Our Society’s very own Anthology of the works of John Harris is published. Order your copy and one or two more as presents for friends and family.

The Annual General Meeting 2009 was held at the Troon Methodist Guild room on Saturday 21st February and approximately forty members and friends attended. As part of my own report I was proud to announce that the printing of the Anthology had been completed ahead of time and I was able to distribute copies to the subscribers present and extra copies were available for sale.

I thanked all those who had been involved in any way in the production of the book and the committee were to be engaged in the distribution and sales over the coming months. Since the meeting, I have received the copy of a review by Paul Newman which he has sent to The Western Morning News, I think it expresses an un-biased and favourable opinion of the Anthology:-

‘The Extinguished Candle—Re-Lit,’ Compiled by the John Harris Society, with a concise introduction by Elisabeth Rickard and evocative cover by Eric Parsons, this is an intelligent, ingenious anthology of the best of John Harris’s poetry and prose, the upshot of much sieving, sampling and discussion…

...John Harris is now stepping into the daylight of wider recognition and this anthology shows him at his best. Mining, religion, flowers and birds are well represented; the short essays and snatches of autobiography serve as pleasant anchorages amid the august flights of language. This being the age of the short poem, assailing such a mighty word-heap as ‘Carn Brea’ might prove mentally daunting to the less intrepid who is here offered a few memorable extracts. Such a happy selection is ideal for the literary pilgrim, providing brevity and variety and not entirely shirking the longer piece—for all of ‘The Mine’ is printed here, one of the cornerstones of John Harris’s achievement.

On behalf of all who were involved in the production of this book—Thank you Paul.

Our speaker for the afternoon was Jackie Harding who has completed a highly acclaimed dissertation on John Harris. Her talk was well received and was followed by several questions from those attending. I have been requested to invite her to speak to us again sometime.

For fear of repeating myself, I must ask for you all to make a contribution to our newsletter. You can write comments on the anthology, John Harris’s work and his peers, life in Cornwall during his time or anything that springs to mind that might interest other members. A few lines or a page or two would most welcome.

Some of you might have heard me sing some of the John Harris poems I set to music, at the October meeting. This was part of a folk opera that I wrote about the life of John Harris, originally sung and performed by Konteth Kearrek choir. We have sung several of my pieces over the years, always about people and places in Cornwall and the latest is about Neville Northey Burnard which I hope to release as a CD later in 2009.

I thought he’d make an interesting subject for an opera as he had a tragic life and fell from enormous fame and wealth to a penniless drunk, living off his drawings and writings and dying in the workhouse in Camborne. Here is the story of his life and a taster of some of the songs. Thurstan Hoskin wrote some additional material a piece of which I have put in at the end.

In a tavern in St Cleer on a winters night there’s a man getting drunk by the fireside,

He’s as ragged as the tops of the trees, and he sits with his head in his hands.

How he carved the portraits of the mighty and the good and life for him was good, life for him was good.

Neville was born in Altarnun and worked as a mortar boy for his father but from a very early age showed great skill as a sculptor. If you go to Altarnun village you will find examples of his work in the churchyard and a fine portrait of John Wesley which he did at the age of eighteen. He had a fine feeling for all the beautiful stones and he’d spend his time on Bodmin moor drawing all the flowers and animals. He won many local competitions for his work.

All the flora and the fauna from his days upon the moor, with a light touch and a sure hand, he could make the people real,

Neville was discovered by Sir Charles Lemon and he went as an apprentice sculptor to work under Francis Chantrey and by 1841 could command his own commissions which resulted in him being asked to sculpt the prince of Wales.

His finest work stands at the top of Lemon street in Truro, the statue of Richard Lander.

At that time, many of the rich and famous would want to be immortalised in stone and Neville had much work but although most of it was in London, his heart remained in Cornwall and he’d return when he could.

He married a girl from an artistic family and they had two sons followed by two daughters and life was very good for him. His daughter Lottie however contracted scarlet fever and died and this hit him very hard.

With Lottie dead and having grown disillusioned with life in London, he took to drink and ended up wandering the length and breadth of Cornwall as an itinerant and living on handouts in exchange for a verse or a drawing.

The Dawes family were very kind to him and during his stay he didn’t drink but soon he was off on his wanderings. Ill and taken into Camborne workhouse he died and was buried in a paupers grave.

Why such wealth and fame should be cast aside is unclear but Neville had an enormous affinity for Cornwall’s landscape and he understood the nature of all the stones she is made of and the areas they come from,

I hope that people will be moved to see some of his work which can be seen in Altarnun churchyard and at Falmouth Polytechnic and at Truro museum. You only need to walk to the top of Lemon street to see an example of his finest work, that of the statue of Richard Lander.

2008 was a particularly interesting and active year for those of us who choose to serve either as officers or on the Committee of the John Harris Society.

As you will all be aware the talked of Anthology of John Harris’s Works has come to fruition and a very pleasing book has proved to be the outcome.

We entitled it ‘THE EXTINGUISHED CANDLE.....RELIT’. We trust that all of you who ordered in advance of publication are happy with your purchase. It had arrived on the day before the AGM. Those of you who attended were able to pick up your books on the day. This has brought some phone calls and e-mails of approval which makes us who were involved happy it has turned out so well.

Thanks must be expressed to everyone who assisted in any way, especially the proof readers. This was a long and mentally tiring job, with as Eric put it, the need for endless cups of tea, which I feel duty bound to say, he usually made. The other helper who needs especial thanks is our Treasurer. Applying for grants is not just a matter of requesting money. Forms have to be filled in successfully, interviews with the right people and putting the appeal in the correct manner. Thank you Elisabeth for dealing with everything so well.

I have been invited to speak on John Harris and his works at The West Country Writers Association Congress to be held at the Chy-an-Albany Hotel, St Ives, May 9^th. I have accepted on behalf of the Society, taking Elisabeth Rickard and Eric Parsons with me. My voice would not sustain a 45 minute talk plus question time.

Articles which have arrived from you, the members, especially the Charles Thomas anniversary piece, lead me to believe this edition of the Newsletter will be, like the year past, interesting. Thank you for making our job so much smoother. Life in Cornwall in the 19^th century held over until the June edition.

It is many years since I read any children’s literature. I was mildly surprised at the change from the old adventure stories I last read. (To nine year old twin boys in the nineteen eighties.)

The Rainbow Stone is the story of an adventure forced on a boy by the loss of his home and family. I’m undecided in which century it is set but I am sure it was many ages ago. Description of home comforts, clothing, food, and travelling – by horse, or in carts pulled by horses- as well as the homesteads using Oxen to plough the land tells me so.

Rialobranus, (Bran for short) on the orders of his uncle, an ailing King, sets off to find what remains of his family after losses during great wars. He learns much by way of customs and crafts of the tribes he meets on his journey.

His speech and good manners in responding to the kindnesses he receives earns him respect. Every home he stays at he is given gifts, and when leaving, advice on how to continue his journey safely. The Rainbow Stone is one such gift. Worn around his neck it often changes colour indicating good or evil. He reaches his destination where he is welcomed, feted and acclaimed as the long expected warrior leader. Bran is happy to be back with his own people but his experiences have taught him much. A leader must lead wisely! Take an enemy’s head only if you are prepared to lose your own.

The story is being told to three children at bed time. The parents appear to be waiting for light to reappear. Does this indicate an eclipse? When the story time ends light returns and all are safe. I understand that modern mums prefer not to read to their children thereby sending them to sleep, but to read with them so both can enjoy and explanations given where necessary.

