Cornish Dialogue

As the Cornish dialogue peculiarly illustrates a description of literary composition which has no resemblance to that of any other county, I think it advisable to give one specimen:—

DIALOGUE BETWEEN MAL TRELOARE AND SAUNDRY KEMP.

’Twas Kendle teening, when jung Mal Treloare
Trudg’d hum from Bal, a bucken copper ore;
Her clathing hard and ruff, black was her eye,
Her face and arms like stuff from Cairn Kye.
Full butt she mit jung Saundry Kemp, who long
She had been token’d to, come from Ding Dong;
Hes jacket wet, his faace rud like his beard,
And through his squarded hat hes hair appeared.
She said, “Oh, Kemp, I thoft of thee well leer,
Thees naw that daay we wor to Bougheehere,
That daay with ale and cakes, at three o’clock,
Thees stuff’d me so, I jist neen crack’d me dock:
Jue said to me, ‘Thee mayst depend thee life,
I love thee, Mal, and thee shust be ma wife.’
And to ma semmen, tes good to lem ma naw
Whether the words were aal in jest or no.”
Saundry. Why, truly, Mal, I like a thing did zay,
That I wud have thee next Chewiden daay.
But zence that time I like a think ded hear
Thees went wi’ some one down, ‘I naw where;’
Now es that fitty, Mal? What dost think?
Mal. Od rot tha body, Saundry, who said so?
Now, faath and traath, I’ll naw afore I go;
Do lem me naw the Gossenbary dog.
Saundry. Why, then, Crull said jue wor down to Wheal Bog
With he and Tabban, and ded make some tricks
By dabben clay at jungsters making bricks;
Aand that from there jue went to Aafe-waye house,
Aand drink’t some leeker. Mal, now there’s down souse.
Aand jue to he, like a thing ded zay,
Jue wed have he, and I mait go away.
Mal. I tell the lubber so! I to Wheal Bog!
I’ll scatt his chacks, the emprent, saucy dog.
Now hire me, Saundry Kemp, now down and full,
Ef thee arten hastes, thee shust hire the whole.
Fust jue must naw, tes true as thee art there,
Aant Blanch and I went to Golsinny feer.
Who overtookt us in the doosty road,
In common hum but Crull, the cloppen toad.
Zes he to Aant, “What cheer? Aant Blanch, what cheer?
Jue makes good coose, suppose jue been to feer.”
“Why, hiss,” zes Aant, “ben there a pewer spur.
I wedn’t a gone ef nawed ed been so fur.
I bawft a pair of shods for Sarah’s cheeld.”
By this time, lock! we cum jist to the field.
We went to clemmer up the temberen style.
(Haw kept his eye upon me all the while.)
Zes hem to Aant, “Then whos es thees braa maide?
Come tha wayst long, dasent be afraid.”
Then mov’d my side, like a thing,
Aand pull’d my mantle, and just touch’d my ching,
“How arry, jung woman?” zes haw. “How dost do?”,
Zes I, “Jue saucy dog, what’s that to jue?
Keep off, jung lad, else thees have a slap.”
Then haw fooch’d some great big doat figs in me lap.
So I thoft, as haw had been so kind,
Haw might go by Aant Blanch, ef haw had a mind.
Aand so haw ded, aand tookt Aant Blanch’s arm.
“Araeh!” zes haw, “I dednt mane no harm.”
So then Aant Blanch and he ded talk and jest
Bout dabbing clay and bricks at Petran feast.
Saundry. Ahah then, Mal, ’twas there they dabbed the clay?
Mal. Plaase Father, Kemp, tes true wot I do saay.
And hire me now, pla-sure, haw dedent budge
From Aanty’s arm till jest this side Long Brudge.
Aand then zes he to Aant, “Shall we go in
To Aafe-way house, and have a dram of gin
And trickle mixt? Depend ol do es good,
Taake up the sweat, and set to rights the blud.”
So Aant did saay, “Such things she dedn’t chuse,”
And squeezed my hand, aand loike a thing refuse.
So when we pass’d along by Wheal Bog moor,
Haw jumpt behind, and pok’t es in the door.
Haw caal’d for gin, aand brandy too, I think.
He clunk’d the brandy, we the gin did drink.
So when haw wish’d good night, as es the caase,
Haw kiss’t Aant Blanch, and jist neen touched my face.
Now, Saundry Kemp, there’s nothing shure in this,
To my moinde, then, that thee shust take amiss.
Saundry. No, fath, then Mal, ef this is all aand true,
I had a done the same ef I was jue.
Mal. Next time in any house I see or near am,
I’ll down upon the plancheon, rat am, tear am,
Aand I will so poaw am.
Saundry. Our Kappen’s there, just by thickey bush.
Hush! now Mally, hush!
Aand as hes here, so close upon the way,
I wedent wish haw nawed what we did zay,
And jett I dedent care, now fath and soul,
Ef so be our Kappen wor to hire the whole.
How arry Kappen? Where be going so fast?
Jure goin’ hum, suppose, jure in sich haste.
Kappen. Who’s that than? Saundry, arten thee ashamed
To coosy so again? Thee wust be blamed
Ef thees stay here all night to prate wi’ Mal!
When tes thy cour, thee wusten come to Bal.
Aand thee art a Cobbe, I tell thee so.
I’ll tell the owners ef thee dosent go.
Saundry. Why, harkee, Kappen, doant skoal poor I.
Touch pipe a crum, jue’ll naw the reason why.
Cozen Mal aand I ben courtain bout afe a year.
Hould up tha head, Mal; don’t be ashamed, dost hire?
Aand Crull one day made grief ’tween I and she;
But he shall smart for it now, I swear by G——.
Haw told me lies, as round as any cup.
Now Mal and I have mit, we’ve made it up;
So, Kappen, that’s the way I stopt, I vow.
Kappen. Ahah! I dedent giss the case jist now.
But what dost think of that last batch of ore?
Saundry. Why pewer and keenly gossen, Kappen, shure
I bleeve that day, ef Frankey’s pair wornt drunk,
We shud had pewer stuff too from the sump.
But there, tes all good time, as people saay,
The flooken now, aint throw’d es far away;
So hope to have bra tummells soon to grass.
How did laast batch down to Jandower pass?
Kappen. Why, hang thy body, Saundry, speed, I saay,
Thees keep thy clacker going till tes day.
Go speak to Mally now, jue foolish toad.
I wish both well, I’ll keep my road.
Saundry. Good nightie, Kappen, then I wishee well.
Where artee, Mally? Dusten haw hire me, Mal?
Dusent go away, why jue must think of this,
Before we part, shure we must have a kiss.

