A history of Roche Rock

A spectacular geological phenomenon that has long been the focal point of the surrounding communities, Roche Rock is associated with numerous myths and legends. Discover the history of this striking landmark, and the truth behind the stories that cling to these enigmatic ruins like moorland mist.

"The granite outcrop rises like a huge molar into which has been inserted the early fifteenth century chapel of St Michael, long roofless and with a hermit's cell below it." John Betjeman 1964

The history of Roche Rock is a delightful tangle of folktales and half-remembered truths regarding lepers, lords, giants and hermits. It has always drawn people (and tall tales) to it, and yet remains firmly off the typical tourist trail.

The nearby village of Roche, indeed the whole parish, has been named after this strange group of rock formations. Since at least 1201, the area has been known as La Roche, meaning ‘the rock’ in French. In the past, fairs and cattle and horse markets were held in the shadow of the outcrops several times a year; it was also a campsite for gypsies and, as far back as the Middle Ages, was considered a place where evil spirits would congregate.

The highest outcrop of these black tourmaline granite rock formations - likened by the poet John Betjeman to “a molar” jutting up through the sparse vegetation - rises to 20m (66ft) above the surrounding moorland, and was probably formed around 270 million years ago. Today it is crowned by the ruins of an ancient chapel, but before that structure was built, it is thought there was a simple hermit’s cell on the rock, home to a monk or priest called Ogrin. The 12th century poet Beroul mentions the priest and his hermitage in his telling of the romantic tale of Tristan and Isolde: according to legend, Ogrin gave shelter and counsel to the starcrossed lovers as they tried to escape the wrath of Isolde’s husband, King Mark.

The chapel we see today was built on the rock more than 600 years ago in 1409 by the Tregarrick family, who owned the manor in which the rock stood at that time. Sturdily constructed using locally quarried granite, the building is a feat of medieval engineering. It hugs the topography of the outcrop, using the natural stone as an intrinsic part of its structure.

The two storeys of this now roofless, floorless ruin once provided accommodation for the chaplain on the ground floor, with a small chapel above dedicated to St Michael. Just like St Michael’s Mount, it is thought that Roche Rock was once a site of pilgrimage and that a beacon would be lit on its heights to guide weary travellers across the lonely moors to its shelter.

The windows still frame staggering views of the surrounding clay country, and are decorated with finely carved mouldings, as are the doors. Old etchings hint at other buildings on the rock, long since disappeared. The chapel can still be accessed by some rather rusty ladders; according to historian William Hals, writing in the 18th century, there was once a stonebuilt flight of stairs leading to the doorway, but this was subsequently pulled down and the stone reused in the village.

One of the most memorable legends connected to Roche Rock is that it was the home of a leper. This story may have some truth in it, as it is said that Sir John Tregarrick, lord of the manor and MP for Truro in the 14th century, and his family were the chapel’s last inhabitants. Some say Tregarrick was weary of the world and wanted to live on the rock in solitude and peace, others that he had contracted leprosy and was forced to hide away from the community. His daughter is said to have cared for him, bringing him meat and bread every day and collecting water for him from a well at the base of Roche Rock.

This well, supposedly named after her, is called Saint Gundred’s or Gunnett’s well, and has a strange myth all of its own. The folklorist Robert Hunt wrote about it in 1896, claiming it never runs dry and the level of the water “ebbs and flows as the sea”. Richard Carew wrote a verse about this strange marvel in 1602:

“You neighbour-scorner, holy proud, Go people too Roche’s cell, There, hermits, may you dwell. Is’t true that spring in rock hereby Doth tide-wise ebb and flow? Or have we fools with liars met? Fame say it; be it so.”

Although Roche Rock was clearly once a site of important religious significance, stories like this one illustrate the many traditional folktales that are attached to this atmospheric place. It is a lonely spot, well suited to wild imaginings.

The rock was also said to have been a meeting place for witches, while yet another myth has the moans of a giant emanating from the stones on stormy nights. But perhaps the most famous former occupant was Jan Tregeagle, said to have been a 17th century magistrate and Cornwall’s answer to Sisyphus. There are various versions of his unfortunate story, but most agree he was an evil character who sold his soul to the Devil.

After his death, Tregeagle was doomed to repeat a number of impossible tasks for all eternity, such as making a length of rope from sand and emptying Dozmary Pool on Bodmin Moor with a holey limpet shell. At night, he would find himself being hunted across the moor by the hounds of hell, and on one occasion they chased him all the way to Roche Rock. Legend has it that he took refuge inside; the ungodly hounds couldn’t enter the chapel walls but it is said Tregeagle’s terrified howls can still be heard on the wind.

These days, myths and legends aside, Roche Rock makes a beautiful spot for a picnic, especially with the surrounding nature reserve, and its precipitous rock faces often attract brave climbers. The outcrop stands in the heart of clay country, a part of Cornwall often overlooked but boasting dramatic scenery, much of it shaped by its industrial past. It’s worth spending a day exploring this unusual landscape, and there’s no better starting place for such an adventure than Roche Rock. l

Words and photographs by Elizabeth Dale