Uncanny Cornwall Blog

Tag: Penwith

  • Cornish Holy Wells: The Story of Dolly Dunking

    Cornish Holy Wells: The Story of Dolly Dunking

    2–3 minutes

    A peculiar custom, once forgotten, Dolly dunking is a Cornish tradition where young girls would take their dolls to blessed in holy wells on Good Friday. A custom which has documented since the 1800’s.

    In Cornish Feasts and Folklore (1890) M.A. Courtney recorded, “On the afternoons of Good Friday, little girls of Carharrack, in the parish of Gwennap, take their dolls to a stream at the foot of Carn Marth and christen them.” However, local anecdotes say this took place at Figgy Dowdy’s Well, also known as Margery Daw’s Well, located near the top of Carn Marth hill.

    Figgy Dowdy’s Well Megalithic Portal

    “Figgy Dowdy’s Well, Carnmarth, Redruth, c1910,” cornishmemory.com, accessed April 1, 2026
    Figgy Dowdy’s Well Megalithic Portal

    The same custom was observed at Fenton Bebibell sacred spring in west Penwith. (Cornish Homes and Customs, 1934) Named fenten byghan bobel in Cornish, which translates as “Well of the Little People,” this is a possible reference to the small people of Cornish folklore.

    Cornish holy wells, and sacred springs, are thought to be places where spirits dwell, to whom offerings would be made for healing, blessings or foretelling. The custom of ‘dolly dunking’ could hark back to folk memories of ancestral spirits who dwelt in, or nearby, springs and the offerings people made to them.

    Alternatively, the ‘little people’ could be a reference to the blessing and naming of babies, a practice that may have once taken place at holy wells. It’s possible these traditional rituals were being remembered and acted out by young girls with their dolls.

    Good Friday doll blessing is a tradition that has been revived by CASPN at Fenton Bebibell in Morvah, which sits near the Men an Tol monument. The Cornish Ancient Sites Protection Network resurrected the custom 18 years ago and now do an annual ‘dolly dunk’ on Good Friday. The well was lost to the bracken and gorse of the heathland for decades until it was accidentally rediscovered in the 2000’s.

    Is it possible that the tradition of dolly dunking, whatever its origins, was once widespread across Cornwall’s holy wells and springs. Taking place in isolated, insular communites, that weren’t in the habit of writing things down, the local customs were lost to time. Leaving us with only scant records of this peculiar Cornish tradition.

    Fenton Bebibell Sacred spring Megalithic Portal

    We can thank CASPN for keeping this part of old Cornwall alive for future generations.

    Figgy Dowdy’s Well Map Ref: SW7146740637  Latitude: 50.221485N  Longitude: 5.205112W Fenton Bebibell Map Ref: SW429352 Latitude: 50.160957N  Longitude: 5.601117W

  • Piskey Led – A Short Tale

    Piskey Led – A Short Tale

    Looking down across North Penwith Moors

    3–5 minutes

    Ghosts of the old world make their presence still known upon the moors. Known by their ancient stone walls and standing stones that still litter the landscape. The walkers, incongruous in their primary colours, garish symbols of the twenty first century.

    The group, as per the instructions set for them by the B&B owner that morning, wore their coats inside out.

    He told them, “Tis a defence against being Pyski-led. Cause I hope to see you all return.”

    Of course, the tourists had no idea what this meant, but in a humorous nod to the peculiar local traditions, they complied.   

    Ding Dong Mine, Madron, Penwith

    Two couples and a fifth wheel set out upon Penwith moor that afternoon. The unattached member of the party grudgingly took up the rear.

    Occasionally he would stop to photograph fungi that protruded from the verges, or to finger the yellow gorse flowers that encroached upon the path.

    “Andy, will you keep up. You don’t want to be left behind.”

    The cloying humidity pressed close so Andy removed his post box red coat to tie around his waist.

                This was a mistake.

    Afternoon passed and dusk crept upon the group; purple hues and dark shadows warned of the encroaching night.

    Dusk creeps upon Penwith Moors

    “Keep up man,” shouted the couples.

    Andy, enraptured by the local flora, continued to stop and observe nature’s treasures.

    As he bent to catalogue a wax cap mushroom; a glossy tactile yellow specimen, he failed to notice the peculiar mist that had descended. Surprised to find himself enveloped in this damp shroud he forged on.

    He realised he had lost the path and had found his feet upon sodden turf devoid of footprints.

    He shouted for his fellow walkers but the fog absorbed his voice.

    “Okay, don’t panic I’ll use the sun, it’s setting to my west so this must be the path east to the car park,” he reasoned.

    He walked on. In circles. For hours.

    His breath came fast and shallow.  His heart beat crept up; drumming a panicked rhythm against his ribs.

    Unbeknown to him he had slipped over the threshold between worlds into the land of the hidden folk. If only he had known the etiquette of this strange land.

    He came upon a gathering within a granite circle of lichen decorated standing stones.

    Taken within Boskednan Stone circle with Carn Galva to the North, Penwith Moors

    Inside was a raucous scene of music, dancing and feasting. People only two foot high at their tallest, dressed in clothes woven from green sedge fronds. Those dancing in the centre of the revellers wore red woollen capes that flared about their shoulders as they spun like whirling dervishes.

    The etiquette in this world is clear. You must never let the fairy folk; the pyskies – spirits of the unbaptised dead, catch you observing them. You must continue upon your way as if oblivious to their presence.

    Cornish piskies or ‘little people’ as they are sometimes known

    Andy, our coatless walker, who shrugged off his protection, did not know this lore. In his amazement he stared at this peculiar scene and called out to the private little folk who revelled within the ancient circle of stones.

    “Hello…Oh god please can you help me? I don’t know where I am – I’m completely lost.”

    A sudden silence fell over the merriment. All eyes fixed upon him, unblinking. 

    Two sharp claps came from within the crowd and the fair vanished.

    At once multiple hands descended upon him; relentlessly pinching, slapping, poking and pulling at his clothes. He tumbled – endlessly – through gorse bushes and brambles. Thorns tore at his skin.

    The torment seemed eternal, but at some point, he must have fallen unconscious. He awoke, from what seemed like the deepest sleep of his life, on a blanket of moss, upon a bed of granite. Roused by an inquisitive wet nose nudging at his face, he opened his eyes to the soulful gaze of a brown Labrador, wagging his tail with a search and rescue insignia on his red harness. His human companion followed behind on his radio,

    “Got him.” He turned to Andy, “Am I glad to see you mate, been looking all round here for three days now.”

    First Published by Literally Stories

    Cornish Piskie art by creaturesbygreg on Deviant Art

    Have you ever had an experience with one of Cornwall’s infamous ‘little people?

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