Should Cornwall reconsider the singing of Trelawny?

Bishop Trelawny by Sir Godfrey Kneller NPG Wiki Image

Should the Cornish reconsider their beloved national anthem 'Trelawny'? Former BBC journalist, Leo Devine, asks if it's time to bin the famous commemoration of a shameful anti-Catholic past.

March the 5th is the Feast Day of St Piran, one of the Patron Saints of Cornwall. On this day, Cornish people gather in pubs throughout the county to celebrate the 'Trelawny Shout', a singing of the unofficial national Anthem of Cornwall, 'Trelawny'.

And shall Trelawny live

Or shall Trelawny die?

Here's twenty thousand Cornish men

Will know the reason why!

Every St. Piran's Day you'll find me celebrating with the best of them at the annual Trelawny Shout. I've attended every single one of the Shouts at some pub or another since the tradition began a few years ago. I love the camaraderie and the coming together to celebrate Cornish culture over a pint. I've enjoyed belting out Trelawny at the top of my voice and loved shouting "oi, oi, oi" with the crowd at the end.

I don't know the verses, of course, but that repeated refrain of "here's twenty thousand Cornish men will know the reason why" is easy to remember and never fails to stir a feeling of Cornish pride. But do twenty thousand of us really know the reason why?

I should say at this point that I'm not actually from Cornwall. I was born in Manchester 59 years ago, but after 26 years of living here, I feel passionate about my chosen home and seek always to defend it. I am not passing through. I'm not on holiday. I live here and brought up my two children here; this is my home.

However, despite my adopted and heartfelt Cornish allegiance, as a Roman Catholic, should I be celebrating and singing Trelawny's praises at all? Is this most sacred of Cornish songs actually a commemoration of one of the worst examples of religious discrimination and intolerance in British history? Is the central player in all of this, Bishop Trelawny, no more than a religious bigot?

To understand more, we have to rewind a little bit. In 1685, King Charles II died and was succeeded by his brother, King James II of England and King James VII in Scotland. As a Roman Catholic, James was viewed with enormous suspicion by his Protestant subjects. The English Reformation was a mere 150 years old and James was the first Catholic to rule since the reign of 'Bloody Mary'. Worse still, in 1687, James announced his desire to allow freedom of worship in England and Scotland. The king wished to permit all people of faith, not just Catholics but also non-conformists, Protestant dissenters, Unitarians, Jews and Muslims, to be able to worship as they pleased.

It's hard for us today to understand how significant this announcement was, but for most ordinary people of the time this was deeply shocking. More importantly, for the priests and prelates of the Church of England, this proclamation amounted to a direct assault on their authority and the supremacy of the English Church.

Since the time of Queen Elizabeth I, attendance at Anglican services was obligatory. Non-attendance resulted in a fine of a shilling a week. This was increased later to £20 pounds a month, a colossal sum by today's standard. The Test Acts of the 1670s went further, requiring any holder of civil or military office to swear an oath denouncing Catholicism and Catholic practices. In England, at least, any attempt to unpick the firm stitches of this status quo would threaten a century and a half of Anglican power.

The Church of England had been the established church since Henry VIII's break with Rome in 1534. Catholic England was already ancient history by James's time and outside of everyone's living memory. Most people viewed Catholics as foreign and strange. Their religion was the faith of the French and the Spanish.

James's push for tolerance became known as the Declaration of Indulgence, or as James himself called it: the Declaration for Liberty of Conscience. Not surprisingly, the Bishops hated it. In rejecting James's plan, they protested loudly. They feared that the "whore of Babylon", by which they meant Roman Catholicism, would return to pollute England. Careful to proclaim their allegiance to the King, they nevertheless painted a bleak picture of religious chaos. And although we should acknowledge the mood of a very different time, it's impossible to deny that hate and intolerance lay at the centre of their case. Catholicism was evil and so, by definition, Catholics were evil too. Apart from the King, that is. He could chop their heads off.

The crunch came when James demanded that a letter, written by him and outlining his plan for tolerance and freedom of worship, should be read out in every church in the land. The Bishops stood firm and refused to comply.

Seven leading Anglican Bishops, including Cornwall's Bishop Trelawny, were summoned to London and brought before James. In the presence of the King, they refused in the strongest possible terms to accept the 'Declaration of Indulgence'. Trelawny and the others said that their conscience would not allow them to accept freedom of worship for Catholics, even in their own homes.

Make no mistake, this was strong stuff. Catholics were deeply despised. Declaring an allegiance to the Church of Rome could get you arrested or worse. Catholics would not be legally free to worship openly in this country for another 141 years.

It's said that James flew into a rage and demanded the Bishops obey. When they refused again, he ordered their immediate imprisonment in the Tower of London. The Bishops were charged with seditious libel and put on trial, an action doomed to fail. The subsequent and very public proceedings proved to be a farce and all seven bishops were quickly found not guilty. James was publicly humiliated.

Trelawny's brief imprisonment only added to his popularity and his reputation as a hero of the people. Ensuing history continued to work in his favour. When King James was deposed three years later and forced to flee into exile by William of Orange, a Protestant monarchy was proclaimed and assured. William rewarded Trelawny's loyalty by appointing him Bishop of Exeter.

How ironic that this 'loyal' Cornishman, already the Bishop of Bristol, should accept such a prize from across the Tamar in Devon.

There is one more ironic twist to the story of Trelawny. In 1834, the Reverend Robert Hawker became Vicar of the North Cornish village of Morwenstow, a position he held until his death in 1875. Well loved by his parishioners, Parson Hawker, as they called him, was a classic British eccentric. Amongst other things, he loved to sit on a rock by the shore dressed as a mermaid to confuse passing sailors and fishermen. He also liked to make parish house calls accompanied by his pet pig, whilst sporting a pink hat and yellow poncho - that was him with the hat and poncho, by the way, not the pig. He even excommunicated his cat for catching a mouse on a Sunday and painted a neighbour's horse with stripes to make it look like a zebra.

The reason I mention Hawker at all is because this colourful and wildly exotic Cornish character is the author of our song in question, 'Trelawny', or to give it its Sunday best title, the 'Song of the Western Men'.

The ironic bit in the Hawker chapter of this saga concerns his own turn of faith. Even while penning his homage to Trelawny and the Bishop's famed refusal to yield to the King, Hawker himself was increasingly attracted by the Roman Catholic Church. These feelings of conversion did not publicly gain voice until our beloved Parson lay on his deathbed. In what must have been a big surprise to all who knew him, Hawker asked for the attendance of a Catholic Priest. Having received absolution and communion, and professing himself a Catholic, Hawker was given the last rites and received into the very church that Trelawny so despised. What would Bishop T have said about that?

So, now that I do know the reason why, will I be downing a pint on St. Piran's Day and singing my heart out, albeit virtually this time around? Can this cradle Catholic continue to celebrate his adopted Cornwall with Hawker's catchy chorus? The answer is, of course, a resounding yes, with an oi, oi, oi thrown in for good measure. In the final analysis, Cornwall means more to me, and is much more to all of us, regardless of our chosen and freely expressed faith, than the questionable actions of an Anglican Bishop three and a half centuries ago. It's also a bloody good tune that goes perfectly with a pint of Tribute and the waving of a St. Piran's flag. I'm sure a lot more than twenty thousand cornishmen would agree with that.

Leo Devine is Journalist in Residence at Plymouth MARJON University