Trencrom Hillfort

 

After several years of using part of our yearly holiday time looking for somewhere to live in Cornwall, how could my wife and I resist a very nice house within walking distance of a hill crowned with an Iron Age hillfort, which we went to visit after looking the house over? As it took about a year for everything to go through, the idea for a song about Trencrom Hill (also known as Trecobben or Trecrobben) remained a rough draft for some time while we prepared to move from Shropshire. Oddly enough, I may have been sparked into finishing it a while after we’d moved, by a meeting John and Carole Warburton at a music session in a Shrewsbury pub where they performed a poem about Trencrom Hill.

Here’s the lyric.

Cornish Ghosts

Close to where I stand on Trecobben
Pilgrims walk St. Michael’s Way
Few today reach Santiago
Most will cease their journey at the Bay
The Mount is rising from the distant water
Yet barely seems an arm’s length away

Causley on the road to Marazion
Dreamed of one last summer in the Med
Sheets are dancing Morris in the wind
A buzzard slowly circles overhead
Engine houses march along the skyline
A sea fret daubs the coast in brown and red

Beyond the darkening horizons
Beyond the hills to the West
Beyond Pendeen and Cape Cornwall
The Longships founder off Land’s End
Sea nymphs and mermaids pluck the heartstrings
But the bells no longer ring in Lyonesse

Around me march the ghosts of long-dead armies
Recalled among these ancient stones
The engine house beyond the farm
Still offers shelter to the crows
I watch the sun sink slowly to the West
Back into the sea from whence it rose

Words & music © David Harley.

Explanatory notes.

Trecobben (or Trecrobben) is not only an alternative name for Trencrom Hill but also the name of a giant who is supposed to have lived there. A spring on the West slope of the hill is known as the Giant’s Well.  There are various versions of Trecobben’s story, but it seems that he passed much of his time by throwing stones at or to his counterpart Cormoran on St. Michael’s Mount. (Seemingly a common pastime among giants in Cornwall as well as in Middle Earth.) The Mount can clearly be seen from the top of the hill (weather and daylight permitting). This is the Cormoran whose name J.K. Rowling borrowed for the hero of her Strike novels. In one story, Trecobben threw a giant hammer to Cormoran and accidentally killed Cormoran’s wife, Cormelian. Trecobben was apparently so conscience-stricken that he died of grief. Cormoran, however, terrorized the neighbourhood until he was slain by Jack the Giant Killer.

The St. Michael’s Way is part of the network of pilgrim’s paths converging on the pilgrim route that leads to St. James Cathedral, in Santiago de Compostela. Pilgrims and missionaries from Wales and Ireland would land at Lelant and walk overland to Marazion rather than risk sailing or rowing around Land’s End. However, the paths over and around Trencrom are also hugely popular with dog walkers.

The second verse refers to Charles Causley’s The Seasons In North Cornwall where he talks of meeting ‘Old Summer’ on the road to Marazion and the Mediterranean sea.

Living near the hill, we’ve had lots of time to observe that the horizon is often obscured by low-lying red-brown cloud, especially when pollution levels are high, perhaps with a sprinkling of Saharan sand.

The Longships are a series of islets a mile or so off Land’s End, known for the lighthouse on Carn Bras. In Arthurian legend, the kingdom of Lyonesse (or Lyonnesse) was said to have bordered Cornwall but to have sunk beneath the waves between Land’s End and the Scillies. However, some sources claim that a ‘sunken kingdom’ called Lethowstow off the coast of Cornwall is incorrectly identified as Lyonesse. The name is said to have derived from Léoneis, itself derived from the Latin name for Lothian. The transplanting of Lyonesse from Scotland to Cornwall may be a consequence of the import of the Tristan and Iseult story into Arthurian legend, and may be influenced by the reputed Léoneis (or by Léon), in Brittany.

Walter de la Mere’s Sunk Lyonesse refers to Nereids playing lyres in “sea-cold Lyonesse”, while the Mermaid of Zennor has her own place in Penwith mythology. It’s also said that sometimes bells can be heard sounding from the drowned steeples of Lyonesse.

I’d always thought that the first syllables of Lyonesse were pronounced in the more romantic way closer to its French origins, either like Lyons, or like Léon, but since a number of sources (including the OED) give the word as pronounced like ‘lioness’ that’s how I’ve pronounced it in the song. (Your mileage may vary!)

There is a plaque on the Iron Age fort at the top of Trencrom that reads:

“This property was presented to the National Trust by Lt Col C L Tyringham, of Trevethoe in March 1946 & at his wish is to be regarded as a memorial to the men and women of Cornwall, who gave their lives in the service of their country during the two world wars. 1914 – 1918, 1939 – 1945”

Hence ‘the ghosts of long-dead armies.’

There are many engine houses in the area, but the one beyond Trencrom Farm is the one which may have been known at various times as Wheal Alice or Wheal Foxes or Mitchell’s Shaft, part of the former Trencrom Mine. That, by the way, is where the name of my Wheal Alice Music blog originates, whether or not that name is historically accurate.

Here’s a demo recording of the song as it eventually took shape.

https://whealalice.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/06/emastered_cornish-ghosts_3.mp3

Trencrom Hill and the engine house from Trink Hill

Further Information:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trencrom_Hill

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jack_the_Giant_Killer

https://www.ancienttexts.org/library/celtic/jce/lyonesse.html

https://www.cornwalls.co.uk/myths-legends/lyonnesse.htm

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lyonesse

https://www.historyfiles.co.uk/KingListsBritain/BritainLyonesse.htm

 

 

Trencrom Hill and Richard Hambly

My friend and neighbour, the author Deborah Fowler, brought to my attention this poem about Trencrom Hill, the star of my song Cornish Ghosts. The poem is from the book Down in a Mine and Poems of West Cornwall by Richard Hambly, the 2^nd edition of which was published in Hayle by F. Rodda of Penzance in 1897. Kearley Wright’s West Country Poets (see below) seems to suggest that the first edition was published in 1883 with a slightly different title.

