Cornish Giants

The Giant of Morva

A Morva farmer writes:-"A quarter of an acre would not hold the horses ridden to the fair,-the hedges being covered by the visitors, who drink and carouse as in former times. Morva Fair is, however, dying out."

The parish clerk informed me that the giant had twenty sons; that he was the first settler in these parts; and that he planted his children all round the coast. It was his custom to bring all his family together on the 1st of August, and hence the origin of the fair. Whichever may be the true account of the cause which established the fair and the feast, these romances clearly establish the fact that giants were at the bottom of it.

(Robert Hunt, Popular Romances of the West of England, pages 72-73)

The giant Bolster appears as the frontispiece illustration for Hunt's and this work. He is pictured as having his feet six miles apart; thus, he is about twelve miles tall.

This mighty man held especial possession of a hill formerly known as Carne Bury-anack, "the sparstone grave," sometimes called St. Agnes' Ball and St. Agnes' Pestis, but which is now named, from the use made of the hill during the long war, St. Agnes; Beacon. He has left his name to a very interesting, and undoubtedly most ancient earthwork, which still exists at the base of the hill, and evidently extended from Trevaunance Porth to Chapel Porth, enclosing the most important tin district in St. Agnes. This is constantly called "The Bolster."

Bolster must have been of enormous size: since it is stated that he could stand with one foot on St. Agnes' Beacon and the other on Cairn Brea; these hills being distant, as the bird flies, six miles, his immensity will be clear to all. In proof of this, there still exists, in the valley running upwards from Chapel Porth, a stone in which may yet be seen the impression of the giant's fingers. On one occasion, Bolster, when enjoying his usual stride from the Beacon to Cairn Brea, felt thirsty, and stooped to drink out of the well at Chapel Porth, resting, while he did so, on the above-mentioned stone. We hear but little of the wives of giants; but Bolster had a wife, who was made to labour hard by her tyrannical husband. On the top of St. Agnes' Beacon there yet exist the evidence of useless labours to which this unfortunate giantess was doomed, in grouped masses of small stones. These, it is said, have all been gathered from an estate at the foot of the hill, immediately adjoining the village of St. Agnes. This farm to is the present day remarkable for its freedom from stones, though situated amidst several others, which, like most lands reclaimed from the moors of the district, have stones in abundance mixed with the soil. Whenever Bolster was angry with his wife, he compelled her to pick stones, and to carry them in her apron to the top of the hill. There is some confusion in the history of this giant, and the blessed St. Agnes to whom the church is dedicated. They are supposed to have lived at the same time, which, according to our views, is scarcely probable, believing, as we do, that no giants existed long after the defeat at Plymouth by Brutus and Corineus. There may have been an earlier saint of the same name; or may not Saint Enns or Anns, the popular name of this parish, indicate some other lady?

Be this as it may, the giant Bolster became deeply in love with St. Agnes, who is reputed to have been singularly beautiful, and a pattern woman of virtue. The giant allowed the lady no repose. He followed her incessantly, proclaiming his love, and filling the air with the tempests of his sighs and groans. St. Agnes lectured Bolster in vain on the impropriety of his conduct, he being already a married man. This availed not; her prayers to him to relieve her from his importunities were also in vain. The persecuted lady, finding there was no release for her, while this monster existed, resolved to be rid of him at any cost, and eventually succeeded by the following stratagem:-Agnes appeared at length to be persuaded of the intensity of the giant's love, but she told him she required yet one small proof more. There exists at Chapel Porth a hole in the cliff at the termination of the valley. If Bolster would fill this hole with his blood the lady would no longer look coldly on him. This huge bestrider-of-hills thought that it was an easy thing which was required of him, and felt that he could fill many such holes and be none the weaker for the loss of blood. Consequently, stretching his great arm across the hole, he plunged a knife into a vein, and a torrent of gore issued forth. Roaring and seething the blood fell to the bottom, and the giant expected in a few minutes to see the test of his devotion made evident, in the filling of the hole. It required much more blood than Bolster supposed; still it must be a short time be filled, so he bled on. Hour after hour the blood flowed from the vein, yet the hole was not filled. Eventually the giant fainted from exhaustion. The strength of life within his mighty frame enabled him to rally, yet he had no power to lift himself from the ground, and he was unable to stanch the wound which he had made. Thus it was, that after many throes, the giant Bolster died!

The cunning saint, in proposing this task to Bolster, was well aware that the hole opened at the bottom into the sea, and that as rapidly as the blood flowed into the hole it ran from it, and did

The multitudinous seas incarnadine,
Making the green one red.

Thus the lady got rid of her hated lover; Mrs. Bolster was released, and the district freed from the presence of a tyrant. The hole at Chapel Porth still retains the evidences of truth of this tradition, in the red stain which marks the track down which flowed the giant's blood.

