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Updated: June 27, 2025
But their churchyard is full of drowned folk. There are one hundred and four in one grave, one hundred and twenty in another, one hundred and six in a third. An old St. Keverne man will slowly name thirty ships and steamers wrecked in sight of the church steeple in the range of his memory. A quick-eared coastguard heard the sound of the escape of steam, which was almost instantly silenced.
Anyway, 'twas revealed to me just now in a dream that I stood on the lawn at Bodmin Priory, and peeped in at the Priory window. An' there in the long hall sat all the saints together at a big table covered with red baize and plotted against us. There was St. Petroc in the chair, with St. Guron by his side, an' St. Neot, St. Udy, St. Teath, St. Keverne, St. Wen, St. Probus, St. Enodar, St.
There are some curious traces of former rood-lofts which seem to speak of eastward enlargements. The bench-ends bear the symbols of the Passion. In the south aisle are the arms of Incledon, famous singer of a past century, who began his career at Exeter Cathedral when eight years old, and later became celebrated at Bath, at Vauxhall, and at Covent Garden; he was a native of St. Keverne.
Keverne when he stood among them in the clothes in which he had swum ashore, which had dried upon him during a long November night. There was just time to catch the night mail to Penzance. Heaven was kind to him and gave him no time to think. The coach leaves Penzance at nine in the morning for a two hours' climb over bare moorland to St. Just a little grey, remote town on the western sea.
After many gallant attempts, and three journeys to and from shore, the brave fishermen managed to save all that were left on the wreck, but 196 were drowned. There was another rich harvest for St. Keverne graveyard. The memorable blizzard of 1891 of course paid its tribute of wrecks to these shores.
There are many beautiful stones and appropriate inscriptions during all that long period, in spite of the advent of Mr. Buggins and his ugliness, and the charm and pathos is often in a phrase, a single line, as in this from St. Keverne, 1710, a widow's epitaph on her husband: Rest here awhile, thou dearest part of me.
Keverne lies nearly two miles from the sea, high above it on the bare tableland that juts out ten miles to the Lizard lights. It is a rural village far from railway or harbour. Its men are agriculturists, following the plough and knowing but little of the sea, which is so far below them that they rarely descend to the beach, and they do no business in the great waters.
The font, which happily was preserved by former coats of whitewash, is Early English; it bears the inscription "Ric. Bolham me fecit." The lofty south doorway is a very good specimen of Norman; the pulpit, which is modern, is of serpentine, and there are serpentine tombstones in the graveyard. Like St. Keverne, this is a burial-ground of the wrecked.
There he found a number of letters which had been sent on from the steamship company's offices. The first he opened bore the postmark of St. Just in Cornwall. It was from the coastguard captain of that remote western station, and it had been originally posted to St. Keverne. "Dear Sir," he wrote. "One of your crew or passengers has turned up here on foot.
In great heat he hastened after the guest, and while passing Crowza Downs he pocketed a few large stones for future use. Presently he saw St. Just plodding along in the distance, and shouted after him. St. Just was too deeply absorbed in religious meditation to notice the cries. Finding shouts were useless, Keverne began to throw his stones, and these proved more effectual. St.
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