She wiped her muzzle from the mundic stuff,
And he rubb’d his, a little stain’d with snuff.

Now then, there, good night Mal, there’s good night;
But, stop a crum.
Mally. Good night.
Kappen. Good night.

Keendle teening, candle lighting.

Squarded hat, broken or cracked hat.

Lem ma naw, let me know, tell me.

Wheal Bog, wheal, or, correctly spelt, huel, is old Cornish, and signifies a mine or work.

Doat figs, broad figs.

A cobbe, a cobbler, a bungler.

Bra tummills, brave heaps, large piles of ore.

Footnotes

1 Another tradition affirms that one of the sons of Cyrus lies buried beneath the Longstone.

2 See 1st Series, p. 198.

3 St Breock or Briock, a bishop of a diocese in Armorica, is said to have been the patron saint of St Breage. But there is a Cornish distich, “Germow Mathern, Breaga Lavethas.” Germoe was a king, Breaga a midwife, which rather favours the statement that St Breage was a sister of St Leven. Breage and Germoe are adjoining parishes, having the shores of the Mount’s Bay for their southern boundaries. When the uncultivated inhabitants of this remote region regarded a wreck as a “God-send,” and plundered without hesitation every body, living or dead, thrown upon the shore, these parishes acquired a melancholy notoriety. The sailors’ popular prayer being,
“God keep us from rocks and shelving sands,
And save us from Breage and Germoe men’s lands.”