Certain passages of ‘The Rainbow Stone’ makes me think it would be better read with, depending on the age.

John Harris died at his Falmouth home on 7^th January 1884 and was laid to rest in Treslothan churchyard, in the same earlier grave of his little daughter Lucretia (d.1855) with an appropriately-inscribed new headstone. The centenary of his death, 1984, is now a quarter-century ago. Later that year and again in 1985 various people wondered if it had passed unremembered, including a few who wrote as much in local newspapers. It had not, and our Newsletter seems the most appropriate place to put this on record. (It was in fact done so concisely in 2002, in Arthur Langford’s ‘Git Up And Go’. A History of Cornish Mining Families, Miango Books, Redruth, at p.45 but without illustrations.)

Three of us assembled in Treslothan churchyard on the morning of 7^th January 1984- Richard Henry (‘Richie’) Thomas from Bolenowe; Francis Sutcliffe, then vicar of Treslothan; and me. Richie (born 1916) and I (born 1928) refrained from addressing Mr Sutcliffe by his usual title of ‘Father’ because he was so much younger than us both.

I had prepared a circular wreath of bay-leaves appropriate for a poet which we laid on the grave accompanied by a label (‘Placed in memory by the Thomases of Bolenowe’). Francis Sutcliffe offered suitable prayers and I read several poems, one being John’s lament on his Lucretia’s passing.

What made the little ceremony special was that there were four of us, not three. We were accompanied by Lesley Clutterbuck, a daughter of Dr and Mrs Stephen Clutterbuck, at Camborne, who was already a skilled photographer and who during autumn 1983 had been making views of Bolenowe for me.

Why were we doing this? First, because there was no sign that any other devotees of John Harris, from Camborne or Falmouth, had planned to remember 1884; second, because Richie and I were fans of John’s poems and naturally knew his grave; and third, because in a way we were by then the only representatives of the families belonging to Bolenowe in John’s lifetime. The Harrises had all gone, the Bennatts family ditto, My own branch of the Thomas family had long since moved downhill to Camborne and Richard Henry was the last Thomas resident at Bolenowe.

Who was he? Richie and his wife Sybil, now both dead, had a little farmhouse in the middle of Bolenowe. His was a very ancient line indeed. Two Thomas brothers, John and James, born around 1580-90 lived somewhere in the northern end of Camborne parish, the Kehelland area, and in 1613 and 1620 they married the sisters Jane and Thamsine Hocking, probably from Callean or Menadarva.

John’s descendants, Richard (1646-90) and his nephew, a second Richard (1665-1732) were churchwardens at Camborne in 1686-7, 1696-7 and 1708-9. Three more generations, all with the first born sons named Richard, we find a Richard Thomas born in 1768 and his son Richard born in 1796 living at Bushorn, Kehelland, listed as ‘miners’, possibly tin-streamers.

The latter Richard, who died in 1864, moved to Bolenowe and was there when John Harris’s large family lived at Six Chimneys. His son Henry Thomas (born 1836) became ‘shopkeeper, farmer and cattle dealer’ at Bolenowe and also had premises at Troon; he died in 1901. That was Richie’s grandfather and, like our own family, they had been Methodists since the 1790s.

Were we related in any way? Well, yes, inevitably, as with most Camborne families if you go back far enough. Richie and I used to sit in his parlour, wading through Camborne Parish Registers and being plied with tea by Sybil. First we were amused to find that when his forebears Richard Thomas 1 and 2 were churchwardens at Camborne starting in 1686, we had beaten them to it by having an (unrelated) William Thomas as churchwarden at Gulval in 1641. It was our William’s grandson Jacob Thomas, born 1692, who as a child moved with his family from Gulval all the way east to Forrest, Illogan and then about 1716 with his wifeMary across the Illogan-Camborne parish boundary to Bolenowe.

The editor wishes to thank those who have contributed to our newsletters in the past and welcomes more articles from you, our readers, for possible inclusion in future editions. Anything remotely connected with Cornwall, John Harris, poetry, including other poets and Cornish life please.

John Harris was born in 1820 at Six Chimneys on Bolenowe Carn, near Camborne, the eldest of eleven children.

Largely self-educated - he started school when he was six or seven years old before finishing at the age of nine - John had an insatiable appetite for reading from his early years. On his ninth birthday he started work, briefly as a ploughboy, then for a tin-streamer, or—tinner operating in Forest Moor. When he was thirteen, John went to work underground at Dolcoath. He was to ply this arduous occupation for twenty-four years, seeing the famous mine pass from copper to tin.

Poetry, or verse-making as he called it, had been part of John’s life since his first attempts at rhyme in school when he was just eight years old. Whatever he was doing, verses were forming in his mind and he scribbled these down whenever and wherever and on whatever he could. He used the clean side of cast-off labelled tea wrappers, and when no paper was available would scratch his poems on slate, using a sharp pointed nail. In his mining days his miner’s ‘hard’ hat was sometimes used for this purpose. When no ink was available, he used blackberry juice. He fitted his writing into a busy life that, apart from his work and his family responsibilities, included being a Methodist lay preacher and a Sunday School teacher.

John Harris left Dolcoath in 1857 to take up an appointment as a Scripture Reader at Falmouth, a post which he threw himself into with enthusiasm. He continued writing poetry, and began writing peace tracts and became a Quaker.

John Harris was sometimes compared with John Clare. The Lincolnshire Chronicle of May 22nd 1863 stated

No person can peruse the simple and touching ' Story of Cam Brea ' without feeling convinced that Mr. Harris is as true a poet as John Clare, Thomas Miller, and other children of the coy but witching muse. Poetry breathes in every line of the tale. In that calm contemplative love of nature which distinguishes the poetry of Cowper and Wordsworth, our poet is indeed rich.

The solitary nature of his occupation, amid the wild and rugged scenery of Cornwall, appears to have quickened his perception of the slightest detail belonging to the landscape: hence, the photographic fidelity of his poetic descriptions. We may feel proud that the ranks of our toilers contain such men, who are an honour, not only to their class, but to their country. ( 1 )

John Clare is well-known, but who was John Harris? He was bom in 1820 and died in 1884, so he is a generation after John Clare. John Harris was a Cornishman, and lived near Camborne (Bolenowe and Troon) and then Falmouth. Unlike John Clare who worked on the surface of the land, John Harris worked underground, as a copper and tin miner, at Dolcoath Mine, near Cambome, and later as a Scripture Reader at Falmouth.

Like John Clare, John Harris was mainly self-educated. He went to a dame-school, but then at the age of 12 years, to Dolcoath Mine, about three miles away from where he lived. He thus followed in the foot-steps of poets who were largely self-taught. One of his mentors was Robert Burns

The first poetical work which I remember to have read, and which fired my young fancy, being then a boy of only about eight or nine years of age, was an old copy of Burns’s "Saturday Night" which I found among some old books on a high shelf belonging to my father. Though it was somewhat difficult to understand its meaning in the Scottish dialect, yet, by repeatedly perusing it, I was enabled to do so, which filled me with much delight. ( 2 )

Robert Burns lived from 1759 to 1796 in Alloway, near Ayr, in a cottage built by his father. Such was his influence on John Harris that he wrote two poems about Robert Burns, which appear in one of his later volumes of poems. The first, called Robert Burns, concludes with this stanza:

The second, called The Ayrshire Ploughman, was prefaced by a verse from Longfellow, and concludes with this verse:

John Harris only once left Cornwall, and that was to go to Stratford-Upon-Avon in 1864 to collect the Shakespeare Tercentenary Prize. This award he won against national, perhaps even international, competition. He later received by post in Falmouth the prize of a gold watch. On his way back from Stratford-Upon-Avon, John Harris stopped at Bristol. There, at Redcliff, he saw Chatterton’s monument. No doubt he wanted to see this monument, because Chatterton was a poet, but had died at the early age of 18 years in 1770. Harris wrote a poem about his visit, called The Monument of Chatterton, which contained this verse

Harris wrote 15 books of poetry, only one, the first book, went to a second edition. They have long since been out-of-print. Two anthologies of his poems have been published. First, Songs from the Earth in 1977 by D. M. Thomas and secondly, more recently. The Cornish Poet by David Everett in 2002. A biography of John Harris, called The Meads of Love was written by Paul Newman and published in 1994 by Dyllansow Truran.

