You’re a Legend

I was out last evening with Tom and grandson Baby Dave, we took a short walk up to King Arthur’s Hall and spent a few minutes marvelling at how many people must have been there in the thousands of years of its existence.  It was a lovely autumn evening, sunny but with a chill wind – not that it worried the dogs much as they buzzed about the moor.  Roy was feeling sufficiently chipper to eye up a large Alsatian in an “what are you doing here” sort of way.  A bit like a boozed up teenager thinking about sorting a bouncer out.

As we descended from the Hall, we skirted the swampy reedbed full of bullrushes but one of the boys flushed up a Snipe.  The Snipe is a wading bird that inhabits marshland, it’s not dissimilar to the Woodcock, which has a larger body, but the Woodcock is more common in woodlands whereas Snipe prefer marshy open ground.

The Snipe is a game bird but is, apparently, very hard to shoot with its fast, jerky flight and that forms the origin of the word “sniper”, for someone is an exceptionally good shot.

It was noticeable by the time we got back to the car that it was already dark and a reminder that we have just passed the Autumn Equinox, when the sun is directly overhead at the Equator – on 22 or 23 September and it’s a big deal as it only happens twice a year.  So we are now, astronomically speaking (I said it was a big deal) we are now in Autumn till the Winter Solstice on 21 or 22ndDecember – which is all totally irrelevant to anyone in the southern hemisphere.

Anyway, it all made me think of the changes in seasons and how it might impact various Derry-doings and Things that go Bump in The Night of life on the moor in days gone by.

Bodmin Moor itself has a few stories – what wild space wouldn’t have.  The King’s Head in Five Lanes has the story of a medium who made contact with the spirit of a young woman, Peggy Bray, whose family ran the inn during the 1700s.  She apparently still frequents the King's Head as an apparition strolling in the hall on the first floor.  I’ve had the pleasure of few jars in the pub, as it’s run by a relative of my friend Piggy, but the beer is so nice it might explain how a few misconceptions occur.

One of the main stories it relates to the awful murder of Charlotte Dymond on the moor in 1844 not far from where the Roughtor car park now is.  

Charlotte was a domestic servant working on a Penhale Farm on the edge of Bodmin Moor, between Camelford and Davidstow, when she was 18 years old. Penhale was owned by an elderly widow and her son, and along with Charlotte there were two other live-in servants, John Stevens and Matthew Weeks, both aged in their early 20s.

At some point Charlotte and Matthew had become boyfriend and girlfriend. It is said Charlotte was a pretty girl with a flirtatious nature, whereas Matthew was described as not at all good-looking (a bit harsh) . Short, missing many teeth and with a heavy limp most people would not have put the two together. It is said that he liked to dress well though.

Charlotte, however, had another suitor; Thomas Prout. The 26 year old was the nephew of Penhale Farm's owner and was a labourer who had worked with Matthew Weeks on occasion. It is said the two got on, but it appears Prout had intentions (haha!) towards Charlotte.

The day of Charlotte's death was a Sunday and all the household would have had on their Sunday best outfits. Charlotte wore a green striped dress and a red shawl. The last time she was seen alive was soon after her and Weeks had left the farm together, heading towards the moor. The couple were spotted by an elderly farmer through the fog, he recognised Weeks from his pronounced limp.

Later that evening Weeks returned to the farm alone, although it appears that was not unusual. As the days went by and Charlotte still did not return, people began to notice things. Weeks's shirt was torn and his trousers were muddied, although he claimed he had not been on the moor. In response to the growing suspicion Weeks told the household that Charlotte had been offered a position in Blisland, some miles away (and more importantly one of my local pubs!) and had set off with the intention of staying at an acquaintance's house on the way.

A week after Charlotte's disappearance the household decided action was needed and John Stevens and the farmer set off to check on Week's story. It was found that no position had been offered in Blisland and that Charlotte had not stayed at the acquaintance's house. That day Matthew Weeks put on his Sunday best and left Penhale farm with no intention to return. The next day, the farmer's wife took Weeks' clothes to be washed. She noticed the torn collar, missing buttons and also some spots of blood on the shirt. The suspicion that Weeks had murdered Charlotte seemed beyond doubt now.

