The first reference to ‘Pensans’ occurred in 1284.
A little later, in 1332, Penzance was granted a weekly market and in 1614 it won a Royal Charter and became a ‘proper town’.
During the past millennium, Penzance has accrued its fair share of notable names and faces. Some are there for acts of derring-do and others for more dastardly deeds. A few have even found their place in our history for decidedly odd or even bogus reasons, but there they are all the same.
Without further ado, we’d like to introduce eight ‘Penzance people’ from history you really ought to know about.
Alward (11th Century): ‘First Citizen of Penzance’
‘Alward’ ring a bell? Possibly not. But if we said ‘Alverton’, a district of Penzance, locals and visitors might start to make the connection. Alverton is actually a corruption of Alwardtun, or ‘Alward’s Town’, after the overlord who was granted the territory during the time of the Saxons.
We know this because it’s in the Domesday Book. What else do we know? Very little. This is either deeply frustrating or beautifully evocative, depending on your appetite for mystery. Just who was this Alward, the first person associated with the area that became known as Penzance? No idea. But there he is in the records – our ‘first son’.
Alice de Lisle (1297 – 1347): ‘Patroness of Penzance’
Alice de Lisle was Lord of the Manor of Alverton – Penzance’s economic hub in the Middle Ages – from 1327 until she died in 1347. In that 20 years, she achieved something remarkable that resonates down the ages and informs the town of Penzance today.
In 1332, she petitioned the monarch for the right to hold a weekly market and an annual fair. And she succeeded. This small, resolute act ensured Penzance grew into a trading hub – a ‘market town’. It was an act that surely contributed to its growth and status.
This one decisive deed sings down the ages and makes her, in many eyes, ‘the Patroness of Penzance’.
Sir Francis Godolphin (circa 1534 – 1608): ‘Town Defender (ish)’
Imagine the scene. It’s 1595, you’re sitting up in bed looking out of the window – eating your bread and drinking your morning ale – and four Spanish galleys emerge from the mist in Mount’s Bay. They proceed to ransack Mousehole and Paul, and then turn their sights on Penzance.
Luckily, MP Sir Francis Godolphin was in the town checking out the defences and he summoned a (admittedly tinpot) militia of local men, over 200 according to reports.
When 400 Spaniards landed and torched Newlyn, Sir Francis and his poorly armed chaps were forced to retreat to central Penzance, where they waited to make a stand.
Well about 12 of them did. The rest cleared off to the hills and Sir Francis and his ‘dithering dozen’, admitting defeat, scarpered too.
Not Penzance’s finest hour. But, to be fair to Sir Francis, he played a bad hand the best he could and, quite rightly, chucked it in when he was so plainly outtrumped.
Beheaded St John The Baptist (First decade BCE to 26-36 CE): ‘The Bizarre Heraldic Seal’
‘Bring me the head of John the Baptist,’ said the daughter of King Herod. And, in an unusual twist, Penzance leaders said the same thing too.
When the town was awarded its Royal Charter of Incorporation in 1614, it became a borough, which granted it a degree of self-governance and certain privileges. As part of this process, leaders were required to choose a heraldic seal, which is similar to a coat of arms. And, oh, did they drop the ball/severed head on this one.
Determined to choose a figure that reflected the original name ‘Pensans’, or holy headland, they scoured the Bible. They came across the story of St John the Baptist’s head on a dish and clearly thought: ‘There’s your holy head – job done.’
What were they thinking?
You’ll see depictions of the head around Penzance, including on the Market House.
Judge Jeffreys (1645 – 1689): ‘The Hanging Judge’
When someone’s known by the monicker ‘Hanging Judge’, you know it’s not going to be a tale of rainbows and unicorns.
George Jeffreys, 1st Baron Jeffreys, was a Welsh judge who became prominent during the reign of James II. His notoriety came in the aftermath of the Monmouth Rebellion – also known as the West Country Rebellion – which was an attempt to depose James II. Jeffreys was responsible for sentencing and putting to death at least 100 and maybe many more. During this period, he is said to have set up court in the dining room of the Dolphin Inn in Penzance to continue with his ‘Bloody Assizes’, a series of trials relating to the rebellion.
Presumably, this must have been terribly awkward for the Sunday lunch crowd.
Humphry Davy (1778-1829): ‘Laugh-a-Minute Scientist’
The wonderful yet rather stern statue of Humphry Davy that casts its haughty gaze over Penzance doesn’t do justice to the man of science.
Yes, our most famous son isolated several elements, was a pioneer in electrical chemistry and invented the miner’s safety lamp. All worthy, groundbreaking work befitting a grand statue. But there was so much more to the man.
Because if that statue came to life, it would charm your ears and eyes – Davy’s lectures were famously well attended and hypnotic. It may also spellbind you with a poem – Davy was a contemporary and friend of Southey, Coleridge and Wordsworth, and wrote prodigiously himself.
He was also, in his own words, known to ‘dance about the laboratory as a madman’. Well, experimenting with laughing gas will do that for you.
On one occasion, Davy was ‘working’ with the gas – he said it was to relieve tooth pain – and unleashed a most beautiful line. After the pain relief, he said, ‘The thrilling came on as usual.’ The thrilling?
A scientist. A raconteur. A poet. A pioneer. And so, so much more than a town statue.
Thomas Giddy (1741-1825): ‘Nelson Death Announcer’ (Possibly)
‘Ladies and gentlemen, your attention, please. I regret to inform you of the death of our own Lord Nelson, who was fatally shot on HMS Victory at the Battle of Trafalgar.’
So said Mayor of Penzance Thomas Giddy, or words to a similar effect, in 1805 in the Union Hotel in Penzance. This was the first town in England, it was said, to receive the news – surely causing a minor storm of wig dust as Regency folk swooned at the cataclysmic event.
Or maybe not… This piece of Penzance apocrypha has never been verified by any contemporary account.
Therefore, Mr Giddy takes his awkward place in our town’s history as the man who may or may not have been awarded the dubious honour of announcing a famous demise.
Maria Branwell (1783 – 1821): ‘Mother of Genius’
What inspired the genius behind Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre and sister Emily’s Wuthering Heights?
Could it really have been a well-to-do woman born in Penzance?
Maria Branwell was the daughter of the successful Penzance merchant Thomas Branwell and his wife Anne. The family home can be seen today in Chapel Street (we’ve written about it in a Penzance architecture post). After moving to Yorkshire, Maria married Patrick Bronte in 1812 and bore Charlotte, Branwell, Emily and Anne. Sadly, Maria died when her children were still young, but her literary gifts were discovered later by her daughter, Charlotte, in a cache of letters.
Said Charlotte, ‘It was strange now to peruse for the first time the records of a mind whence my own sprang – and most strange – and at once sad and sweet to find that mind of a truly fine, pure and elevated order.’
It’s a tantalising connection between the Brontës and Penzance. Though the siblings didn’t visit the town, their own gifts were informed by a mother who was part of a prominent local Methodist family and clearly a fine writer.
Some of the historical tales in this post were sourced from Mike Sagar-Fenton’s excellent Penzance: The Biography.
Find out more about the history of Penzance in our posts about Penzance architecture, Penzance festivals, Penzance pirates and historic hill climbs near Penzance.
If you’re thinking of visiting us, start here.