I approached Altarnun along the enchanting sunken lane that has linked it to its neighbour, Five Lanes, for the last 1000 years. As the road falls away beneath you, it becomes the village’s main (almost only) street. I drove right along it, impatient for my first sight of the fine church, known as the Cathedral of the Moors noticing along the way many other things that I was eager to go back to and look at in depth.

The church does not disappoint - as you round the bend, dropping down towards Penpont Water, the cottages part giving a clear view up the opposing slope adorned with the pleasing form of the ancient church and its age-mellowed moorstone, glowing in the sun the morning I arrived, crowned with its enormous 110 foot tower. A truly lovely sight, a lesson in the picturesque – but one of the things I’d seen on my way through the village was the placard announcing a coffee morning at the village hall 10 ‘till noon and as it was 11.45am, so I postponed my tour of the church and retraced my steps. I was too late for coffee, the cakes were already packed away but I fell into conversation with a lady carrying a box containing those refreshments. That lady was Dolly Grenfell, she made me welcome and there was so much to tell me.

It was an offer I couldn’t refuse – I saw a startlingly close resemblance to the woman standing before me and an absolutely charming picture. The author of this fine work came to a tragic end having tasted success at the highest levels. From a long line of stone masons much of whose work adorns the churchyard, Burnard went several steps further, leaving Cornwall for London and becoming much admired, a sculptor of such repute he was commissioned to sculpt the Prince of Wales who later became King Edward VII. However he died a pauper. Following the tragic, early death of his daughter, his life fell apart and he drifted back to Altarnun prior to ending his days in Redruth workhouse in 1878, aged 60.

As I left Mrs Grenfell, she said to be sure to look out for the bust of John Wesley on the wall of the old chapel also by Burnard.

Shopping is well served in Altarnun. There is a village butcher’s which is a great boon and sadly missing from so many villages today. Open every morning, it is well patronised and rightly so. All the meat is locally sourced and of a very high quality that simply jumps out at you and the pies and pasties are baked fresh every day. Several years ago, the post office did close. However, due to popular demand, the need was addressed by it reopening in part of the village hall. The shop side has recently been expanded following the retirement of the village grocer, Richard Herring. I received a warm welcome from Stephanie Bass, postmistress, and Marilyn Emmett when I called in for a chat and to pick up my copy of the parish newsletter, Tre Pol Pen.

A friendly store with a wide range of goods is what every village needs to stay alive. Yet they are also businesses, they need to be supported and used to remain viable. I was very heartened with the number of customers going to and fro. It is all too tempting to use the superstores in the nearby towns but their cheap provisions can extract a very high price on the social fabric of the surrounding villages.

Making your way down the street, you come to a small grassed area with its traditional red telephone box flanked by a number of plaques that bear witness to Altarnun’s history of participation in the Best Kept Village Award. The village was 1^st in Cornwall in 1999 and managed a very creditable 2^nd place this year. The evidence of care and effort are all around – even though the flowers are past their best now until next year, the neat flower boxes and well tended verges are a testament to the sense of pride and community spirit that flourishes here.

Among the cottages opposite the phone box are a pair of private dwellings one of which was the village store until recently and before that was the Ring o’ Bells, the local pub, where successful miners would celebrate their finds with a two-day binge, staggering to the stables to sleep it off and being on the spot then for a swift resumption of festivities the next morning. The other private house next door sporting its fine bust of John Wesley, is the 18^th century old chapel with an unusual external flight of granite steps leading to the first floor meeting room. Many years ago the floor collapsed during a morning service, the landlord of the pub ran out into the street on hearing the commotion and exclaimed “Ah, so the devil got ’ee after all…”

Between here and the church are several quaint cottages each made yet quainter with the addition of their own individual miniature bridge formed of a large slab of slate over a free flowing culvert between the road and their front doors. A few feet away is the hardly less miniature scenic15^th century packhorse bridge, happily relieved by a modern bridge, so now it is solely for unmotorised access to the village green and the church of St Nonna, mother of St David, patron saint of Wales.

The Normans built the original church in the 12^th century of which little now remains save the wonderful font which carries the head of a bearded man at each of its four corners. The reason so little exists of this original structure is that as the Trelawney family moved to their new mansion in the 15^th century, they gifted the material of the old abandoned one to the church and the offer was widely exploited. The reused finery is most obvious in the wagon roofs over the aisles and in the pretty carving to the beams of the porch roof. For many people, myself included, the church’s crowning glory is the 79 bench ends carved for this new church between 1510 and 1530. In five centuries, the edges of these panels have worn and smoothed like pebbles on the beach with the touch of thousands of hands and acquired a rich, glowing lustre. The carvings feature a wide range of subjects: coats of arms, bands of local characters, travelling musicians, including one fellow playing the Cornish bagpipes - all are delightful to look at but my personal favourite depicts a flock of about a dozen sleepy looking sheep. I also very much liked the one showing some odd looking birds sitting amongst bunches of grapes on a vine – perhaps they were supposed to be doves with olives but artistic licence had intervened.

In the past the church formed the mental health services of the parish: the mad would be dipped in the bowsening pool of the nearby holy well and then harangued in church until they were cured.

Behind the church, is an attractive Georgian mansion, formerly the Rectory it is now a comfortable hotel however it’s main claim to fame is that Daphne du Maurier used it as the home of Francis Davey, the albino anti-hero of her novel Jamaica Inn.

Currently and unusually there are a dozen empty homes around the village. It is to be hoped that these houses soon find new occupiers. Altarnun like so many other villages in The Duchy is lamenting the lack of affordable housing for the younger generation. Property prices here, like elsewhere in Cornwall, bear little relation to the wages earned by local people. Many people have to leave the local area for work and accommodation. Yet things have been this way for so long – people have been leaving for a long time as witnessed by Mrs Grenfell’s many relations in New Zealand, Australia and North America – her story is not unique – just seldom heard: “The Cornish have always had to look after themselves. We’ve got to look after ourselves, no-one else will do it.”

Altarnun like so many places is experiencing change but it is the spirit of holding on to what is good and worthwhile that is keeping this village vibrant and lively.

Altarnun is easily reached by car, being located just off the A30 dual carriageway 8 miles west of Launceston and 14 miles east of Bodmin. From the North Coast and A39, an easy approach is by the lane that crosses Davidstow Airfield. The best route to follow from the South Coast is via Liskeard, St.Cleer, Redgate and up to Bolventor.

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