Camborne people are now frequently called “Merry-geeks.”

This modernized name conveys the idea that Camborne boys are much inclined to frolicsome fooling. Some old folks, however, still call them Merry-sicks or Merry-sickers. No doubt they acquired their nickname from their patron, St. Meriasek, who, according to his legend, as given in the old Cornish Mystery-play, was one of the most noted wonder-workers in this land of saints.

Camborne folks, of three centuries or so ago, must have highly appreciated this rare old “Guary Miracle” of St. Meriasek, if only for the way in which they are lauded in it. Redruth Plan-an-Guary must have rung with applause when it was performed there during Queen Elizabeth’s reign, and probably much later.

With regard to Marazion people’s appellation of “Crows,” it is said that, until a little while ago, a remarkable variety of party-coloured crows frequented this ancient town and its neighbourhood from very remote times. The saying of “All black and white, like a Market-jew crow,” is still frequently heard; as well as that of “Like the Mayor of Market-jew, sitting in his own light.”

Ludgvan folks got the name of “Hurlers,” because they were wont to beat all-comers at their favourite game of hurling. They are still proud of their name.

Gulval people obtained their nickname of “Bulls” long ago when they had a custom of bringing their young bulls (mostly yearlings) together to fight. The cattle were always matched [156]according to their ages. Often heavy bets were staked on the extent and result of their prowess, and the strongest was preferred as a sire for the future herd. Strength was then more desirable than now, since most of the team-labour on the land was done by oxen, and it was desirable that they should be tough and muscular. Feasten Monday was the usual time for this bovine trial of strength.

We will now follow the sun’s course, for good luck, and pass over the Bay to Moushal and its “Cut-throats.”

Shortly after the Spaniards burnt this old town, many young men of Paul and the adjacent parishes—eager to retaliate on the Dons—went privateering. Some of them joined the Jamaica buccaneers, a few turned pirates, and all of them scoured the Spanish Main. One and all of the West Country men hailed from Moushal, which was then a noted place, and the chief port west of Market-jew.

When the adventurous rovers returned home, laden with gold and treasures, envious land-lubbers, out of spite, dubbed them “Moushal’s Cut-throats.” Old folks used to say that, a century or so ago, the head proprietors of Paul and some of Buryan were the descendants of Buccaneers and “Madagascar Birds.” Those old families are, for the most part, become extinct in this neighbourhood, though two or three of them are flourishing elsewhere.

Our old privateering stories always speak of Moushal as the general rendezvous of western sea-rovers; thus this bad-sounding nickname was acquired

One needs go no farther than Moushal to learn how Newlyn people got the name of “Buccas.” What old folks say is to the effect that the fishermen of that place (within the remembrance of persons yet alive) were accustomed, on their return to shore, to make a propitiatory offering to a spirit (Bucca) by placing for him a fish, just within high-water mark, in order that the spirit might ensure them good luck in their fishing. It was believed that Bucca came at night and took away the fish. Those who continued to observe this remnant of an old religious rite were derided by their more “enlightened” neighbours of recent times, and by them nicknamed “Buccas.”

Old folks say that the inhabitants of Sancreed were called “Sancras Pigs” because, formerly, pork from that inland parish was preferred to what was raised elsewhere in this neighbourhood.

All the other parishes west of Hayle have some part of their [157]boundaries on the seaboard: consequently, from the abundance of fish and the want of any but the home market for it, until recently, much good fish was cast on manure heaps, in places near fishing-coves; and the great, long-sided, razor-backed swine, then foraging at their pleasure in lanes and hamlets, ate so much fishery offal that it communicated a bad flavour and worse smell to their meat. Much pork was then sold to the “jousters” (retailers from the eastward) as “Sancras Pigs” that never saw Sancras parish; and the natives of that favoured place might be heard all over the Market-house calling out, “Come ’e here, my dears, look at this, ah es a Sancras pig, born and reared; see the fat ov en es as white as a crud (curd); no fear ov en beean trainey, like Paul and Sennen-cove trade, that have lived upon fish all their time.”

At length these inlanders’ brag procured them the nickname of “Sancras Pigs,” which they still retain.

We must pass over Buryan, for there seems to be no satisfactory account as to how the swinish nickname bestowed on the natives of that important parish originated.

St. Levan people are said to have acquired their remarkable name of St. Levan Witches from the belief—once general—that the inhabitants of that remote parish were, in days of yore, much addicted to the practice of necromancy, particularly witchcraft. Old folks held that all the West Country witches used to meet and hold their revels in Castle Trereen; until they mounted to the Castle Peak, and, bestriding their brooms or ragwort stalk, thence took their departure for Wales, Brittany, and even to Spain. Most nights, however, they merely went over and got a good “blow out” (feast) on the milk of Taffy’s cows. At times, too, Tol-pedn-penwith was their place of assembly, whence they started to wreck ships and perform other deviltry.

