 Part 24 of Legendland by Various, as we told by Lioness, recorded for LibriVox.org by Kathar Monakia. The Old Man of Currie. They tell a story down in Meneige, as the son of their most coroner of England, the Lizard Peninsula, is called, of an old man from the little village of Currie, near Mullian, who once rescued a mermaid who was stranded by the receding tide and could not get back to her husband and family who were awaiting her in a cave by Tynant's Cove. The Old Man was walking along the shore one summer evening, thinking of nothing in particular, when he saw in a deep pool left by the falling tide a beautiful lady with long golden hair who appeared to be in the greatest distress. When he drew nearer to her and discovered that she was a mermaid, he was filled with alarm for he had heard many tales of these sea sirens from the fishermen of Gunwillow. He was for running off home as hard as he could, but the piteous cries of the lovely creature were too much for his kind heart, and he went forward to inquire what her troubles might be. At first she was too terrified to reply, but the Old Man managed to pacify her, and she sobbed out her story. While her husband and children were asleep in the cave, she said, she had been attracted by the scent of the glorious flowers which grow all about the lizard, and to get as close to them as possible she had drifted in on the waves, and reveling in the sweet perfume had not noticed the falling tide until she discovered herself cut off in the rock pool. Now she explained if her husband awoke and found her missing he would grow terribly angry, for she was supposed to be hunting for his dinner, and if none arrived he would as likely as not eat the children. The Old Man, horrified at this terrible possibility, asked what he could do to help. The mermaid replied that if he would only carry her back to the sea she would give him any three things he cared to ask. He at once offered to undertake the task, and asked not for wealth, but that he might be able to charm away sickness, to break the spells of witchcraft, and to discover thieves and restore stolen property. The mermaid readily agreed to give him these powers, but she said he must come to a certain rock on another day in order to be instructed as to how to obtain them. So the Old Man bent down, and the mermaid, classifying him around the neck with her beautiful arms, he managed to carry her on his back to the open sea. A few days later he went to the rock agreed upon and was met by the mermaid, who thanked him heartily for his aid, and fulfilled her promise by telling him how he could secure the powers he desired. Then taking her comb from her golden hair she gave it to him, saying that so long as he preserved it she would come to him whenever he wanted her, and with that, in a languishing smile, she slid off the rock and disappeared. They say that the Old Man and she met several times afterwards, and that once she persuaded him to carry her to a quiet place where she could watch human beings walking about with their split tails, as she described legs. And if you doubt this story, the Old People along the coast will still point out to you the mermaid's rock to prove you wrong. All around the lizard, the Wild Coast is indented with beautiful little coves, whose pure, sandy beaches are washed twice each day by the incoming tide. In the deep sheltered valleys of Meneige, flowers grow in profusion, while on the bold high moorland of the interior of that rare British plant, Cornish Heath flourishes in great bush-like clumps. You reach this wonderful country by the great western road coach service from Halston. Mulean, Kynance, Cajwith, St. Cavern, all in this district, are places of an amazing beauty and charm. There are big modern hotels to be found at Mulean, and there are golf and sea fishing, bathing and entrancing walks by sea or moor to amuse the visitor in this warmth. Seagirt, land of heath and flowers. End of the Old Man of Currie. This recording is in the public domain. Recording by Catherine Monachia. Part 25 of Legendland by Various. As retold by Leonès and recorded for LibriVox.org by Julian Jameson. The Hooting Carn. One of the grimmest yet most fascinating tracts of moorland in the west is that wild, bolder, strewn district behind St. Just in Penwyth near the land's end. Here, amid a scene of savage beauty, wind swept by the great gales from the Atlantic, is a stretch of treeless moor, the richest in all Cornwall, in remains of prehistoric man. There is something eerie about this furthest west corner of England, and around it cluster legends galore. One of the queerest is that of the Hooting Carn, a bleak hill between St. Just and Moorva. Carn Kennajeck is its real name, but they are taking now to spelling it as it is pronounced. Carn Kennajeck. From it weird moaning sounds arise at night, and the strangely named Gump, a level track just below the summit, was, they say, the scene of a grim midnight struggle in the very old days. It happened that one moonless night, two miners walking back to their homes from Moorva passed by the base of the Hooting Carn. They knew its ill repute and hurried along in silence, their fears not allayed by the fact that on this night the moaning of the Carn was more persistent than usual, and that an unearthly light seemed to illuminate the rocks on its summit. Presently, to their great alarm, there sounded behind them the thunder of galloping hoofs, turning in fear they saw a dark-robed figure with a hood covering his face, approaching. As he dashed past, he signed to them to follow, and as they explained later some irresistible force made them obey. Without knowing how they did so, they were able to keep pace with the galloping steed and arrived swiftly near the top of the hill. There the dark horsemen dismounted, and the miners, terrified, found that they had been brought into the midst of a wild company of men of huge size, with long, unkempt hair and beards, their faces dogged with bright colors, and all engaged at the moment in singing a reckless chorus, which concluded in an uncanny hooting sound. But the arrival of the dark rider brought the demonic singing to an end. A circle was quickly formed, and two men, more huge and more terrible than any present, were brought forward to contest in a wrestling match. The horsemen, squatting on the ground, gave the signal to begin, but after a few preliminary moves the wrestlers complained that the light was insufficient. Then the squatting demon, for as such he proved to be, flashed from his eyes two great beams of fire that lit the whole ring. The struggle then proceeded