Happily those days are almost forgotten. The ameliorating influences of the Christian faith, which was let in upon a most benighted people by John Wesley, like a sunbeam, dispelled those evil principles, and gave birth to pure and simple virtues.

4 Leland, cited by William of Worcester from the Cornish Calendar at St Michael’s Mount. Michell’s “Parochial History of Saint Neot’s.”

5 Carew’s Survey, Lord Dedunstanville’s edition, p. 305. See “The Well of St Keyne,” by Robert Southey, in his “Ballads and Metrical Tales,” vol. i.; or of Southey’s collected works, vol. vi.
St Keyne, or St Kenna, is said to have visited St Michael’s Mount, and imparted this peculiar virtue to a stone chair on the tower.

6 See Gilbert, vol. iii. p. 329. See Appendix A. The name of this saint is written Piran, Peran, and Perran.

7 See Perran-Zabuloe, with an Account of the Past and Present State of the Oratory of St Piran in the Sands, and Remarks on its Antiquity. By the Rev. Wm. Haslam, B.A., and by the Rev. Collins Trelawney.
St Kieran, the favourite Celtic saint, reached Scotland from Ireland, the precursor of St Columba, (565 A.D.) “The cave of St Kieran is still shewn in Kintyre, where the first Christian teacher of the Western Highlands is believed to have made his abode.”—Wilson’s Prehistoric Annals.
There is a curious resemblance between the deeds and the names of those two saints.

8 See Appendix B.

9 See Appendix C.

10 Tintagel is the usual name. Gilbert, in his “Parochial History,” has it, “Dundagell, alias Dyndagell, alias Bosithney;” in “Doomsday-book” it is called “Dunecheine.” Tonkin writes “Dindagel or Daundagel,” and sometimes Dungiogel. “A King Nectan, or St Nectan, is said to have built numerous churches in several parts of Scotland, as well as in other parts of the kingdom of the Northern Picts.”—Wilson’s Prehistoric Annals of Scotland.

11 It is called indifferently Nectan, Nathan, Nighton, or Knighton’s Kieve.

12 Rambles beyond Railways. By Wilkie Collins. Mr Collins was curiously misled by those who told him the tradition. The building which these strange solitary women inhabited was St Nectan’s, or, as he and many others write it, St Nighton’s, Chapel, and not a cottage. They died, as Mr Collins describes it; but either he, or those from whom he learned the tale, has filled in the picture from imagination. I perceive, on referring to Mr Walter White’s admirable little book, “A Londoner’s Walk to the Land’s End,” that he has made the same mistake about the cottage.

13 Appendix D.

14 Parochial History, vol. iii. p. 423.

15 It is curious that the farm over which some of this water flows is called “Collurian” to this day.

16 See another story of this wretched woman in the section devoted to Demons and Spectres. 1st Series.

17 Hals, speaking of Gulval Well, thus describes it and its virtues:—“In Fosses Moor, part of this manor of Lanesly, in this parish, is that well-known fountain called Gulval Well. To which place great numbers of people, time out of mind, have resorted for pleasure and profit of their health, as the credulous country people do in these days, not only to drink the waters thereof, but to inquire after the life or death of their absent friends; where, being arrived, they demanded the question at the well whether such a person by name be living, in health, sick, or dead. If the party be living and in health, the still quiet water of the well-pit, as soon as the question is demanded, will instantly bubble or boil up as a pot, clear crystalline water; if sick, foul and puddle waters; if the party be dead, it will neither bubble, boil up, nor alter its colour or still motion. However, I can speak nothing of the truth of those supernatural facts from my own sight or experience, but write from the mouths of those who told me they had seen and proved the veracity thereof. Finally, it is a strong and courageous fountain of water, kept neat and clean by an old woman of the vicinity, to accommodate strangers, for her own advantage, by blazing the virtues and divine qualities of those waters.”—Hals, quoted by Gilbert, Parochial History of Cornwall, vol. ii. p. 121.

