Legends of Cornish Ghost Dogs and more

by Alex Langstone

In the leafy lanes to the south of the river Lynher, there is an old folk narrative about three black hounds with blazing eyes that are linked to an old barrow called Blighberry round, which was once visible in Ringdon Field to the rear of Wolsdon House near Antony.  The legend introduces us to the miller of St John’s, who suddenly finds that his flour is being stolen at the time of the full moon. By the following month as the moon reaches her maximum, he sets out to catch the thief, by hiding under the tangled bramble by the mill. At moonrise, he witnesses three women gathering in the clearing by the mill and was astonished to see them transform into toads. The toads then crept under the gap beneath the door of the old mill and stole the flour. However, before the miller could intervene, the toads are chased away by three large and disturbing black dogs with huge fiery eyes. Intrigued, the miller follows the dogs and observes them disappearing into Blighberry round.  Fascinated, he then witnesses three men emerge from the same barrow.

 

Another black dog haunts the Bronze Age barrow on the downs near Launceston. It was first reported by a group of wrestlers, who were competing in a wrestling competition by the tumulus on St Stephen’s Downs, Langore. The ghostly dog made its appearance towards the end of the day as they were finishing the competition.  The barrow’s folklore tells us that it holds the remains of long dead giants and their gold. The round barrow survives and can be visited. 

During the early 19th century there was a terrible explosion at Wheal Vor on the slopes of Tregonning Hill near Helston. Many miners were killed and soon after the engineman declared that troops of little black ghost dogs continually haunted the place. Few of the miners liked to talk about it; but over time the word spread that the mine was haunted, and it became difficult to obtain the necessary attendance to work the mine. 

There is a tale of a spectral black dog with flaming eyes the size of teacups, that haunted the lanes on the eastern flank of Bodmin Moor. It began its ghostly seven mile walk at Minions, beside the Marke Valley mine, before crossing the river Lynher  at Rillamill, and then up through Linkinhorne village, and onwards to its spooky destination at Stoke Climsland.  

A terrifying black dog experience from the summer of 1779 was witnessed by Samuel Drew from St Austell. Samuel was only a child when he experienced the ghostly beast, whilst out poaching with a group of older men.  The tale is told something like this: Approaching midnight, the poachers gathered on the edge of the hamlet. The old lane was brightly lit by the moon, and all was quiet.  One of the lads, a mere boy, was told to keep guard by the granite hedge, whilst the older men quickly dispersed looking for deer tracks. Having been left alone, Sam’s senses suddenly heightened. He was sure he had heard the clatter of a horse approaching, and having raised the alarm, his companions drew close to the shadows. Suddenly, a huge black dog emerged from the shadows. As the creature passed by the group, they all witnessed the wild beast with his demonic fiery eyes, which struck terror into their hearts, before it passed unnaturally straight through a closed wooden gate, without any obstruction. 

There are several accounts of the Penzance harbour black dog. This ghostly hound is recorded as a harbinger of death to any who encounter him, and the dog only ever appears to certain folk, whilst to others it is invisible. There are stories told by both sailors and fishermen who have docked at Penzance over the years; including one from the 1960s, where a fishing crew sought refreshment from the Dolphin Tavern. One of the men was dispatched mid-evening to check the boat and make ready for the morning. However, he found himself accompanied by a small and friendly black dog. The animal did not leave his side until the rest of the crew returned, when the dog vanished. The following day the boat was fishing out in the bay when an unexpected storm commenced, and the crewman who befriended the black dog fell overboard and was lost. So, if you ever see a black dog on the quayside at Penzance, it’s best to make sure others can also see it; or it may signify your sudden demise. 

   

Alex Langstone

The historic town of Bodmin, has a long and distinguished history. The place-name means abode of monks, from the Cornish language Bod-meneghy, and was once famous for its priory, friary, guild chapels, sacred relics and a 9th century illuminated manuscript. The town has several holy and healing wells, and they have some interesting folklore surrounding them. 

