2026 Day 59

 2026 Dedh Nawnjek ha Dogens

De Sadorn, ethves warn ügens mis Whevrel
Saturday, 28th February

Modrep ow gour a ros dhebm an folen paper ma. Ma pictour an den ma ow cregy war vos hor ow gour. Piw ew an den? Nathaniel Davey ew ev, an den a wrüg mos dhe'n eglos Baldhu ha gweles bedh Billy Bray. Ev a scrifas an gwersow ma ha's danvon dhe'n paper nowodhow a'n pow. An sewyans a veu lies alüsen dhe brovia mòna rag men co brâs. Na vadna vy treyla gwersyow Gorhok Nathaniel. 

My husband's aunt gave me this piece of paper. The picture of this man is hanging on the wall of my husband's sister. Who is the man? He is Nathaniel Davey, the man who went to Baldhu church and saw Billy Bray's grave. He wrote these verses and sent them to the local newspaper. The result was many donations to pay for a big memorial. I will not translate Great-Great-Grandfather Nathaniel's verses!

REQUIEM FOR BILLY BRAY

 

Billy Bray, most famous of Cornish Local preachers, might today be lying in an unmarked grave but for a visit from Mr. Nathaniel Davey, then stationmaster at Perranwell Station, paid in 1875 to Baldhu Churchyard.

 

Mr. Davey was saddened by the neglected state of Billy’s grave that he set down his feelings in verse, which was duly published in the local press. Correspondents hastened to respond to his suggestion of a memorial for the grave, and a granite stone was erected four years later.

The original verse is written in a beautiful long rounded hand that is so rare today. The paper, parting at the folds, has now turned yellow with age but the original black ink still gives its message clearly to the world.

 

“Alas, is this thy grave, this humble mound

And art thou shrouded here in clay?

Doth moulder here, the sacred dust

Of the once famous Billy Bray?

 

Yes, here’s thy grave beneath this turf

Neglected, almost lost to view,

A few green clods mark out thy bed

In the churchyard of old Baldhu.

 

No monument nor sculptured stone

Nor trophy o’er thy head arise,

No simple tablet from thy friends

To shew the spot where thy dust lies.

 

Where, then, thy people’s boasted love?

Amongst them all is there not one

To place some token o’er thy grave

Or o’er thy head a simple stone?

 

Yet no inscription o’er thy grave

Could wider spread thy honest fame.

No spacious vault nor painted stone

Can add new lustre to thy name.

 

But one small boon thy memory craves,

For one so faithful and so dear,

Some sign should tell the future age

That Billy Bray lies buried here.