18 “Tales of the West,” by the author of “Letters from the East.”

19 The tale of “The Legend of Pacorra.”

20 “Popular Tales of the West Highlands,” by J. F. Campbell. (See page 134, vol. ii.)

21 Notes and Queries.

22 Gilbert, vol. i. p. 291.

23 Carew.

24 “Popular Rhymes and Nursery Tales,” by James O. Halliwell.

25 See “Thomas of the Thumb, or Tómas na h’ordaig,” Tale lxix. “Popular Tales of the West Highlands,” by J. F. Campbell.

26 “Popular Rhymes and Nursery Tales,” by James O. Halliwell.

27 Camden’s “Britannica,” by Gough, vol. i., p. 139. From this author we do not learn much. Indeed he says—“As to that Constantine, whom Gildas calls ‘that tyrannical whelp of the impure Danmonian lioness,’ and of the disforesting of the whole country under King John, before whose time it was all forest, let historians tell—it is not to my purpose.” vol. i. p. 8.

28 Milton’s “History of Britain,” edit. 1678, p. 155.

29 Vellan (mill), druchar (wheel.)

30 Carew says, “a promontory, (by Pomp. Mela, called Bolerium; by Diodorus, Velerium; by Volaterane, Helenium; by the Cornish, Pedn an laaz; and by the English, the Land’s-End.)”—Survey of Cornwall.

31 Penꞃiðꞅꞇeoꞃꞇ.—The name of the Land’s-End in the Saxon map; in the text, Camden prints Penꞃihꞇꞅꞇeoꞃꞇ.

32 “Castell-an-Dinas.—In the parish of St Colomb Major stands a castle of this name. Near this castle, by the highway, stands the Coyt, a stony tumulus so called, of which sort there are many in Wales and Wiltshire, as is mentioned in the ‘Additions to Camden’s Britannia’ in these places, commonly called the Devil’s Coyts. It consists of four long stones of great bigness, perpendicularly pitched in the earth contiguous with each other, leaving only a small vacancy downwards, but meeting together at the top; over all which is laid a flat stone of prodigious bulk and magnitude, bending towards the east in way of adoration, (as Mr Lhuyd concludes of all those Coyts elsewhere,) as the person therein under it interred did when in the land of the living; but how or by what art this prodigious flat stone should be placed on the top of the others, amazeth the wisest mathematicians, engineers, or architects to tell or conjecture. Colt, in Belgic-British, is a cave, vault, or cott-house, of which coyt might possibly be a corruption.”—Gilbert’s Parochial History.

33 In the Manor of Lambourn is an ancient barrow, called Creeg Mear, the Great Barrow, which was cut open by a labourer in search of stones to build a hedge. He came upon a small hollow, in which he found nine urns filled with ashes; the man broke them, supposing they were only old pitchers, good for nothing; but Tonkin, who saw them, believes them to have been Danish, containing the ashes of some chief commanders slain in battle; and, says he, on a small hill just under this barrow is a Danish encampment, called Castle Caer Dane, vulgo Castle Caer Don,—i.e., the Danes’ Camp,—consisting of three entrenchments finished, and another begun, with an intent to surround the inner three, but not completed; and opposite to this, about a bowshot, the river only running between, on another hill is another camp or castle, called Castle Kaerkief, castrum simile, from Kyfel similis, alike alluding to Castle Caer Dane. But this is but just begun, and not finished in any part, from which I guess there were two different parties, the one attacking the other before the entrenchments were finished.

34 C. S. Gilbert’s Historical Survey.

35 Gilbert.

36 See Popular Tales from the Norse. By George Webbe Dasent, D.C.L. Legends of Iceland, collected by Jón Arnason. Translated by George E. J. Powell and Eirékur Magnússon.

