the way on bare knees from chapel-door to holy fount.
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