Penhalvean Wandering Poems and things

  Blog no. 9. MERMAIDS OF THE CORNISH CHURCH   As shown on the previous page on the Mermaid of Zennor, the Christian message was passed on in the fabric of the Cornish churches. In Blight's book "Week in the Lands End" there is the following quote followed by the initials R.S.H. which is presumed, to be those of the Rev. R.S. Hawker of Morwenstowe. “The fishermen who were the ancestors of the Church, came from the Galilean waters to haul for men. We, born to God at the font, are children of the water. Therefore, all the early symbolism of the Church was of and from the sea. The curvature of the early arches was taken from the sea and its creatures. Fish, dolphins, mermen, and mermaids abound in the early types, transferred to wood and stone.” (Ref. 1) Nearly all the churches on the coast of Cornwall were built for fishermen and farm workers, to whom the superstitions of the mermaid had a familiarity for a creed. Just as on ancient rood screens or bench-ends a grotesque

 Blog No. 8. The Mermaid of Zennor The Mermaid of Zennor “Zennor folks tell the following story, which, according to them, accounts for a singular carving on a bench-end in their Church.      The Legend   Hundreds of years ago a very beautiful and richly attired lady attended service in Zennor Church occasionally—now and then she went to Morvah also;—her visits were by no means regular, —often long intervals would elapse between them.   Yet whenever she came the people were enchanted with her good looks and sweet singing. Although Zennor folks were remarkable for their fine pealmody, (singing) she excelled them all; and they wondered how, after the scores of years that they had seen her, she continued to look so young and fair. No one knew whence she came nor whither she went; yet many watched her as far as they could see from Tregarthen Hill.   She took some notice of a fine young man, called Mathey Trewella, who was the best singer in the parish. He once followed her, but he never re

 Blog No. 7. Dyson shows he's still here. On the 10th of December 2022, I sat down and wrote the following poem on the anniversary of Dyson our 13-year-old Springer Spaniels' death. bright star, yes, you’re our star. you are our star up on the tree you brought such joy to Bryn, Sandra, and me we each remember the special moments we shared          of the toys that you got the collars and clothes to wear Ripping open your presents, while you danced with such glee And how we would like to stroke you while you drank our tea Now a new friend “Buddy” is here just beside me “Buddy” is his name, and he’s patiently waiting for me Whilst I write this poem In remembrance of thee We love him lots. He’s a joy you see III But we’ll always share him with our Star on the tree Dyson. Four days later  Katherine Baxter  wrote the following on the SennenCommunity facebook page:- Going through my pictures of sunset and almost darkness I came across this spooky yet beautiful one that looks like a c

 Blog No. 6. The Reach. A poem on the sculpture by Tree Carver Simon O'Rourke. The Reach By verse 1 George Pritchard, verse 2 Miriam Kilmer, verse 3 .Aleme Gammoand  verse 4  Carmine Lombardo. They told him, cut it down, cut it down, cut it down. The tree it is dead, it is dead, it is dead. But the man was an artist, an artist, an artist So he created the Reach instead. Gather hope from the wood, from the wood, from the wood, the Earth's healing breath, healing breath, healing breath, Simon made a symbol, a symbol, a symbol a living hand rising out of death. This tree in its age served us, served us, served us died wood now a sculpture, sculpture, sculpture from its record breaking height of the Welsh trees becomes topiary art in the hands of an artist. A seed has promised life, promised life, promised life, The tree's reaching hand, reaching hand, reaching hand, Will be made new again, new again, new again, By Loyal Love blossoming the land. The tallest tree in Wales got

    My Friend Bill. My friend Bill died and went to heaven, Who do you think she found waiting there? Why it was none other than old St Piran, And the poor man was in some despair.   My friend Bill, said hello me Ansome, Why are you sitting crying here? They won’t let me in said our St. Piran Please read that sign he said through his tears.   “Cornish born only can enter here. And if you’re not one then we’ll make it clear, Born West of the Tamar you're welcome in, Anywhere else go find your own kin.”   There you are sobbed Pyran I told you so, I was born in Ireland and as you know, They chucked me out a long time since, And now I’m denied by Cornwall Just like the Prince.   “The Prince,” said Bill what do you mean? Why the Dukes of Cornwall, haven’t you seen, Standing over there they can’t get in, Not one born in Cornwall oh what a sin.   But who are all they dressed in Black? There’s a lot of them, some even wearing sacks. They are my brothers each one a saint, Places named after