John Harris is buried in Treslothan churchyard, near Camborne, Cornwall. A John Harris Society was started in 1998.

The West Briton of February 15th 1861 reported that, Mr. John Harris, the Cornish Miner, has already sent forth two volumes of lyrics to the world, to prove the omnipresence of the 'spark divine’, and has now produced another, which additionally entitles him to take his place among the ranks of those poets of the people who are dignified by the names of Bloomfield, Nicoll, Capern, Cox, and Burns. The chief characteristics of Mr. Harris’s style are an intense and unvarying love of nature, which delights to dwell upon the wayside flower, the mossy stone, or the sunny hillside, and draw therefrom those gentle aspirations and calm moral teachings which appeal to the heart of the reader... ..(13)

He wrote poems about the Cornish mines, about nature and the seasons, about people and events. After he moved from Troon to Falmouth, he wrote poems about the evils of drink and war, and about social issues. From the Methodist background of his early days, he developed a greater sympathy with the Quakers. On his gravestone in Treslothan churchyard, there is the verse. Blessed are the Peacemakers (Matthew chapter 5, verse 9).

Perhaps his greatest similarity with John Clare were his nature poems. In Shakspere’s Shrine {sic}, 1866, he wrote a dozen sonnets, one for each month of the year. Here is the sonnet for July:

Perhaps his greatest similarity with John Clare, apart from being largely self-taught, was his love of nature. In the biography by his son, John Howard Harris writes,

2. Items not found in ‘Peeps at a Poet’ in Shakspere’s Shrine, London 1866 p.3.

5. see Robert Bloomfield Selected Poems, edited by John Goodndge and John Lucas Trent Editions, Nottingham 1998.

6. Items Not Found in ‘Peeps at a Poet’ in Shakspere’s Shrine, London 1866 p.3

9. John Harris, The Cornish Poet. The Story of his Life, John Howard Harris, London p.62

12. ‘The Monument of Chatterton’ in Shakspere’s Shrine, London 1866 p. 161

15. John Harris, The Cornish Poet. The Story of his Life, John Howard Harris, London p. 82

David Everett is a member of the John Clare Society and a founder member of the John Harris Society. He recently took part in a radio programme on poetry societies produced by BBC Radio Bristol. He is a graduate of the University of Oxford and the University of Wales, and is doing a research degree at the Institute of Cornish Studies, Combined Universities in Cornwall, Penryn, part of the University of Exeter. He is rector of Ketton, Tinwell, Easton-on-the-Hill, Collyweston, and Wittering, near Stamford.

My heartiest Good Wishes for a happy and healthy year 2008 to you all, as I present this, the winter edition of our newsletter.

Several interesting items to bring to your notice including the Tregonning Hill walk in company with the U 3 A group. It constituted a good attendance by them and us, with thanks and enjoyment expressed by Mr Dodge, their leader on the day, who has since joined the John Harris Society. We look forward to seeing him at future meetings.

The broadcast of the B.B.C’s ‘Poetry Please’ programme, of which many of our members took part, has resulted in much interest in The John Harris Society. Contacts have been made and new members joined from all over the country. Copies of a CD made by the B.B.C.have been received. Later, hopefully in the spring, the Society’s committee will arrange a Cornish Evening when the CD will be played for those attending.

One enquiry has come from a Metals and Shipping Company, founder- one Henry Bath. Eric has written us a full account of his and Elisabeth Rickard’s contact with the enquirer. I trust there will be a good response to the request.

The John Harris Birthday Memorial Day was another success, as I hope members and visitors alike will testify. Liz Harman our anecdotal speaker from Newlyn was most entertaining. “A proper little Cornish soul, I do like she” was how one of our members described her to me later, a sentiment with which I am happy to agree.

Other interesting dates attended were, Nancy Rudden’s Poetry book launch day at Penzance. A delightful little book, excellently produced. Together with Liz Harman’s “Now ‘Ark to me’ my Christmas present list this year gave me less trouble than usual, Thank you ladies! They were well received.

Last, but not the least of this busy period was a visit to Murdoch house, Redruth. for a well organised display of Thomas Merrit’s Hymns and music. This was arranged by the Redruth Story Group and continued throughout most of the day. I’m not sure how many more displays there will be to celebrate Merritt, but it was well worth a visit. As were the appetising refreshments

We also had some enquiries for the John Harris society as a result of the handful of books and walks Elisabeth took along for the stall.

My thanks to Rosey for her contribution on Thomas Merrit for this Newsletter. If anyone has other information about him please let us have it. We can include it later in the year. Remember it is his anniversary year.

Please recall too we are hoping for John Harris poems to include in a new Anthology for publishing this year.

With my thanks for all the contributions included in this edition but still begging for more, I wish a good new year to you all

The story told by Mrs Rickard in the Summer edition entitled ‘Taking Dinner to the Mine; Sampling’ stirred memories of my boyhood to the point where I feel the need to share that experience and also some of my family’s links with mining, the Christian faith and, particularly, John Harris.

Members of the Society, Tony Langford, Elisabeth Rickard and I share the same Great-Grandfather, Mark Smith Harris, the Poet’s brother. Mark’s son Jacob was Elisabeth’s grandfather and his daughter Edith was Tony’s and my Grandmother.

The poetic strain was quite in evidence in Leslie Harris (Elisabeth’s father), and in my father (I’ve been looking unsuccessfully for a poem he wrote for me to say on the occasion of the centenary of Lanner Moor Methodist Sunday School in 1959 as I can only remember the first line - ‘Our Sunday School was founded in 1859-——’) and indeed, I wrote a poem for our son’s wedding in 1995 which was later published in Poetry Now 1996 - though royalties have never materialised!! Perhaps that strain is dying out!

Mark Harris drove the Dolcoath man engine and my father always said he wrote his sermons between calls! Grandpa, Walter Langford (1871 - 1957) married Edith Harris from Troon (niece of the poet) in 1895 and worked in the local mines. His father, Walter Hicks Langford, had moved the family from Polgooth, St Austell, to St Day in 1883 when the Polgooth mines were in decline. He moved again to Bolenowe in 1886 when he found employment at South Condurrow Mine. Walter then began serving his time there as a mine carpenter and became Underground Manager at Bassett Mines when just 31. In 1911 he predicted the mine didn’t have a long life. It closed eight years later. The family moved to Lanner in 1917 because of work at Tresavean Mine.In 1923 he started his own business (W H Langford & Son - the 'son' being my father, Charles Wesley Langford) and was mainly involved in the installation of mining equipment. In 1936, after Tresavean Mine had closed, he purchased the 153 feet high chimney stack and laid the charge that demolished it while Michael Veall, now living in Gwennap but then a pupil at Lanner School, stood with the other children in the school garden to watch the stack fall. Many of the bricks are still in the field beyond the house at Lanner Green in which I was born, and I have no doubt that they would have been delivered there by my other Grandfather, John Evans, who was a haulage contractor with four horses and appropriate wagons. He also hauled the coal trucks into the mine from the rail terminus at Buller Hill.

