Finding the Holy Well took a bit of detective work. Although there was mention in 'Ancient and Holy Wells of Cornwall' by M & L Quiller-Couch (originally produced in 1894, this is a great book that has recently been reprinted) and various websites, the O.S. map was less than helpful.

Deciding that we'd probably find more information in the village of Altarnun itself, we drove across the Tamar into Cornwall. Like Dartmoor, Bodmin Moor is a wild and windswept place, full of myths and legends. It has a dark and brooding presence all of its own, as captured so aptly by du Maurier's 'Jamaica Inn'.

As we drove into Altarnun, we were amazed to find a beautiful, chocolate box village, complete with thatched cottages and an unattended wayside market stall. It was stunning, and we spent a couple of minutes enjoying this unexpected delight. At the village green a small tourist information stand had been erected, giving general snippets of general interest about the village itself and the surrounding area. Once again, although the Holy Well was mentioned briefly, its whereabouts were apparently a closely guarded secret! We decided to follow the scant directions ~ "past the Church, in a field just outside the village" ~ and with a bit of creative map reading and retracing our steps somewhat, my husband duly declared that the unmarked gate down a wide track must be it. I was sceptical, but followed his lead and through a cow-pat laden field, we found a perfectly wrought iron gate declaring 'Holy Well'.

The Holy Well is dedicated to St Non who appears to have been the mother of David, patron saint of Wales. Non, Nonna or Nunne is said to have left Wales to live closer to her sister in Cornwall, after founding and bringing her son up in a convent. According to legend, she brought her travelling stone altar with her by oxen and founded another monastry in Altar - Non, the masonry from which was used to construct the current church some time later. In more recent times, the waters from the Holy Well were used in a bowssening pool to cure the insane. After many probably traumatic dunkings, the wet and bedraggled patient was taken to the local church where prayers and masses were spoken over them until they were 'cured'.

I loved this place immediately. It was peaceful, being somewhat off the beaten track, and tranquil. Presumably in days gone by it wasn't always as calm and restful, but I felt a welcoming warmth the moment I sent a prayer and acknowledgement out to the Goddess. It was obviously well loved by other pagans, as the collection of jam jars and ribbons as offerings testified. I tidied up a couple of tea light stubbs - I do wish other pagans would clean up after themselves! - and settled down with my harp. I played a couple of rehearsed pieces then decided to learn a new piece, a Northumberland ballad called 'Blow the Winds Southerly'. Although I only managed to play the melody line, the plaintiff tune seemed to fit the atmosphere of the drying pool.

After about 40 minutes, I decided to stop. The day was getting on, and I wanted to visit another well before it got too late. So, I sprinkled some rose petals in the well head and thanked the Goddess and the Spirits of the waters. Looking up, I noticed a silver metal crescent moon tucked into the brickwork and without questioning my actions, reached up for it. I immediately felt it was a gift passed on from the Goddess, to inspire and motivate me through the rest of my Questing.

With a bright smile to rival the afternoon sunshine, I left Altarnun, touched and inspired indeed. It seemed well worth the adventure . . . .

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