An Introduction to the Tree People

A magical woodland

There is a story that we say is true

Where legends and giants planted great

Ash and Oak trees

And with a sprinkle of magic

The trees came alive and whispered on the breeze

Of a time gone by, of lost sailors; so tragic

Mermaids, monsters and missing relics

And great Kings and creatures with tales most epic.

Follow the path and you will see

That some of these trees are not all they seem

A few have names with stories to retell

And hold the key

To the legends and myths

Of what has been

On the Cornish coast of hopes and dreams.

The Mermaid of Zennor

Senara

There was once a woman who attended church

Every Sunday at the Senara Parish of Zennor

Nobody knew who she was, a mystery of a lady

With jewels, gold and grace -

Stunning features and an ethereal face

When the hymns began, the congregation would gasp

Her sweet dulcet tones were otherworldly

All eyes stayed on her, but when she’d leave

She’d suddenly vanish by the shore

Leaving all of the folk in awe

One man in particular was enchanted with her

His name Mathey Trewella, the Churchwardens son

One day he followed her, around the coast path

Hoping to win her heart, he was keen

And that was the very last time they were seen.

The folk all believed that she was a mermaid

A temptress that lured Mathey away

The sailors believe they can still hear them singing

Down near Pendour Cove

Guarding their home and treasure trove

The Patron Saint of Cornwall

Piran

St Piran was the holiest of men

He lived in Ireland and rose to favour

As priest counsellor to King Aengus of Munster

He stayed in good graces

Until he did not

And then got himself into a tricky spot

One fateful day, the king’s eye was turned

By a beautiful girl that was not his wife

Piran forbid it but the king did not care

He tied poor Piran

to a granite mill stone

And into the sea he was thrown!

Bewildered and shocked, the village folk saw

That the stone did not sink into the murky depths

But floated adrift a strong current

Untying his binds

Piran landed on a beach

And said, ‘What a great place to teach!’

He built himself a church in Perranporth

And the Cornish people flocked

To learn of Christianity and many untold tales

Piran listened to his God

and stayed by the coast

Realising he was luckier than most!

On one frosty night, Piran lit a great fire

And used a big black rock as a hearth stone

In the great heat, the rock started to melt

A stream of silver

Oozed from the ore

And metal gleamed on the shore.

The news travelled fast of a new metal to smelt

and the miraculous man who called it tin

It sold to merchants bringing so much wealth

That many ladies did fluster and faint

Later in years the holy man Piran

became our Patron Saint.

The Giant of St. Michael's Mount

Cormoran

I was planted in a bygone age by a boy called Jack.

His story is one that we must never forget.

He retold a tale

that would make most recoil

of a terrible giant named Cormoran.

He was a gruesome creature with warts and boils

That lived on St Michael’s Mount in Marazion

He terrorised the people

And bared his rotting teeth

Taking livestock and the butchers primed beef.

The locals had come to the end of their tether

Fed up of living in fear, a reward was granted

To any brave soul

Who could slay the beast

With the gift of a belt, a sword and a great feast

Jack a young farmers son was brave and true

With intelligence and strength he’d have the giant run through

By digging a pit

And covering with straw

The giant fell in and bumped his head sore

With Cormoran confused, angry and injured

Jack swiftly yielded his weapon and made the first move

A swing of his axe

A blow to the head

The great Cormoran giant lay dead!

Jack was now a hero and the villagers could relax

The giant now just a pile of dust, ash and rock

Climb high onto the mount

And you may see

Where Jack’s killer trap used to be.

The Eel Spirit

Elowen

Humans have talked of a hob-goblin

A deep rooted fear within the sea

Of an eel spirit called a Bucca

That would catch the fisherman’s tea

During great storms and high tides

The bucca would retreat to a cave

Many Cornish folk would bear witness

Of a giant eel tail above the waves

The Bucca was not a bad spirit

As was usually written in folk-lore

When food was scarce in-land

He’d chase the fish to the shore

And in times of a-plenty

The Cornish folk would return the favour

They’d leave their catch on the tide

For the Bucca to feast and savour.

Find the Wishing Tree

In Tregenna's woodland walk

Find the tree, touch the bark

Close your eyes, let in the dark

Count to three in your head

And make a wish for a time ahead.

Believe it so and you will find

That a fairy made it a magical bind

For nothing in this charming wood

Should really be fully understood.

Explore the woodland walk