My father took over the family business in the 1940’s and I took over the business from him in 1967 when the recovery of tin from old spoil heaps was very popular. I pursued the installation of mining plant until that activity ceased whereupon my business moved into civil engineering contracting, for which I received considerable help and support from Tony’s father, Arthur Langford whose book ‘Git up &Go’ (which traces the history of the Harris family) many readers will have seen.

So back to dinner in the mine! Late in 1954, my father began work for South Crofty by first dismantling the plant from the original Mount Wellington Mine near Twelveheads. Using Joseph E Symons’ lorries, the equipment was transported to South Crofty and then used to reconstruct and develop the milling plant. During that period of reconstruction, when the mill normally worked 5.5 days a week, no productive time was lost as often my father would work all day on Saturday while the plant was idle. My role, from the age of about twelve, was to cycle to the mine to deliver hot, home made pasties, though because the main roads were considered too dangerous, I had to cycle from Lanner Hill across the track to Wheal Buller chapel and then via Carnkie, Carn Brea station, Dudnance Lane and into South Crofty.

In 1959, my father was appointed to the staff of South Crofty as Mill Superintendent to manage

the plant he had installed. He thought he was ‘made’ when he was offered £1,000 per annum and two weeks annual leave!

I mustn’t go on too long or there won’t be space left for anyone else but I must refer to the Christian tradition within the family, John Harris, his brother Mark, Mark’s son-in-law Walter Langford, his sons Wesley (my father) and Mark, my sister Sheila and I were or still are Methodist Local Preachers. Of the next generation, I have a niece and a nephew heavily involved within the Methodist Church and our son Jonathan is a full time Anglican Church Youth Worker in Salisbury. So the Christian tradition goes on though we know that God calls people in different ways and the ‘like father, like son’ principle doesn’t necessarily apply.

So being a member of the John Harris Society has, for me, something more than an historical interest. There’s something of John Harris and his principles in the blood!

I would like to thank Tony for providing some of the above information from his late father’s records.

The son of a copper miner living in Broad Lane, Illogan, Thomas Merritt entered this world on 26th. October 1862. Not a prosperous and comfortable world as we know it but one of poverty and hardship. What future lay ahead for this young boy and thousands of others like him, but the cramped dirty conditions of the mine where death was a constant companion and where, so often, the poor standards of living and working drove men to drink, thereby neglecting their homes and families. ‘Joy’ must have been in short supply in many homes, not only for the lack of money but the constant threat of illness and early death .Out of this hardship sprang his music, full of gladness and joy, a natural gift that would not be suppressed in the face of adversity. In later years this in particular would be reflected in the praise of the well known contemporary composer Malcolm Arnold who was amazed that a man could overcome such wretched circumstances and yet produce such joyous music.

Tragedy struck the Merritt household when Thomas was eleven years old and his father died. At the time he was attending Pool Board School and although his health was poor he was now forced to leave and follow in his father's footsteps to work underground at Carn Brea and Tolvaddon Tin Streams. As time went on, his natural talent for music was becoming apparent and because of this ability he was eventually able to give up the gruelling work at the mine and earn a small living for himself teaching music. He received much encouragement from the Rev. Harry Oxland of Illogan and at the age of eighteen he was taught music by Mr. Humphrey Broad of Redruth. He was very much a musician for his own community and in the words of Geoffry Baggs ‘Thomas Merritt was not a musical genius in the accepted sense of the word, but he was clearly a man dedicated to his mission and who saw that his role as a composer was to provide music which people could sing and enjoy, bright, simple music which spoke eloquently and fell easy on the ears’. Methodism was strong in the mining communities, the chapel was the hub of life beyond the daily toil, a point of social as well as religious gathering where people of like circumstances could meet and support one another through life’s struggles. For firm believers there was only the hope of heaven and the ‘joys’ that would be found there. Only natural then that Thomas Merritts Christian faith should be expressed in hymns and carols. His compositions were certainly well received and soon his music was to be heard above and deep underground in the mines, here was a man from their own community, one who understood their trials and hardships but who with his gift of music could help to lighten their spirits. With the decline of mining in the county many Cornishmen left our shores to work in California, Grass Valley, America, South Africa and South Australia taking with them not only their families but the music of Thomas Merritt where it would continue to be sung by the Cornish all over the world. Added to his musical attributes was his talent for conducting and proof of this lay in the dome of artificial flowers placed on his grave from the Voguebeloth Wesleyan Sunday School where he conducted a small orchestra.

Thomas Merritt died at the age of 46 from consumption and was laid to rest in Illogan churchyard. As a musician who carried a great deal of respect it seems hard to believe that none of his compositions were played at his funeral, surely this would have been a right and proper tribute. There are various memorials to him , one of which is on the wall of Fore Street Chapel, Illogan Highway. He was also organist at Chili Road Chapel and for this service he was presented with a marble clock m 1901.

This is how Thomas Merritt spoke of his musical career. ‘Music is meat and drink to me, and whatever I have done has been mainly by patient study and hard work. When a boy I used to delight in whistling airs of my own composition and at nine years of age I sang in a choir. I am indebted to one or two friends for the foundation on which I have built’. Here in Cornwall his music, and in particular his carols are a household word and one wonders what more would have

sprung forth had God granted this talented young man the extra years that were his due. Nowadays, thanks to a number of worthy Cornish Choirs, we may still go to a chapel or church or stand in the street to hear fine renderings of these uplifting, rousing words an music the sound of which triggers memories for each and everyone .1 think that it is fair to say that wherever in the world a Cornishman finds himself at Christmas time, the sound of Merritts carols would ‘bring a lump to the throat’ and ones thoughts would cross the Tamar into Thomas Merritts beloved Cornwall.

Grateful thanks to the Cornwall Centre Alma Place, for background information taken from the writings of W.G. Donnithorne, Geoffrey Baggs, Jory Bennett and Leonard H. Truran.

As a direct result of the broadcast of ‘Poetry Please’ Elisabeth and I have been contacted by a shipping company who’s founder—Henry Bath Esq., was a keen admirer of John Harris’ work, taking out the second highest number of subscriptions while he was alive.

The current UK operations manager for the company, Graham Hawkins, wishes to finance a special sponsored Henry Bath edition of Harris as a token they can give out to business contacts etc., which will hopefully raise a greater global awareness of this worthy and under recognised poet. I have received the following email from our contact in the company:-

……..At the moment we are still in the early stages of researching the project, and have met with a number of publishers to get some ideas of price etc. Our aim is to produce a small number (200-250) of editions of Harris’ poems on mining in a small but high quality book that we can give out to select clients and businesses as a corporate gift. The books therefore will not be on sale to the public, however the society will be provided with complimentary copies as a thank you for all the help you have given us.

Our main aim at present is to get a good idea of how many of Harris’ poems are about mining and metals so that we can gain a better idea of the ones that we can use. At the moment we know of four poems about mining in ‘The Meads of Love’ and ‘Carn Brea’ that are particularly relevant. If anyone at the society could suggest any more mining poems or can advise me which volumes of his work would be worth looking at in relation to mining and metals this would be most helpful and greatly appreciated. I can then focus on acquiring some relevant books and establishing a collection for the Henry Bath edition……..