If old traditions may be relied on, the unseemly nickname of Sennen —— originated in a somewhat remarkable way. They say that it was given long ago, owing to the Danish blood inherited by a few families who lived on the shore of Whitsand Bay.

Many Land’s End folks have still a strong antipathy to what they regard as marks of descent from northern pirates, who ravaged the West more than a thousand years ago.

Here, in old times, Scandinavians generally seem to have been called Danes; and from the prevalence, in some families of this parish, of the fiery-hued hair ascribed to those northern marauders, the inference is obvious, and the vulgar nickname accounted for which was given in ages past, and “originated with kind and discriminating neighbours.” [158]

No doubt the neighbouring witches, just mentioned, kindly performed their share of the nicknaming.

The stories referring to the “red-haired Danes’ ” incursions seem to be handed down from a time more remote than that of King Olof’s conversion at the Scilly Islands, and much of what they say is confirmed by Snorri Sturluson in his Heimskringla.

St. Just people do not seem to have had one of long standing, but they are favoured with two at present.

Many called them “Santust Fuggans,” and others “Red-tailed Drones.” The former is given them from the heavy-cakes (fuggan) which they take to “ball” for a stay-stomach; and the latter from their red working dress dyed with tin-stuff.

One may remark that what we country folks call “drones” are large wild bees with orange-coloured or red tails, and never the large male bees of the hive. When a slice of meat is baked on a “fuggan” it then becomes a “hoggan.”

Perhaps these peculiar words are old Cornish. A haws is also called a “hoggan,” but that may be from the Saxon.

It is uncertain how Morvah folks acquired the sobriquet of “Chick-chacks.” It is very general: consequently one may suppose it to be of ancient date. Some say it was given because the gabble of old Morvah people sounded like the chatter of birds commonly called Chick-chacks, from their cry or note. Morvah Devils is also a common nickname.

Nancledrea folk owe their nickname of “rats” to their mill, or rather to their millers. This may be understood by such scenes as the following, which often occurred:—The “loader” (miller’s boy) having brought the grist to a farmhouse, the good wife would “peze” (weigh by hand) the sacks of flour, bran, &c.—looking very wise, or sour the while,—then relieve her mind by saying, “Look here, thou ‘pilyack’ (good-for-nothing rascal), thee hast broft me up ‘tummals’ enow to be sure, but more than hafe of en es secands and brand, that a es; and what thee hast broft for brand es most of am barley hulls and ‘ishan’ (corn husks and dust,) but thee dosn’t care. The cunan old Nancledrea rats have eat the best flour agen and left all the secands and brand. Dost a hear me, you? I spose, too, that after the sacks had been twice tull’d, the millar’s old wife dipped in her dish agen, for doubtan that they hadn’t ben tull’d enow before.”

The loader, very unconcerned, lets the dame talk on, and she continues:—

“Now, tell the old rat from me—dost a heer me?—ef a don’t [159]sarve me better next time, I’ll carry my corn to ‘four parishes round’ before I’ll be cheated so; that I will; the devil take the hungry old rat and his wife too.”

After some rough talk the boy was generally dismissed with a good slice of bread thickly spread with cream and treacle.

It is said that Zennor people obtained their nickname of “Goats” from the great number of these animals which were formerly kept on the high rocky hills, amongst them Carn Galva (goat’s carn), on the western side of this parish.

It was also said that Zennor people would contrive, by their thrifty habits, to live like goats, where other animals and ordinary human beings would starve. “As careful as Zennor people” was a common saying in neighbouring parishes. Yet their care or stinginess was often mistaken for economy, when their rearing cattle, and working beasts as well, were so badly fed in winter that they came to “heaving” time, if not before, in the spring.

It was what we call “funny but whist” to see, of a morning, men or women, out in their “crafts” (where such cattle were usually wintered) helping a poor, half-starved beast to rise, and holding on to its tail until it could stand steady enow to devour the little jerffel (armful) of straw, put before it. Yet, when they contrived to keep alive their poor yearlings until summer, these hardy young cattle, then turned to lanes, would often wander away for miles and get at the grass, or any crop to be found on a remarkably fertile strip of land between the wild hills and the sea-shore, in spite of all their spanning or steeping (tying the head down to a leg), or “mopping,” by a piece of board hung before the eyes.

On this strip of land, forming the morrab of Zennor, the principal farms of this parish are situated.