(Robert Hunt , Popular Romances of the West of England, pages73-75)

In the parish of Goran is an intrenchment running from cliff to cliff, and cutting off about a hundred acres of coarse ground. This is about twenty feet broad, and twenty-four feet high in most places.

Marvellous as this may appear, tradition assures us that this was the work of a giant, and that he performed the task in a single night. This fortification has long been known as Thica Vosa, and the Hack and Cast.

The giant, who lived on the promontory, was the terror of the neighborhood, and great were the rejoicings in Goran when his death was accomplished through a stratagem by a neighboring doctor.

The giant fell ill through eating some food-children or otherwise-to satisfy his voracity, which disturbed his stomach. His roars and groans were heard for miles, and great was the terror throughout the neighbourhood. A messenger, however, soon arrived at the residence of the doctor of the parish, and he bravely resolved to obey the summons of the giant, and visit him. He found the giant rolling on the ground with pain, and he at once determined to rid the world, if possible, of the monster.

He told him that he must be bled. The giant submitted, and the doctor moreover said that, to insure relief, a large hole in the cliff must be filled with the blood. The giant lay on the ground, his arm extended over the hole, and the blood flowing a torrent into it. Relieved by the loss of blood, he permitted the stream to flow on, until at last he became so weak, that the doctor kicked him over the cliff and killed him. The well-known promontory of The Dead Man, or Dodman, is so called from the dead giant. The spot on which he fell is the "Giant's House," and the hole has ever since been most favourable to the growth of ivy.

(Robert Hunt , Popular Romances of the West of England, pages 75-76)

Not far from Portreath there exists a remarkable fissure, or gorge, on the coast, formed by the wearing out, through the action of the sea, of a channel of ground softer than that which exists on either side of it. This is generally known as Ralph's Cupboard, and one tale is, that Ralph was a famous smuggler, who would run his little vessel, even in dark nights, into the shelter afforded by the gorge, and safely land his goods. Another is, that it was formerly a cavern in which dwelt Wrath-a huge giant-who was the terror of the fishermen. Sailing from St. Ives, they either avoided the Cupboard; as they said, "Nothing ever came out of it which was unfortunate enough to get into it." Wrath is reputed to have watched for those who were drifted towards his cupboard by current, or driven by storms. It is said that wading out to sea, he tied the boats to his girdle, and quietly walked back to his den, making, of course, all the fishermen his prey. The roof of the cavern is supposed to have fallen in after the death of the giant, leaving an open chasm as we now see it.

(Robert Hunt , Popular Romances of the West of England, page 76)

There is a considerable family likeness between the Tinker in this Cornish tale of the Giants, and the Wonderful Cobbler of Wellington, in Shropshire, as related by Mr. Thomas Wright in his interesting paper "On the Local Legends of Shropshire." As this story will interest many readers, I quote it, as the original paper is not easily obtained:-

"Now, according to the legend there lived at this time, somewhere, I believe, in the neighbourhood of Wellington, a wonderful Cobbler, who was so skillful in his art that he monopolised the mending of shoes of the inhabitants of Shrewsbury, and he used to come a certain times with sacks to carry home with him the shoes which were in need of his handiwork. Well, the giant set out on his journey, varrying an immense spadeful of earth, which he intended to throw over the devoted town, and bury all the inhabitants alive; but it happened that he had never seen Shrewsbury, and was not well informed as to the road, and he had arrived near Wellington when, whom should he overtake but the clever cobbler labouring alone under the burden of two great sacks full of worn shoes he was carrying home. The giant entered into a conversation with him, told him where he was going, and let out rather indiscreetly the object of his journey, but confessed ignorance of the road and the distance. The cobbler had a natural sympathy with the town of Shrewsbury; first, because he was on good terms with the inhabitants; and, secondly, because, if the town were destroyed, his own occupation would be ruined; so he resolved to outwit the giant. He told him, therfore, that he knew Shrewsbury very well-in fact, that he was then returning from it, and that he, the giant, was in the right track, but added, with a look of discouragement, that it was very far off. The giant, who had already had a long walk, and imagined he must have reached the object of his search, inquired with some surprise how many days more it would take to walk thither. The cobbler said he had not counted the days, but emptying his two sacks on the ground, declared that he had worn out all those shoes on the journey; upon which the giant, with a movement of disappointment and disgust, threw the earth from his spade on the spot where it now forms the Wrekin; and seeing that some mould still adhered to the spade, he pushed it off with his foot, and it formed Ercald Hill, which still adjoins its loftier neighbor."

It is curious to trace in every incident of those stories the lesson taught, that trained skill can at all times overcome mere brute force. These stories belong to a very early age, and they have been winter-evening amusement of a primitive people, down to a very recent period. Jack the Tinker figures in many similar stories: he is invariably covered with his wonderful coat (similar to the coat of darkness in several of our nursery tales), and not infrequently he has the shoes of swiftness.

(Robert Hunt , Popular Romances of the West of England, pages 466-467)

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