Eve Parsons, Elisabeth Rickard, John Fleet and myself are currently searching our treasured copies of John Harris books in the hope that we can make suggestions of suitable poems that might be considered for inclusion by the company. We would welcome suggestions from all other members, to ensure vital poems are not omitted. Please write to me with your suggestions as soon as possible—Eric Parsons 11, New Street Troon, Camborne. TR14 9EW

Please remember, the company are only interested in poems by John Harris and only about mining and metals.

If you want to know more about the Henry Bath Company, visit their web site at….

During my time as a member of the John Harris Society, I have read and enjoyed listening to his wonderful poetry. Recently, whilst reading ‘The Story of Carn Brea, Essays and Poems,’ I have discovered the autobiography that I find illustrates graphically to me the life and times of John Harris most vividly. It is my intention therefore to print extracts from this work that I hope you too will find illuminating and moving.

On the quiet evening of October 14th, 1820, in a Straw-thatched, boulder-built cottage, with bare rafters and clay floor, locally known as the ‘Six Chimneys, on the top of Bolenowe Hill, Camborne, Cornwall, as the leaves are falling from the trees, and the robin mourns in the thicket, a gentle mother gives birth to a babe; and that baby-boy is a poet. The little fellow is just like other children, and grows up so much like his compeers that he attracts but slender notice above the young bipeds around him. He cries for things he ought not to cry for, gives his mother not a little trouble by poking his fingers into bits forbidden, has his wheelbarrow, cart and spade, and soon grows vain of his buttoned dress and cap with waving plume. Very early in life, what time the red sun sinks behind the purple hills, and the first bright stars look through the firmament, he is taught to kneel at his bed-side, and repeat, ‘Our Father.’ And then come picture-books and toys, marbles and trundling-hoops, and anon Little Red Riding Hood, Goody Two Shoes, Jack the Giant Killer, Sally Meanwell, Fifth of November, and then the green satchel, and away to the village school. See him sitting on the end of a low stool, when not much more than five years of age, and taught by an old Cornish crone the letters of the alphabet. Slowly, slowly, the crooked characters find a lodgement in his memory, and swim before his eyes. At length he masters the hornbook, and takes his place on an upper seat. His father and his mother praise his proficiency; and he leaves the learned village schoolmistress, and is placed under an iron master. This man is exceedingly hard-hearted and cruel, and verily hoots the lessons in his ears. He beats his pupils without mercy, with a polished piece of flat wood, studded with small sharp nails, until the blood

runs down, and soon scares the little learner from his straw-roofed academy. Nor must the Wesleyan Sunday-school in the hamlet be forgotten, where he hears with glad heart ‘the story of the Cross,’ in which he remains for more than thirty years, and the religious teaching therein received tinctures all his future life.

On the edge of a brown common, in a little thatched school-house by the side of the highway, very near the famous Nine Maidens, he finds another master, who wore a wooden leg, with more of the milk of human kindness in his soul, a thorough Christian, and a man of much prayer. Here he plods through the spelling-book, and walks like a conqueror into the mazes of arithmetic, learns to read and write, leaving all other branches of knowledge to slumber in forgetfulness. The evenings of his boyhood are evenings of purest joy. Sitting by the old hearth-stone where his grandfather had sat before him, and another generation had mused and passed away— sitting by the old hearth-stone, and gazing up in his mother’s face, he listens-to her wild stories with wondering joy. She tells of sorrow and weeping as the lot of all, and of Him who came to redeem the world. The tears will often start into his eyes, and a gentle spirit whispers in the cells of his soul. And now, cowering by the old grate, in the dim fire-light which clothes the walls in shadowy warriors and plumed knights mounted on floating steeds, and a thousand nameless fantastic shapes, he hangs over the ‘Pilgrim’s Progress,’ a tattered volume of doggerel rhyme, written by an old scarred soldier, and Cook’s Voyages round the World.

Then come a few stray notes from the mystic lyre of the undying Burns, in an old time-

eaten copy of the ‘Cotter’s Saturday Night,’ found among a few antique books belonging to his father; and its tuneful echoes float through the chambers of his soul like breathings from an AEolian harp, and ever haunt him in the silence of his reedy cot. You might have seen him on a summer evening, when his merry schoolmates are chattering in the hollow,—you might have seen him walking by the stream, or stretched on the moss, listening to the wind tuning its organ among the rocks, or gazing up at the purple heavens. He roams among the flowers, kissing them for very joy, calling them his fragrant sisters. Born on the crest of the hill, amid the crags and storms, he grows up in love with Nature, and she becomes his chief teacher. And now come the first promptings of early genius which develop themselves in snatches of unpolished song, pencilled on the leaves of his copy-book for the amusement of his wondering schoolmates. He often writes his rhymes on the clean side of cast-off labelled tea-papers which his mother brings from the shop, and then reads them to his astonished compeers with rapt delight. At the age of nine comes the great monster combat, his struggle for daily bread; when he is taken off from school, and put to work in the fields. At the age of ten he is employed by an old tin-streamer in the moor to throw the white sand from the river, earning the odd sum of three pence per day. 0 my countrymen, ye little think how many burning and shining lights ye extinguish in life’s aspiring morning for want of a helping hand! 0 my countrymen, tread not upon the errand-boy with music in his heart, or the ploughman’s son who draws fresh pictures of his father’s sheep, or the little slimy miner with his model engine the work of his fruitful brain; tread not upon the poor child of genius, do not freeze his soul with the frigid fingers of neglect, but cheer him with your kindness and warm him with your smile; so shall the great world be made holier and happier by your existence, and learn to bless your name!

At the early age of twelve years we find him in the mine working on the surface nearly three miles from his favourite home. As he travels to and from his labour through long lanes bramble-covered, and over meadows snowy with daisies, or by hedges blue with hyacinths, or over whispering cairns redolent with the hum of bees the beautiful world around him teems with syllables of song. Even then he pencils his strange ditties reciting them at intervals of leisure to the dwellers of his own district, and older heads than his tell of his future fame. When thirteen summers have filled his lap with roses and fanned his forehead with the breeze of health, we find him sweating in the hot air of the interior of a mine working with his father nearly two hundred fathoms below the green fields. Morning and evening he has to descend and ascend the ladders,- for there was no man-engine in those days-so that his flannel dress is often wet with perspiration, like the locks of the hills with rain. But a gentle lay is ever ringing in his ears, and the angel of hope is brooding over his path. Now he writes a copy ‘Verses for a poor blind man, and listens ashamed behind a bookstall as the sightless miner sings them in the streets.

On rushes the great world in the pursuit of mammon little needing the boy-bard in his zone of numbers, the composition of whose untutored melodies brings rich reward in his own heart. He is told that if he continues to invoke the song-spirit and write poetry he must forgo gold and silver, houses and lands, eat the bread of carefulness, live, perhaps, in a hovel, and die at last on a pallet of straw. But in spite of this unreasonable picture he works away at his barrel-organ during his leisure moments, which is as dear to him as his own life. Though the great God placed the lyre in his hands, and appeared to him to be his greatest work in the world yet he feels that for it he must not neglect his allotted labours, but pursue the path in which Providence has placed him, believing that to act thus would be noble and manly, not depending on literature as a means of pecuniary support, but partaking it as a pleasurable relaxation amid the cares of his life.

The President of Ireland opens Allihies Copper Mining Museum, Co. Cork, Ireland.