amid the wild yells of the onlookers. At last one of the wrestlers lifted his opponent clear off his feet and hurled him to the ground with stupendous force. It was a sound like thunder as he fell, and he lay as one dead. At once the whole ring broke into confusion and crowded round the victor. This seemed to the miners grossly unfair play, and they went over to the fallen man to give him what aid they could. They found him in a terrible state, and since no aid was available one of them started to offer up a prayer for the dying man's soul. With his first words the utmost consternation fell upon the company. A great clap of thunder shook the rocks, a pitchy darkness covered the scene, and a fierce wind swept the hill. Then looking upward the miners saw the whole company, the dying man with them, disappearing northward in a dense black cloud, the two blazing eyes of the demon who had led them to the carn being clearly distinguishable for some time. Paralyzed with fear, the miners remained where they were until returning daylight broke the evil spell and permitted them to proceed to their homes and explain to their neighbors the secret of the Hootingkarn. Karn Kennejak you may reach by a glorious tramp across the moors from St. Just, to which a great western motor-coach goes many times daily from Penzatz. From the higher ground you will get magnificent coast views, embracing on a clear day the distant land of the skillies. All about the moor you will find the strange relics of a former race, stone circles, burrows, chrome lechs, and prehistoric dwellings mingling with the fern and heather and stunted grass of the hillside, and you breathe in tonic air that has come to you across two thousand miles of ocean. End of the Hootingkarn. This recording is in the public domain. Part 26 of Legendlands by Various as retold by Lioness recorded for Libervox.org by Esther The Padsdow Mayday Songs Supplement Padsdow and its Mayday Songs Mayday in Padsdow On the north Cornish coast is celebrated by an ancient custom of peculiar interest. The whole town is enfet, the ships in the harbour decked with flags, the people adorned with flowers, the feature of the day's celebrations is the hobby-horse dance or procession to two very old tunes. Until comparatively recent times the maypole was still erected each year in the town. Padsdow's two Old May Songs date from the Middle Ages but they have suffered much corruption in the course of time. Words and music have been altered but the version given here is from an old source and owing to the irregularity of the meter of the lines as in all traditional songs a considerable amount of ingenuity is called for on the part of the singer to fit the words of the second and subsequent verses particularly of the day song to the tune but it can be done. The May Morning Song has eighteen or more verses each followed by the chorus all of which obviously cannot be printed here. There are a dozen that begin Rise Up! the name of the person before whose house it is being sung, being inserted. The reference to an Ursula bird in the second verse of the day song has a traditional reference to an old dame who it is said, let a party of Cornish women in red cloaks headed by the hobby-horse in procession round the cliffs in days gone by and so frightened away a hostile French ship whose captain mistook the women for soldiers. A similar story is told of Fishguard in south Wales in Legendland leaflet number eleven. The May Morning Song with the merry singing in the spring for summer is a come-in today how happy are those little birds that merrily doth sing in the merry morning of May. Chorus Unite, all unite it's now all unite for summer is come in today and wither we are going to all now unite in the merry morning of May. Young men and maidens I warn you every one is a come-in today to go unto the green woods and bring the may home in the merry morning of May. Rise up, Mr. Blank with your sword by your side for summer is a come-in today your steed is in the stable and waiting for to ride in the merry morning of May. Rise up, Mr. M and gold be your ring for summer is a come-in today and send us out a cup of ale in the merry morning of May. Rise up, Mrs. R all in your gown of green for summer is a come-in today you are so fair a lady as waits upon the queen in the merry morning of May. Rise up, Mr. B I know you well a fine for summer is a come-in today you have a shilling in your purse but I wish it was in mine in the merry morning of May. Rise up, Mrs. R and strew all your flowers for summer is a come-in today it is but a while ago since we have strewed ours in the merry morning of May. Rise up, Mrs. E and reach to me your hand for summer is a come-in today you are so fair a damsel as any in the land in the merry morning of May. Rise up, Mr. R and reach to me your hand for summer is a come-in today for summer is a come-in today and you shall have a lively lass and a thousand pounds in hand in the merry morning of May. Where are the maidens that here now should sing for summer is a come-in today oh they are in the meadows the flowers gathering in the merry morning of May the young maids of Padstow they might if they would for summer is a come-in today they might have a garland gold in the merry morning of May. Where are the young men that here now should dance for summer is a come-in today oh some they are in England and some they are in France in the merry morning of May the young men of Padstow they might if they would for summer is a come-in today they might have built a ship and guilt are all in gold in the merry morning of May. Now fair ye well we bid you all good cheer for summer is a come-in today we'll call once more unto your house before another year in the merry morning of May. The day-song up flies the kite and down falls the lark oh an Ursula bird she had in old you oh and she died in old Park oh where is St. George oh where is he oh he's down in his long boat all on the salt sea oh where are those French dogs oh where are they oh they're down in their long boats all on the salt sea oh where are those French dogs oh where are they oh they shall eat the grey goose feathers and we shall eat the roast oh the last verse of the morning-song is sung to its own tune to conclude the day-song Padstow itself is a queer old fishing-town fifteen miles from Bodman from which place it is easily reached by train it is situated at the mouth of the camel the finest salmon river in Cornwall and has at St. Anadoc on the other side of the estuary one of the best golf courses in England and of Padstow and its May Day songs and of Legendland as retold by Lioness