Folklore has it that Forrabury parishioners were envious of the fact that neighbouring Tintagel Church had bells and Forrabury Church did not. The commissioned a Spanish firm to cast a set of bells and in due course they came by ship to Cornwall. On hearing the bells of Tintagel on arrival the pilot is said to have gone on his knees to thanks God for the safe passage. The Captain issued a profanity and said it was his skill that had brought them to Cornwall safely, not God's divine intervention. The weather changed dramatically and the ship was swamped by waves, sinking near the shore. Everyone drowned except the God fearing pilot. It is said that when the weather worsens and storms rage, the sound of the bells can be heard rising from the depths. This is the reason that Forrabury has no bells.

This story was the subject of a poem by Rev. R.S. Hawker of Morwenstow entitled 'The Bells of Forrabury'

‘The Silent Tower of Bottreaux.’ 
The pilot heard his native bells 
hang on the breeze in fitful swells. 
‘Thank God’ with reverent brow he cried, 
‘We make the shore on evening’s tide.’ 
‘Come to thy God in time.’ 
It was his marriage chime. 
Youth, manhood, old age past, 
his bells must ring at last. 

‘Thank God, thou whining knave, on land 
but thank at sea the steersman’s hand’, 
the captain’s voice above the gale, 
‘Thank the good ship and ready sail.’ 
‘Come to thy God in time.’ 
Sad grew the boding chime. 
‘Come to thy God at last.’ 
Boomed on the heavy blast. 

Up rose the sea as if it heard 
the Mighty Master’s signal word. 
What thrills the captain’s whitening lip? 
The death groans of his sinking ship. 
‘Come to thy God in time.’ 
Swung deep the funeral chime. 
Grace, mercy, kindness past, 
‘Come to thy God at last.’ 

Long did the rescued pilot tell, 
when greying hairs o’er his forehead fell, 
while those around would hear and weep, 
that fearful judgement of the deep. 
‘Come to thy God in time.’ 
Swung the deep funeral chime, 
he read his native chime, 
youth, manhood, old age past, 
his bell rung out at last. 

Still when the storm of Bottreau’s waves 
is wakening in his weedy caves, 
those bells that sudden surges hide 
peal their deep notes beneath the tide. 
‘Come to thy God in time.’ 
Thus saith the ocean’s chime. 
‘Storm, billow, whirlwind past, 
come to thy God at last. 

(Courtesy of http://strattondeanery.co.uk/forrabury.html)

Rev R. S. Hawker
(Courtesy of "The Saints of Cornwall" by Catherine Rachel John)

"Meat & Taties"

In the year of 1825 Robert Stephen Hawker, the famous parson-poet and eccentric, arrived one day with a friend at The Old Ship Inn in Boscastle, kept at that time by a certain Joan Treworgy. Having agreed on the price of their rooms, they proceeded to order dinner.
"What had she got in the house?" they asked.
"Meat" replied the landlady, "meat and taties".
The specific difference between beef, mutton, veal etc seemed to be utterly or artfully ignored; and to every frenzied inquiry her calm, inexorable reply was "Meat - nice wholesome meat and taties".
"In due time" continues Hawker, "we sat down to a not unsatisfactory meal, but it is a wretched truth that by no effort could we ascertain what it was that was roasted for us that day by Widow Treworgy, and which we consumed.
"Was it a piece of Boscastle baby?" I suggested to my companion. The question caused him to rush out and inquire again; but he came back baffled and shouting: "Meat and taties".
There was not a vestige of bone, nor any outline that could identify the joint; and the not unsavory taste was something like tender veal. It was not until years afterwards that light was thrown on our mysterious dinner that day by the passage which I accidentally turned up in an ancient history of Cornwall. Therein I read "that the people of Bouscastle and Boussiney do catch in the summer seas divers young soyles (seals), which doubtful if they be fish or flesh, conynge housewives will nevertheless roast, and do make thereof savory meat".

(Courtesy of "Cornwall and Its People" by A. K. Hamilton Jenkin)

Having lived in a certain Asian country for a couple of years I can well understand the Reverend Hawker's concerns as to exactly what it was that he was eating, as the people are reputed to "Eat anything that flies except aeroplanes and everything with legs except tables"!