Another source describes him as an accountant in Foundry Hill, St. Erth, mentions his marriage in Falmouth in 1880, and implies that he died after 1901. https://www.haine.org.uk/trees/penwith/1056.htm

Here’s the poem.

Trencrom or Trecrobben Hill (Near Lelant)

It was when night with hasty stride
Approached the far and glowing west,
I climbed Trecrobben’s rugged side,
And lingered on its top to rest.

On east and west the waters shone
In evening’s faint, but crimson ray,
While aye, with ceaseless roll and tone,
They sought the shores of either bay.

On high the pale and crescent moon
Its rays of silvery brightness lent,
Descending through the gathering gloom
Like angels on blest mission sent.

While all around the ponderous stone
In huge and shadowy circles lay,
The same as when, in ages gone,
Was heard the Druid minstrel play.

It was a scene which painters bold
Have loved on canvas to restore,
Or in the poet, fervid-souled,
Lies mirrored from the days of yore.

How easy then for fancy’s wing
To brush the dim, historic page,
And to new life and memory bring
The records of an earlier age.

To see, on yon high circling mound,
The sacred fires, rekindled, burn,
And watching nigh, all chaplet crowned,
The Druid priest with visage stern!

See tangled wood, and barren heath
Usurp the fresh and well-turned field,
And earth, despoiled of labour’s wreath,
Scarce but the fir and hawthorn yield.

See circling hut, and skin-clad form
Chase the broad signs of wealth away,
And worship, of her beauties shorn,
Pine in the depths of forest gray.

But ah! What means the flames’ bright play,
The struggling form, the cold blade’s sweep…
The plunge, the cry? …Away! Away!
The shades of death around me creep!

Away! ….thank God, I was not born
In Britain’s first, and darkest days,
To lead a life debased, forlorn,
Scarce cheered by hope, untaught by praise.

More Hambly poems

I assume that these are poems by the same Richard Hambly, but haven’t been able to find an affordable copy of his book of poems to check them against, and the site doesn’t give a source or other biographical data: https://www.poetrynook.com/poet/richard-hambly.

The poems there are:

• God Bless You
• Love
• Mount’s Bay
• Music
• Our Sand-hills
• The Next Thing

Our Sand-hills and, of course, Mount’s Bay specifically refer to Cornwall.

 

I did find a brief biography and another poem in W.H. Kearley Wright’s West Country Poets. Here’s a transcription of a front cover.

 

WEST-COUNTRY POETS. Their Lives and Works

BEING AN ACCOUNT OF ABOUT FOUR HUNDRED VERSE WRITERS OF DEVON AND CORNWALL, WITH POEMS AND EXTRACTS.

ILLUSTRATED WITH PORTRAITS.

BY

1. H. KEARLEY WRIGHT, F.R.H.S.

BOROUGH LIBRARIAN, PLYMOUTH.

 

LONDON:

ELLIOT STOCK, 62, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C.

1896.

There’s an online copy of the book at archive.org here: https://archive.org/details/westcountrypoets00wrigrich/mode/2up

Page 226 of the original reads:

RICHARD HAMBLY. Mr. Richard Hambly is a native of Hayle, in Cornwall, where he was born in 1848, and where he still resides. He is cashier of the firm of Messrs. Harvey and Co., Limited, the well-known engineers and merchants of that town. He has written many short poems, and in 1883 published a little volume of verse, entitled ‘Down in a Mine, and other Sketches in Verse,’ these pieces being, as stated in the preface, ‘the product simply of recreative hours, after a daily business routine.’

Mr. Hambly’s descriptive power is good, and he has a strong imaginative faculty; his poetic efforts are, moreover, imbued with a healthy religious sentiment. His subjects are nearly all of local interest, and his descriptions of Cornish scenery are well done. We give one of his short pieces as a specimen of his versification:

And this is the poem West Country Poets offers as ‘an example of his versification’:

The Land’s End

O joy of youth, the pride of age,

Thyself prime entry on the page

Of time begun!

From headlands gray, from pearliest nooks,

What wildness, brightness, in the looks

That o’er thee come!

 

To see thee thus, or bright or wild,

To watch thy moods, or fierce or mild,

They come from far;

They crowd thy lap, they climb thy knees,

And gaze entranced on rolling seas, 1

Thy gem-set car.

 

What joyous rides o’er hill and dale,

The ruddy glow on cheeks once pale,

Thy records show!

What gleams of wit, what thoughts of love,

As music, mirth, and laughter move

With ceaseless flow!

 

What forms of sea-birds hovering round,

Of white-winged ships on azure ground,

Delightful show!

How rise the hopes, how spreads the calm,

As thy grand presence breathes a psalm

O’er spirit woe!

 

O joy of youth, the pride of age,

Thyself prime entry on the page

Of time begun!

Thou praisest God. So too may we,

Where ends the land, where rolls the sea

Of life to come.

 

 

After a few years failing to be a rock star, David Harley spent most of his working life in IT, latterly in IT security. Since settling in West Penwith and reluctantly embracing retirement, he has written less about security and technology, and more about music and verse (some his own), while delving into local history, fiction, and attempted humour. Most of his early books are technical, reflecting his roles as a researcher, writer, editor and translator, though he claims that his main translation skill is geek-to-English. He has more albums than anyone will ever want to buy on Bandcamp. There’s more information about (most of) his books, past and present on Amazon. There is a reasonably accurate Wikipedia page that is mostly focused on his work in IT security.