Roughtor Ford where the body was found

On the Tuesday, over a week after Charlotte had last been seen, a search party found her body on the banks of the river Alan in the shadow of Roughtor, Cornwall's second highest point. She had been killed by an extremely deep cut to her throat from ear to ear. Later examination suggested it was probably caused by two cuts.

A warrant was issued for Weeks’ arrest but first he needed to be found. He was found in Plymouth, at his sister's house; apparently he had been planning to flee to the Channel Islands. Upon searching Weeks a pair of ladies' gloves and a blood-spotted lady's handkerchief were found.

Weeks was tried at Bodmin Assize Court on August 2nd.  He pleaded not guilty but, after a 10 hour trial, it took the jury little over half an hour to return a guilty verdict. The sentence was death by hanging. In the ten days Matthew Weeks spent in Bodmin Gaol awaiting execution two letters were attributed to him. Being illiterate these were dictated. The first was to his family and the second a confession. It is this confession that has probably provided more weight to the argument of Weeks' innocence than anything else. It was written in a style far more eloquent than one would have expected from the mouth of an uneducated farm labourer:

"I hope young men will take a warning by me and not put too much confidence in young women, the same as I did; and I hope young females will take the same by young men. I loved that girl as dear as I loved my life; and after all the kind treatment I have showed her, and then she said she would have nothing more to do with me. And after this was done, then bitterly I did lament, thinking what would be my end. And I thank the judge and jury too, for they have given me no more than was my due."

At 12.00 noon on 12th August 1844 Matthew Weeks was hung in front of a crowd of several thousand outside Bodmin Gaol. His body was buried in the prison's coal yard.

Whichever way you cut it, and I suspect young Mr. Weeks got a raw deal, Bodmin Jail is something that looks like the most awful place to finish up. It’s right in the centre of Bodmin, just behind Sainsbury’s, and is truly forbidding.

The jail was originally built during the reign of King George III in 1779 as part of the ground-breaking Prison Reform, built by military engineer Sir John Call. Building works started in the early 1770’s using 20,000 tonnes of local Delank granite, (near St Breward) and stone from the adjacent Coocoo Quarry. 

The resulting building was considered a milestone in prison design, based on the plans and ideals of the prison reformer John Howard. It was one of the first modern prisons in the UK with individual cells, segregated male and female areas, hot water and light and airy areas for prisoners to live and work.

Although prisoner numbers stayed low till 1820, numbers grew and by 1850 more buildings were added.  The prison was re-built in the late 1850’s and the prison was used for specialist purposes, housing debtors and Royal Navy prisoners at different times. The jail was finally closed in 1927.  

The dark side of the history is the fact that 55 criminals were hung there, including 8 women, usually in public with crowds of thousands attending.  The last execution took place in July 1909, of William Hampton, who murdered his 17 year old girlfriend.

That’s all well good, but I can tell you it looks very intimidating and is currently being converted into a hotel – let’s hope it goes well and, if you’re in Bodmin next year – enjoy your stay!

Slightly more romantic is the notion of smuggling but it was big business in Cornwall in the 18th century when taxes to fund wars created huge price discrepancies with the continent.   Tea was up to six times more expensive and silk, brandy, tobacco and other high value goods.  It wasn’t the easiest job – smugglers preferred remote landing areas and the Cornish surf made landing in small boats in the dark dangerous.

Bodmin was a preferred supply area, it was close to ideal landing sites of Polperro, Trebarwith, Boscastle and Tintagel – the north coast was generally less well-patrolled than the south coast.  The Jamaica Inn is reputed to be one of the coaching inns supplied by smugglers and may be named for Jamaica rum (although more likely the fact that local landowners were governors of Jamaica.  The inn is now a bustling pub and hotel, right by the A30, but in those days was a remote inn on a windswept moor.  You have to admit, it must have been an exciting time.

But, the Jamaica in, or the King’s Head in Five Lanes are both fine venues for a pint.