37 Notes and Queries, vol. viii. p. 618.

38 “I shall offer a conjecture touching the name of this place, which I will not say is right, but only probable. Tin is the same as Din, Dinas, and Dixeth, deceit; so that Tindixel, turned, for easier pronunciation, to Tintagel, Dindagel, or Daundagel, signifies Castle of Deceit, which name might be aptly given to it from the famous deceit practised here by Uter Pendragon by the help of Merlin’s enchantment.”—Tonkin.
“Mr Hals says this place is called Donecheniv in ‘Domesday Survey.’ Dunechine would mean the fortress of the chasm, corresponding precisely with its situation.”—Davies Gilbert.

39 Gilbert, vol. ii. p. 402, et seq.

40 Gruter’s Collection of Ancient Inscriptions, quoted by J. C. Pritchard.

41 The Parson’s.

42 The Beacon.

43 See Appendix E.

44 See Appendix F, “Saracen.”

45 “They maintaine these works to have been verie auncient, and first wrought by the Jewes with Pickaxes of Holme-Boxe and Hartshorne. They prove this by the name of those places yet enduring, to wit, Attall Sarazin, in English, the Jewes Offcast, and by those tooles daily found amongst the rubble of such workes.”—Survey of Cornwall. Carew. (Appendix F.)

46 Is this supported by the statement of Dr Stillingfleet, Bishop of Worcester, who says, “The Christian religion was planted in the Island of Great Britain during the time of the apostles, and probably by St Paul”?

47 “Some are sent, like the spirit Gathon in Cornwall, to work the will of his master in the mines.”—Mrs Bray’s Traditions of Devonshire.
Who was the spirit Gathon?
“The miner starts as he hears the mischievous Gathon answering blow for blow the stroke of his pickaxe, or deluding him with false fires, noises, and flames.”—A Guide to the Coasts of Devon and Cornwall. Mackenzie Walcott, M.A.
Carne, in his “Tales of the West,” alludes to this:—“The miners have their full share of the superstitious feelings of the country, and often hear with alarm the noises, as it were, of other miners at work deep underground, and at no great distance. The rolling of the barrows, the sound of the pickaxes, and the fall of the earth and stones, are distinctly heard through the night,—often, no doubt, the echo of their own labours; but sometimes continued long after that labour has ceased, and occasionally voices seem to mingle with them. Gilbert believed that he was peculiarly exposed to these visitations; he had an instinctive shrinking from the place where the accident had happened; and, when left alone there, it was in vain that he plied his toil with desperate energy to divert his thoughts. Another person appeared to work very near him: he stayed the lifted pick and listened. The blow of the other fell distinctly, and the rich ore followed it in a loud rolling; he checked the loaded barrow that he was wheeling; still that of the unknown workman went on, and came nearer and nearer, and then there followed a loud, faint cry, that thrilled through every nerve of the lonely man, for it seemed like the voice of his brother. These sounds all ceased on a sudden, and those which his own toil caused were the only ones heard, till, after an interval, without any warning, they began again, at times more near, and again passing away to a distance.”—The Tale of the Miner.

48 “Now well! now well! the angel did say
To certain poor shepherds in the fields who lay
Late in the night, folding their sheep;
A winter’s night, both cold and deep.
Now well! now well! now well!
Born is the King of Israel!”

49 A tributer is a man who agrees with the adventurers in a mine to receive a certain share of the profits on the ore raised by him in lieu of wages. This account is settled monthly or bi-monthly, which will explain the phrase a “poor month.”

50 “The man has still a good thick head of hair.—C. F. S.”

51 I am informed that there are no less than four of these cliff chapels between St Leven and St Loy, which was a larger building, where mass was probably celebrated.