On the 12^th of September, President Mary McAleese officially opened the mining museum in Allihies, West Cork.

The copper mines, which were worked continuously from 1812 until 1884, had Cornish mine captains during all that time. The mine manager almost from the start was John Richards Reed from St. Agnes, helped by his brother Mark. When John died, his son, also called John, took over the management. John’s uncle, Mark Richards Reed, left Allihies in 1838 to take over the management of Wheal Vor, near Breage.

In 1841, three brothers from Bolenowe arrived in West Cork to take charge of developing new copper mines about fifty miles east of Allihies, around Schull. They were William, Henry and Charles Thomas, and were the sons of Captain James Thomas, a neighbour of John Harris. They were never to leave West Cork.

In 1862, Michael Loam and Sons, the famous Cornish engineers, installed a man-engine in Mountain Mine, and it is today the finest Cornish man-engine house in the world. The Mining Heritage Trust of Ireland (Frank and I are members) repaired and stabilised this important engine house several years ago.

In 1845, a small one room-chapel was built for the Cornish miners, and it is in that extended chapel that the museum is now located. Because of the lack of mining artefacts from the nineteenth century, I was approached for help. Naturally, my first port of call was to King Edward Mine, and the Trevithick Society, in the person of Mr. Kingsley Rickard.

A small group of people, members of the newly formed Mining Heritage Committee in Allihies, came over to Cornwall in 2003, where they received wonderful Cornish hospitality and help. Artefacts were freely donated, help was offered, and gratefully accepted, and a marvellous Allihies-Cornwall connection was formed.

Mr. J. Arthur Osborne, Camborne, gave some of his marvellous old mining photographs from Bennett’s photographers, to the museum, and treated the visitors to a special showing of his old slides in his house.

The finding of artefacts in Cornwall is ongoing – my husband Frank and I always return from our summer visit with various precious old objects in the boot of our car. Our next quest is to find a kibble!

We were very pleased to be honoured guests at the opening of the museum, together with Kingsley Rickard and J. Arthur Osborne. It was a marvellous occasion for such a small and remote village – everyone, including the children (who had the afternoon off school) cheering as the Presidential limousine swept up the narrow street, preceded by a police escort.

I was especially proud to see the Cornish flag hanging from the ceiling in the museum. Arthur Osborne sent it over, but we did not know until the opening day that the committee members were going to honour us by displaying it so prominently. I wrote a couple of the information plaques – you will see the few words of Cornish on one of them. Anne Trevenen-Jenkin (Gorsedd member) was kind enough to write the few words of Cornish for me. We are in the process of putting up a gigantic photograph of engineer Michael Loam, very kindly supplied by Robert Cook, the photographic librarian in the Royal Institution of Cornwall. I thank them all.

Diane Hodnett. Limerick. (Formerly Diane Andrews, New Street, Troon. Some of you may remember the Andrews’ family, Beacon. Donald Andrews was the Secretary of the Camborne School of mines for many years)

Chairman’s remarks.

Dear Members/Friends,

I must apologise to you all for the delay in producing this Newsletter. My husband Eric who does most of the computer work, was admitted to hospital before Xmas and has had to take things quietly since. Also, I have suffered a chest complaint and have had to rest whilst recovering. The walk that should have taken place this month had to be cancelled as we were not in a position to plan the route etc.

I have considered relinquishing the Chair to allow someone else to carry on, but the committee members have persuaded me to take a back seat while they take over some of my duties. A walk will be organised and details sent out to all members shortly.

The web site is almost up and running with the help of Diane Hodnett who is very experienced in building web sites and has produced sample pages for the committee to view. We should go on line within two or three weeks.

The AGM report is included herein and my thanks to all who attended. The talk by David Thomas following the business was most entertaining and enjoyed by all. Thank you David.

Sincerely,

Eve Parsons, Chairman.

Report of Annual General Meeting 2004

Held 21st February 2004 at Troon Methodist Guild Room.

Meeting commenced at 2-00pm

Present 23 members and friends were welcomed by the Chairman Eve Parsons.

Committee members present: Eve Parsons; Elisabeth Rickard; Stuart Cullimore; Caroline Palmer.

Apologies: Stan Gore; John Fleet; Derek Reynolds.

Minutes of 2003 AGM In the absence of the Secretary and Minutes of last February’s meeting, the Chairman presented a brief report from her own notes.

Chairman’s Report for 21/02/04: Welcome to Stuart Cullimore and thanks for help in obtaining grant of £300-00 from Camborne Town Council’s Budget Committee. Some of the grant was used for new John Harris Folders and Paul Newman’s book on the Life & Times of John Harris, (The Meads of Love) and some of his poetry.

Treasurer’s Report: Copies of the Auditors Report signed by Mr R. Angove were distributed to those attending and accepted.

Correspondence: Read by Mrs Rickard in the absence of Secretary, a letter of resignation from Derek Reynolds. This was accepted with regret. A letter is to be written and sent to him.

Web site: Eric Parsons gave a brief report that the establishment of a site was almost complete, but there were problems yet to be overcome.

Film: Caroline Palmer reported progress of film to be made, and that discussions were taking place about how to proceed.

Election of Officers: Nominations for the following were received:-

Chairman Mrs E. Parsons.

Secretary None.

Treasurer Mrs E. Rickard.

Committee: Stan Gore; John Fleet; Caroline Palmer; Stuart Cullimore.

The above were re-elected En-bloc, with the position of a secretary to be discussed at the next meeting in March ‘04.

Mrs Joan Biscoe was proposed and elected on to the committee. The Chairman announced that more members were required for the committee plus a secretary. Mr David Moore, previously a member of the Society offered his services as a committee member and was invited to attend the next committee meeting.

Appointment of Auditor: Mr R. Angove was re-elected and his fee of £30-00 was agreed by all present.

Chairman reported membership is increasing and two new members joined during this meeting and that three more had expressed their intention of joining when the walks start later this year.

The business meeting concluded at 2-30pm.

The Chairman welcomed the speaker, Mr David Thomas, a local historian and archivist at Truro, his subject, ‘The History of the Local Area leading up to, and during John Harris’s Lifetime’.

Photo copies of documents concerning the two main Landowners of the period, namely The Pendarves family of Troon, the family of Sir Grenville Fortescue of Boconnoc. Full explanations were given as the documents were handed round. Questions from the floor were answered fully and we were thoroughly entertained and informed.

The Chairman proposed a vote of thanks and sincere appreciation was shown by all.

Tea and refreshments followed and members and friends mingled amicably. Books and sets of walks were sold and many of the John Harris free leaflets were taken.

The meeting closed at 5-00pm.

Eve Parsons. Chairman.

The John Harris Society

Accounts 1st January 2003—31st December 2003

Income Expenditure

Subscriptions - £130-00 Hire - £16-00

Donations - £ 85-00 Audit & Petty Cash £50-00

Grants - £300-00 Photocopy & Postage £94-73

Sales - £ 34-95 Purchase of books £157-00

Interest - £1-37 Catering - £19-75

_________ ________

£551-32 £337-48

Opening Balance - £166-85

_______

£718-17

Summary of Accounts

Opening Balance - £166-85

Income 1st Jan.2003-31st Dec.2003 - £551-32

£718-17

Expenditure 1st Jan.2003– 31st Dec. 2003 £337-48

Balance in hand as per bank statement

31st Dec. 2003 - £380-69

Monies in hand 31st Dec.2003

Bank - £380-69

Petty cash balance - £2-13

£382-82

Elisabeth H. Rickard

Treasurer

Signed :- Robert Denzil Angove CTA

SAME TITLE: DIFFERENT POEM

In his collected volume Wayside Pictures, Hymns, and Poems, London 1874, at p.128 John Harris included a piece, in four verses of 18 lines each, titled ‘To My Lyre’. There is as usual no indication when this was written. The strange thing is that he had already used the same title for a very different poem which, from internal evidence, could have been written as early as 1844. It is the last entry in his quarto MS book, facing the inner back cover which incidentally bears, in pencil, ‘Mr John Harris— 7 Wellington Terrace Falmouth’, a later addition that at least confirms the right address. I think that this earlier poem is worth printing; in saying so, I have been unable so far to find out if, in this form or with revisions, he did ever publish it.