The town's priory park contains the holy well of St Petroc, which lies in a hollow between the football club and Pendower Meadow and was once within the scared enclosure of the former priory. Dedicated to St Mary and St Petroc, little remains of this once great institution, just a few visible foundations, bits of masonry and the fishpond. The well does have a wonderful tale attached to it. During some renovation work in the early part of the 20th century, a wooden statue of St Mary was found concealed in the well. It is believed that it was hidden from Cromwell’s troops during the Civil War. The statue was found to be in a remarkable state of preservation, maybe due to the miraculous qualities of the sacred well? The statue was given to the Catholic community in 1908 and was sent to Buckfast Abbey for preservation and minor repairs. It is now kept at St Mary’s Abbey in Bodmin. 

The holy well in St Petroc’s churchyard (below) has a dedication to St Guron, the 6th century founder of the site. The holy well’s source rises under the church and flows through the well house and then out into a trough via two gargoyles. Rush crosses were thrown into the well on Good Friday, to confirm who would still be alive at Easter the following year. If the cross floated all was apparently fine.  There is also an early medieval tale told about St Petroc, who miraculously restored the eyesight of a dragon which lived in the valley by the well. 

Nearby, in the town centre lies the Bree Shute which was also known as the Eye Well. The water here was once famed for curing sore eyes, and a plaque above the well still reads ‘Eye Water’. 

On on the edge of the town lies the beautifully secluded Scarletts well. Sited adjacent the Carnewater river it was historically recorded as a mineral rich healing well. Sited by the town’s parish boundary, the well has frequently been visited over successive generations by townsfolk performing the ritual of Beating the Bounds, where an effigy of a dragon was once ceremoniously paraded.   The site is set back into an ivy clad bank, where a spring gushes forth from the hillside and flows into a granite trough which holds the water briefly before its current continues towards the woodland stream. The well was once part of the Priory of Bodiniel and has many stories of healing and miracles associated with it. During the 17th century Richard Carew documented that people flocked to the well for its healing virtues. 

There is some interesting modern folklore attached to Scarletts well, which may have some alluring indications to an older origin. The well is believed to have been used by many of Bodmin’s wise women and charmers, including Nell Parsons, who used the waters to assist in her trade, and her water pitcher (left) now resides in the collection of Boscastle’s Museum of Witchcraft and Magic. The contemporary mythology of Bodmin witch Joan Wytte, tells us that she also utilised the well for scrying, healing and magic.

A few years ago, whilst visiting this well, I struck up a conversation with a local man, who told me that when he was a child, he knew of a tale about a white lady who haunted the leafy lane around the site. I can find no references to back up this statement. However, a curious story is told about St. Whyte, and although this saint has her shrine in Dorset, she may have been venerated at the nearby church of the Holy Rood and has been linked locally to the towns holy wells.  Maybe the tales of Joan Wytte and St Whyte are a folkloric echo of some lost lore of the ghostly white lady of the well? 

   

 

A Peek at the Folklore of Mylor and District

Mylor holy well

The Mayor of Mylor, is an old custom, which traditionally links Mylor parish with Penryn. Traditionally held each Autumn, when the hazel-nuts are ripe, the festival of ‘nutting-day’ is kept. A crowd from the town go into the country to gather nuts. Meanwhile townsfolk would proceed to Mylor, and whilst there, elect one of their number as the sham mayor. Seated in a chair shaded with green boughs, and borne on the shoulders of four strong men, the Mock Mayor and his compatriots process from Mylor to the ancient borough of Penryn. The procession would consist of torch bearers, bodyguards wielding weapons, and two ‘sergeants’ clad in official gowns and raised hats, each wielding a monstrous cabbage on his shoulder in lieu of a mace. The rear was brought up by the throng of the ‘nutters’. As they approached the outskirts of Penryn, the town band would join them and march them joyously into Penryn, where they were received by the massed population of the town. At the town hall speeches were given, and the celebrations went on late into the night, with street fires, music and dancing.[3]

Another amazing tale from the village is The Black Bull of Mylor. I came across this incredible tale many years ago, and it involves the sighting of a ghostly, fire breathing black bull, who is reported to haunt Church Lane between the church wall and Well Ackett:

One night the two men were out on their rounds, and were intending to make their way towards Trefusis Point, so as to pass by the Big Zoon, when after they had passed the church stile they were suddenly brought to a stop―Away in the distance, coming towards them, they could hear a fearful roaring noise; then they could hear the gravel flying, and as the sound came nearer they could make out the form of a big black bull, tearing towards them with fire coming from his nostrils, and roaring something terrible! [4]

Church Lane, haunted by the Black Bull