52 Pilchards are called par excellence “fish.”

53 Heva is shouted from the hills, upon which a watch is kept for the approach of pilchards by the “huer,” who telegraphs to the boats by means of bushes covered with white cloth, or, in modern days, with wire frames so covered. These signals are well understood, and the men in the seine and the other boats act according to the huer’s directions. The following song contains all the terms employed in this fishery; many of them, especially Could Roos, do not appear to have any definite meaning attached to them.

The song is by the late C. Taylor Stevens of St Ives, who was for some time the rural postman to Zennor. I employed Mr Taylor Stevens for some time collecting all that remains of legendary tales and superstitions in Zennor and Morva. The net is spelled sometimes Seine at others Sean.

“MERRY SEAN LADS.

“With a cold north wind and a cockled sea,
Or an autumn’s cloudless day,
At the huer’s bid, to stem we row,
Or upon our paddles play.
All the signs, ‘East, West, and Quiet,
Could Roos,’ too well we know;
We can bend a stop, secure a cross,
For brave sean lads are we!
Chorus—We can bend a stop, secure a cross,
For brave sean lads are we!

“If we have first stem when heva comes,
We’ll the huer’s bushes watch;
We will row right off or quiet lie,
Flying summer sculls to catch.
And when he winds the towboat round,
We will all ready be,
When he gives Could Roos, we’ll shout hurrah!
Merry sean lads are we!
Chorus—When he gives Could Roos, we’ll shout hurrah!
Merry sean lads are we!

“When the sean we’ve shot, upon the tow,
We will heave with all our might,
With a heave! heave O! and rouse! rouse O!
Till the huer cries, ‘All right.’
Then on the bunt place kegs and weights,
And next to tuck go we.
We’ll dip, and trip, with a ‘Hip hurrah!’
Merry sean lads are we!
Chorus—We’ll dip, and trip, with a ‘Hip hurrah!’
Merry sean lads are we!”

54 Hone’s “Every-Day Book.”

55 Spinning-wheel.

56 Every-Day Book.

57 On the Diseases of Cornish Miners. By William Wale Tayler, F.R.C.S.

58 When cattle or human beings have been bewitched, it was very commonly thought that if a bottle of urine from the diseased beast or person was obtained, then corked very tight and buried mouth downwards, that the witch would be afflicted with strangury, and in her suffering confess her crime and beg forgiveness.

59 Throb.

60 The invocation of the “Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,” invariably accompanies every form of charm.

61 Borlase’s Observations on the Ancient and Present State of the Island of Scilly.—“Notes and Queries,” vol. x. p. 181. 1854.

62 The Survey of Cornwall. By Richard Carew.

63 Draw and Hitchin’s Cornwall.

64 See also p. 216.

65 In Hugh Miller’s “Scenes and Legends of the North of Scotland,” edit. 1858, pp. 256, 257, will be found some stories of the flight of the “herring drove” from the coast of Cromarty, which are analogous to this.

66 See “Death Tokens.”

67 “There appeared in the north-east the frustrum of a large rainbow; all the colours were lively and distinct, and it was three times as wide as the arch of an ordinary complete rainbow, but no higher than it was wide. They call it here, in Cornwall, a weather dog; but in the Cornish language, Lagas-auel,—that is, the weather’s eye,—and pronounce it a certain sign of hard rain.”—Borlase’s Natural History of Cornwall.

68 Hone’s Table-Book.

69 In pul; meaning in mud.

70 Davies Gilbert’s “Cornwall.”

71 Vol. iii. p. 309.

72 Letter from William Peter, Esq. of Harlyn, to Davies Gilbert, vol. iii. p. 178.

73 See Keighton’s “Tales and Popular Fictions,” p. 247.

74 “Traditions, Legends, Superstitions, and Sketches of Devonshire,” by Mrs Bray, who gives a letter of her husband’s, for some time vicar of Tavistock.

75 See Gilbert, vol. iii., p. 293, and Bond’s account of the Trelawnys in Bond’s Looe.

76 Hone’s Table-Book.