To My Lyre

I’m loth to see thee hang so long

Upon the willow bough;

I’m loth to see thy gentle song

Immers’d in shade as now.

The fitfull breeze

Shrieks through the trees

Wake, little lyre, and give my bosom ease.

Suspended on a hapless limb

I see thee stript and torn

While cold neglect with features grim,

Stalks on as if in scorn.

Wake, little lyre,

Wake, wake, inspire

My bosom with its wonted fire.

Come, warble once again,

For sure I love thee still;

I’ll sit and watch thy strain

But, rippling down the hill

With gentle glide,

Now at my side

Now fluttering through the welkin wide.

Come, let us watch yon star

Peep o’er the horizon’s brim

Which glittering from afar

Leads up our hearts to Him

Who place it there

So wondrous fair

Like beauty’s tear-drop hung in the air.

Now hand in hand we’ll fly

Through seas of limpid air

Athwart the starry sky

And thou shall warble there

On moon-beams swim

And tune our hymn

To softest notes of cherubim.

And now beside the rill

We’ll sit at evening hour,

And meditate our fill

And fondle the flower

Forgotten, dream,

Gaze on the stream

Which laughs and barks with sparkling gleam.

Come, let us plume our wing,

And buoyant sport with air;

Lyre! Raise thy trembling string

Drive silence to his lair.

The dew-drops fall

And nature all

Is pensive in her murky hall.

Unshackled be thy song!

Melodious be thy lay,

Lyre! wax a little strong,

Or ere the close of day,

With chilling blight,

Withdraws from sight,

And shuts thee in everlasting night.

Then thou, transported far

From earth, or changing time

Beyond the sun or star,

In heaven’s unchanging clime,

Shalt tune thy strings

‘Neath cherub wings

In angel notes before the King of Kings.

I have transcribed this exactly as written, with John’s irregular use of capitals, spellings and spacings. It is by any standards a curious poem, the implication at the beginning being that he had undergone a spell of ‘writer’s block’ and was anxious to reclaim his muse, but as much in the service of God as for the sheer pleasure of writing poetry. One wonders if John ever saw an actual lyre in Victorian Camborne, or Falmouth, and if so where? Note that, on the bound cover of his Wayside Pictures, the device in gilt on dark green is an open wreath of some sort of flower, with in the centre the words HARRIS’S POEMS, and a five-stringed lyre between the words. Did John Harris choose this device? Where did he first encounter the notion of depicting, and hymning, his particular muse as this instrument?

CHARLES THOMAS.

Dr GEORGE SMITH 1800-1868

George Smith was the second son and third child of William and Phillipa Smith of Camborne. George was born 31st August 1800 at Condurrow, Nr. Camborne, sometime later moved to a cottage at Pengegon, built by his father, where the family resided for two years and then moved to Camborne Church Town when George was about five years old.

With his elder brother, William, two years his senior, George attended a Dame’s school, learned the alphabet and progressed in the art of reading. In later life he recalled events of this time, in particular the rejoicings at the news of the victory of Trafalgar. He records ‘the volunteers were ordered at about seven o’clock in the evening, and fired a “fue de joil” which terribly frightened me. Then there was an illumination’. Shortly after this the Smiths returned to Pengegon and George attended another dames school. Seven years of age and very intelligent, he soon outgrew the learning of his mistress and was subsequently sent home by another who could teach him nothing more. Work becoming scarce, his father erected a cottage at Brea and the family—now increased to five children together with the grandmother—moved there. His father was offered the position of principal carpenter at a local mine but declined the offer as both husband and wife had a strange dream and it was thought advisable to go elsewhere. Consequently the place at Condurrow and cottage at Brea were sold and the family moved to Plymouth.

George now eight years old, was placed at a Free School recently opened at Plymouth. Here he excelled in writing and arithmetic, and after school hours received instruction, from a son of his father’s employer, in subjects not taught at school. Before the age of ten he had some of his solutions of algebraic questions printed in two mathematical periodicals. He also displayed considerable literary taste and ability.

His brother found employment in a cooperage and George anxious to contribute to the family income, found work in a flax and hemp mill, where he earned his first shilling. His parents fearing for his health took him away and he found temporary work in a drug store. Here he cleaned the shop, pounded the drugs, learned to make pills and was intrigued by the Latin names around him. He returned to the Free School for a while, and became Monitor of General Order.

On leaving school at the age of eleven, he worked for a Draper in Devonport and derived great benefit from the experience. George was determined to spend some hours each day in Self improvement, and became a great reader, keeping a note book on information obtained through reading or conversation with those whose knowledge was greater than his own.

In 1814 the Smith family moved to Falmouth. George for a short time attended the Free School where he was appointed Monitor of Reading because of his deliberate enunciation of every word. He was known among the boys as ’The Parson.’

In 1816 the Smiths returned to Camborne, and George obtained work at a stamps, but after a while found employment in a Gentleman’s house as servant boy. Still attentive to self-improvement few days passed without time being devoted to reading novels and works of fiction; but volumes of History and Biblical criticism were his chief delight which were read and mastered. Unfortunately poverty prevented him acquiring but few books of this nature, and he was compelled to return to the study of mathematics, which later he regarded ‘the best school for acquiring logic!’

By the middle of 1817 George was apprenticed to a local carpenter and builder to learn the business. His parents became more serious and family prayer was regularly conducted in the home. George devoted more time to reading the Scriptures. He also read Milton’s Paradise Lost. He attended Wesleyan services and accompanied his father to prayer meetings. He was determined to lead a religious life.

In 1822 George felt called to preach and in 1823 he became a local preacher in the then extensive Redruth circuit. He sometimes walked twenty miles or more, and preached two or three times a day.

George’s ambition was to candidate for the Ministry, but realised that soon his father would find it difficult to find employment. He decided to set up in business as a builder. In 1824 he took a workshop and established a successful business, employing his father and others.

In 1826 George married a Miss Elizabeth Burall Bickford, daughter of William Bickford of Tuckingmill. The marriage took place at Camborne Church, and a fortnight was spent with the brides relatives in Devonshire. George was introduced into a different class of society. His wife taught him many manners and usages to his advantage. He derived great help from his father-in-law, a gentleman possessing considerable ability, knowledge and experience.

In 1831 his father-in-law attempted to produce a safety fuse and thus eliminate the terrible tragedies which frequently occurred in the mines.

William Bickford had the active co-operation of Smith, who made the necessary models used in the experiments. Later in the year when watching a colleague spinning rope, Bickford conceived the idea of enclosing a charge of gunpowder in a coil of rope, which he patented and proceeded to manufacture. To publicise the invention Smith prepared a pamphlet setting forth the advantages of the fuse which was distributed among the agents of the local mines. Throughout the year he continued to conduct his business, preach, meet a class, and assist Mr Bickford.

