Cornish Pasties and KnockersCornish Knockers and small pixie-like creatures said to inhabit tin mines of Cornwall. If you were good to them they will help guide you.
The ubiquitous Cornish pasty is undoubtedly Cornwall's best-known export today. It is widely available throughout Britain and has spawned variations with fillings, including chicken tikka and beef with stilton.
The Cornish Pasty, however, had been a favourite of the affluent upper classes from at least the thirteenth century. It wasn't until the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries that it gained popularity among Cornish tin workers.
Because of their work depths, wives would bake pasties in the morning to feed their men throughout their long and difficult stints in the mines. Each wife would inscribe his initials into the pasty's crust to identify so that their husbands could tell whose pasty was whose.
A pasty's traditional filling of beef, onion, and swede provided an entire meal, which was then sealed in its own crust. Cornish women would put everything into their pasties, and according to an old tale, the Devil never crossed the River Tamar into Cornwall because of concern that he might end up as the contents of a Cornish pasty.
Given the hazardous conditions in which the tin miners laboured, it is crucial to consider whether a pasty's crust can withstand being dropped into a mine shaft. The crust, which the miners didn't eat, was a barrier against the grime on their hands from contaminating the food inside because arsenic was frequently found alongside the tin in the mines.
Ogee is a Cornish slang name for pasty derived from the word hoggan, a kind of bread. Some tin mines provided stoves so raw pasties could be prepared on the spot. When they were ready, the women who prepared the ore on the surface and also did the cooking and laundry, known as bal maidens, would cry "Oggy Oggy Oggy" down the mine, to which the ravenous miners would respond, "Oi! Oi! Oi!" The well-known cry frequently heard during football games has its origins here.
In addition to providing the miners with energy throughout their demanding day, the pasty could also be used supernaturally to appease the knockers that lurked in the mines' deepest, darkest crevices.
According to legend, Cornish Knockers were pixie-like beings that stood 60 cm (2 feet) tall, had long, hooked noses, and had thin arms and legs. They mostly stayed to themselves, mining the rich lodes deep beneath, where their picks could be heard chipping away at the ore. They were frequently clad in miniature copies of a miner's costume.
They were commonly believed to be kind spirits who, for instance, guided favoured miners to the richest lodes. They also knocked to sound the alarm when a shaft was about to collapse, hence their name. However, the knockers also had a cunning side and occasionally pinched miners' ears or stole their equipment. However, the knockers would become enraged and deadly if the miners were unkind to them, such as by swearing, whistling, or shouting at them. They would purposefully direct miners who had insulted them towards the mine's most hazardous areas before abandoning them there in the pitch black. Even worse, they would trigger the collapse of a mine shaft, which would have terrible repercussions for their unfortunate victims. Therefore, remaining friendly with the knockers and expressing gratitude for their forewarnings of approaching tragedy was crucial. To appease them, miners always left a small piece of the pasty crust in the mine. Some people would even leave a piece of crust with their initials to clarify who had left the offering.
By the late nineteenth century, it was believed that the knockers were the spirits of miners who had perished in earlier mining tragedies and now lingered behind to guard the good and punish the bad. Another widely held view was that the knockers' appearance portended the mine's impending closure. The knockers would watch over the mine after it was shut down.
Some think the knockers still maintain watch in the abandoned tin mines that dot the Cornish countryside, waiting for the day when they can once again direct miners to the richest lodes, tickle their ears and steal their equipment, or alert them to impending danger.
Four millennia of mining ended with the closure of Cornwall's final active tin mine in 1998. The landscape is now dotted with the empty shells of their brick engine houses and towering chimney stacks, serving as ghostly relics of bygone times. However, people who live close by claim that a faint knocking sound can occasionally be heard resonating from deep underneath. They recognise the sound as a cue to grab another Cornish pasty and carefully break off a piece of the crust just in case.
