The pool of St Branok

The woman of the house would dust a chair for my mother to sit on, and I would stand beside her, eyes wide, noting everything and listening to the talk about how our Jenny was getting on as maid up at the rectory or when our Jim was expected home from sea. My mother knew their business. It was part of the duties of the lady of the big house.

There was always a smell of food in the cottages. They kept the fires going with the wood they picked up from the beach. I loved the blue flames which they said was due to the salt in the wood and betrayed the fact that it had been salvaged from the sea. Most of them had cloam ovens in which they did their baking, while a kettle, black with soot, hung on a chain over the flames.

They had a different language from ours, I often thought, but I learned it. They ate different foods such as quillet which was a mixture of ground peas rather like a porridge and there was pillas, a kind of oatmeal which they boiled into a mixture called gurts. My mother told me that in the last century when these people were very poor they used to pick the grass and roll it in a pastry made of barley and bake it under the ashes.

They were more prosperous now. My mother frequently pointed out to me that my father was a good man who looked on it as his duty to see that no one in his neighborhood should starve.

The poor fishermen depended so much on the weather, and the winds on our coast could be violent. A certain melancholy descended on the Poldoreys when the knowledgeable predicted fierce winds and storms which would keep the boats idle. Of course, sometimes these appeared without warning and that was what fishermen and their families dreaded most. I heard one fisherman's wife say: "He do go out and I never knows as whether he'll be coming back." I thought that was very sad. It was the reason why they were so superstitious. They certainly looked all the time for signs and portents—mostly evil ones.

The members of the mining community were the same. The moor began about two miles from the town and close to the moor was Poldorey's tin mine. It was affectionately known as the old "Scat Bal" which meant useless, worked-out old has-been. It was far from that for it had brought prosperity to the community. We were on visiting terms with the Pencarrons who lived in a pleasant house close by, called Pencarron Manor. They had come to the district some years ago, bought the place and started working the mine.

The superstitious miners used to leave a didjan, which was a piece of their lunch, in the mine for the knackers in order to placate them and stop their wreaking some mischief which was very easy to do in the mine. There had been some fearful accidents and there were several widows and orphans who had lost their breadwinner to the old Scat Bal. They, like the fishermen, took notice of signs. They could not afford to ignore them.

"They are naturally fearful," said my mother. "One understands it. And if it means giving up a little of their lunch in order to buy safety this is a small price to pay for it."

I was very curious to hear more of the knackers. They were said to be dwarves—spirits of those Jews who had crucified Christ. My mother did not believe in them. It was easy for her. She did not have to go down the mine. But she was very interested in superstitions.

She said: "How they would laugh at us in London. But here in Cornwall they do seem to fit sometimes. It's the place for spirits and strange happenings. Look at the legends there are ... all the wells that give special qualities ... all the stories of the piskies and the unexplained mysteries. And then, of course, there is Branok Pool."

"Oh yes," I said, round-eyed and eager, "tell me about Branok Pool."

"You must be careful when you go there. You must always have Miss Prentiss or someone with you. The ground's a bit marshy round the pool. It could be unpleasant."

"Tell me about it."

"It's an old story. I think some of the people round here actually believe it. They'd believe anything."

"What do they believe?"

"That they hear the bells."

"Bells? What bells?"

"The bells that are supposed to be down there."

"Where? Under the water?"

She nodded. "It's a ridiculous story. Some say that the pool is bottomless. In that case, where could the bells get to? They can't have it both ways."

"Tell me the story of the bells, Mama."

"What a child you are! You always want to know everything."

"Well, you said that people should try to learn as much as they can."

"Of the right things."

"Well, this is one of them. This is history."

"I'd hardly call it that." She laughed and put a lock of my hair behind my ear for it had fallen out of the grip of the ribbon which was meant to be holding it back. "Long ago, it is said, there was an abbey there."

"What! In the water?"