In 1832 Bickford was taken seriously ill and completely incapacitated for work, so the management of the newly established factory devolved upon Smith who closed his business in Camborne, having first arranged with his brother for the provision of their parents. He then devoted the whole of his energies to the factory, developing it into a profitable concern, although he had many difficulties to contend with from members of his wife’s family and the infringement of the patent by a local man. This resulted in a costly law suit, but his legal acumen won the case. The early days of the factory often caused him great anxiety, but he had a happy home, his wife and children being a great solace to him. In the course of the fuse business he attended Mine meetings, met many of the foremost industrialists, bankers and merchants of West Cornwall and formed lasting friendships, notably with Joseph Carne, the Wesleyan banker of Penzance. He was early convinced of the benefits to be derived from railways, was an advocate of both the Cornwall and West Cornwall lines from their inception and became Director of both.

The advent of the safety fuse and its subsequent success transformed Smith from a country tradesman into an affluent merchant with time and money to devote to the wellbeing of his church. Apart from the mines and tin streams, the Fuse factory at Tuckingmill was the largest individual employer of labour in the Camborne area and Smith was very interested in all matters concerning the Parish, especially the education of the young. In the early thirties he was secretary of the Sunday School Union and later was minute secretary of the British School at Camborne.

June 1839 advocates of the Chartist movement were in Cornwall and Smith, together with other influential Cambornians, published an appeal to their fellow townsmen to have nothing to do with them.

1840 Camborne Wesley Trust was renewed and Smith became a trustee of the chapel he helped to plan in 1828. In October 1842, the new building for the Camborne Literary Institute was opened. Smith, a member of the building committee and one of the largest subscribers to the Building Fund, responded to the toast for its success at the inaugural dinner.

About this time the old parish workhouse, situated in a commanding position on the side of a hill, was purchased by Smith who converted it into a dwelling house, laid out the gardens and named it Trevu. Here he resided for the remainder of his life and entertained many of the outstanding Wesleyans of his day, some of whom have left records of their visits. The Rev. J. H. Rigg states that he spent several days of great enjoyment and instruction there, no friendlier or more congenial home, he wrote, could I have entered, whilst the Rev. William Arthur recalls that the Smiths face was a sunny sight to him, and his voice a most pleasant sound but nowhere so much as in Trevu with Mrs Smith and the children about him. The wife of his second son recalled that her father-in-law was a wonderful host and wrote of the happy supper parties around the long dining table at Trevu, when he told his wonderful Cornish stories that had generally come to him first hand.

George Smith was a man of great literary skill and published many books, lectures, sermons, pamphlets and articles. He became a Fellow of the Society of Arts, Member of the Royal Asiatic Society, Member of the Royal Society of Literature, and Fellow of the Genealogical Society.

By Elisabeth Rickard. Continued next issue.

GO MINING

I heard a policeman say on TV that he did not believe in coincidences. What nonsense! My life has been full of them.

‘A mine spread out it’s vast machinery.

Here engines with their huts and smoky stacks,

Cranks, wheels, and rods, boilers and hissing steam

Pressed up by water from the depths below,

Here fire whims ran until almost out of breath;

Here blacksmiths hammered by sooty forge….’

This is an extract from a poem by John Harris (1820-1884) who worked most of his life in the Dolcoath mine but was also a poet. Surely there is some significance in that I was reading this poem when a friend arrived who suggested a visit to Camborne School of Mines.

Education in the nineteenth century was generally frowned upon by the Establishment for if the masses were educated they might start asking awkward questions; a Wesleyan Sunday School had to defend itself against its critics who claimed—’….that it would make the lower orders of society less disposed to submit to the constituted authorities and to act in an insubordinate capacity….so it was necessary to keep temptation out of their way….shut up agitators, leave the poor ignorant, teach them only such things as will put the fear of God and magistrates into them.’

You cannot get more anti-educational than that but other people were working hard to establish schools, and education for miners was much in evidence; after many false starts the Camborne School of Mines won through in the latter part of the nineteenth century.

Mines? I had pictured myself down a mineshaft, and being deafened by machinery clanking up and down so I was relieved when we parked close to the modern building which houses the School; better still as we went through the foyer into the exhibition room. How could I possibly have thought that mining was only about drilling in underground tunnels?

The exhibition was an eye opener with gem stones, volcanic rocks, fossils and many crystals which looked like architectural flights of fancy. And some of the minerals glowed due to phosphorescence.

I went around the exhibition three times trying to decide on the winning candidate but in the end I decided on a dull, sandy coloured object called a desert rose. You will never see it bloom for it is created by the action of the earth itself under the ground. Were all these wonders under our everyday feet? - what a revelation.

The Camborne School of Mines holds artists exhibitions in the gallery which are changed each month; there is also a gift shop where I of course spent more than I should have done.

On our way out through the foyer we saw the memorials to CSM students who were killed in the First and Second World Wars, and the few who were killed in the Boer War. One of those killed in the Boer War was Edgar Charles Litke, the simple name on the plaque hides a tragic story. In 1898 Edgar and a partner, a miner from Camborne, joined the Gold Rush and set out from Camborne for Alaska, the gateway to the goldfields of the Klondike. Edgar’s partner died on the way in British Columbia. Edgar went on to the Klondike, returned to Camborne and then went on to South Africa where he joined up and was killed at Spion Kop.

A descendant of his partner received a Gold Rush certificate from the State of Alaska. This was generously offered to the Camborne School of Mines and is now displayed alongside the war memorials, a reminder of the death of friends, one in the ice and snow of British Columbia and the other in the heat and battle of South Africa. An account of the Litke saga by Tom Richards (a Cornishman now living in Bristol) appeared in the 1997-98 journal of the CSM Association. If you had any relatives who were in the Gold Rush you could qualify for a certificate.

As we left the building we saw a square granite block off to the right of the path, this proved to be in memory of two CSM students who lost their lives in separate terrorist attacks in Angola in 1998-1999.

Ann Baldwin

Ann also includes this John Harris poem:

Copper and Tin

Copper has colours different in the ores,

As various as the rainbow—black and blue

And green and red and yellow as a flower;

Gold-coloured here, there dimly visible,

Though rich the same in measure and in meed.

‘Tis found alike where glittering granite gloams,

Where killas darkens, and where gossans shroud

And oft where wise ones write it cannot be -

Thus wisely scattered by Hand Divine.

Tin is more secret far, with duller eye

Oft hiding in river’s shingly bed,

Or the flint’s bosom, near the central fires,

In chambers wide, or veins like silken lace,

So that the labourer, stumbling on a start,

Wipes his hot brow, and cries, ‘Lo, here is tin.’

John Harris

The Eye of Memory

A white plume follows a glint of silver that arcs a dome of celestial blue,

Earth glows mellow in sunlit winter—but all my thoughts are of conflict that looms.

With a snap of a kite, the flap of a sail, a sand yacht chases the wide running shore,

As the sea, a sheet of old molten silver sighs for young men preparing for war.

I hear the carefree laughter of children, their small feet pounding the sand

As they romp with a dog—rubber ball rolling—but I see a lost child in a hostile land.

Dazzling rock pools ripple patterns on water from grains burnished bright with the sun,

But my thoughts are of weapons of mass destruction, the jihad fervour of men with a gun.

The plume has faded to the eye of my memory, and somewhere a terror will rain

Onto the twilight of biblical beauty—simply the dust will remain.

Kathryn Garrod

This Newsletter is published quarterly by the John Harris Society, free to members.