Cornwall Land of Legend - Historic Cornwall Land of Ancient Monuments, Myths and Legend
Cornwall, land of legend ...
Never mind the myths, experience the reality.
Cornwall's rich heritage has an international reputation. 5000 years of history surrounds you at almost every turn. Any walk across the moors or along the coastal path will bring you into contact with a multitude of historical features from Bronze Age Burial Mounds and hut circles, the enclosing earthworks of Iron Age Hill forts, Victorian follies, 19th century Tin and Copper workings, to the present day satellite stations and telecommunication systems.
This visible history is set against a backdrop of truly
stunning landscapes. Cornwall is blessed with a large number of character
properties that have a unique history of their own. We have created
a series of pages that describe many of these fascinating locations
with links to these character properties.
Don't just visit, why not immerse yourself in the whole experience by staying in a property full of character and history. The granite spine of Cornwall holds more than tin and clay. Beneath its wind-scoured cliffs and within its drowned forest whispers, echoes linge - not just of miners and fishermen, but of giants who shaped the headlands with thrown boulders, of saints who sailed across the sea on millstones. This land doesn't merely have history; it breathes myth.
Here, King Arthur's ghost rides through Tintagel's sea-mist, not as a dusty legend but as a living presence felt in crashing waves. Piskies still lead travelers astray on Bodmin Moor if they show disrespect. Knockers, tiny mine spirits, warn of collapsing tunnels with phantom taps. The very place-names sing of older tongues - Zennor, where a mermaid lured a chorister into the deep; Logan Rock, balanced by a giant's hand. Here, King Arthur's ghost rides through Tintagel's sea-mist, not as a dusty legend but as a living presence felt in crashing waves. Piskies still lead travelers astray on Bodmin Moor if they show disrespect. Knockers, tiny mine spirits, warn of collapsing tunnels with phantom taps. The very place-names sing of older tongues - Zennor, where a mermaid lured a chorister into the deep; Logan Rock, balanced by a giant's hand.
Cornish heritage isn't archived. It pulses in the 'dreckly' (mañana with moorland pragmatism), in furze-bright hedgerows, in stories told over pasties. It's a tapestry where saints walk with pagan spirits, where every cove hides a smuggler's tale or a selkie's skin. To know Cornwall is to listen when the crow's call sounds like "Dâh! Dâh!" - the cry of the dead. The land remembers. Lean close - you'll hear it.