The giants who lived at Trencrom Hill were a horrible, horrible bunch. They would eat cows and goats and children with a terrible, terrible crunch, but luckily, they are long, long gone. They left heaps of treasure behind, buried deep under the hill in a dark, dank cave and guarded by spiteful spriggans. The spriggans did a good job, the treasure is still there … wonder if you will find it one day. This is not a story about horrible giants, well not much. It's a story about a young giant called Tom, our Cornish hero.

In the days when Cornish people were at least twice as big as they are now, Cornwall was the Land of the Giants. The giants liked rocks. They used the huge granite boulders on the moors to build hedge walls, biggest boulders at the bottom, then smaller ones in a double wall on top with earth in between. In the earth they planted trees - elm and oak, blackthorn and hawthorn, hazel and sycamore – and flowers grew wild, primroses and bluebells and stitchwort and campion. We've got a lot to thank the giants for.

Tom was a young giant, he was only 8 foot tall and 4 foot broad at the shoulders..that's 2.5 metres tall and 1.5 metres broad to you and me. Lived near Lelant.

He was some strong, and he was some lazy – walked around most days with his hands in his pockets, whistling not working. He was some hungry too, had a pasty for breakfast, 2 pasties for lunch, and 3 pasties for his tea. His mother was forever trying to get her lazy lump to stir his stumps and do some work to earn his keep. Occasionally, if the fancy took him, he would do a bit of hedge laying, he could shift the granite grounders all by himself, no problem.

One day the fancy took him to do a bit of driving. There were no cars in those days, so he drove an ox cart with a load of beer from Penzance to St Ives. On the way the road was blocked by a fallen tree. Six men were trying to shift it, but it wouldn't budge. 'Stand clear,' shouted Tom, and he put one hand either side of the tree trunk and lifted it out the way, no problem.

It used to be a straight road between the south coast and the north coast but the road was windy, the giant Blunder had built a new castle with hedge walls that blocked the road, and the road was diverted around them. The road was now as wriggly as a worm. Tom was angry, it was hard to steer the heavy cart round narrow wiggles, so on the way back he decided to take the straight road through the giant's land. He drove the oxen between fields full of fat giant cattle right up to the giant's castle gates, opened them and went in. A huge ugly dog began to bark loudly and a huge ugly giant appeared, a giant with a huge ugly head and an enormous flabby belly and spindly legs and weedy arms.

'How dare you disturb my afternoon nap,' he roared ,'and who are you anyway?'

'I'm Tom' said Tom, ' and you've got no right to block a right of way.'

'I won't listen to a young lad like you. I will get a twig and chase you away faster than you came in,' roared the giant.

'Save your breath to cool your porridge,' shouted Tom. 'I can play at that game too.'

Blunder pulled up a young elm tree, 8 metres tall, and stripped the small branches off the top, he had a hard, strong stave. Tom saw what he was up to, tipped his cart on its side and took off the cartwheel and slipped out the axle; the oxen didn't even blink.

'Fair play for the buttons,' said Tom. 'The axle and wheel are my sword and shield, I will match it against your elm tree.' Tom began to whistle.

The old giant ran at Tom in a rage, with his elm twig in the air, he couldn't believe Tom was coolly whistling. Tom fended off the elm blow with the wheel, and the giant slipped over in the mud. Splat. Tom could have finished him off there and then but he'd rather be killed than not fight fair. Fair play to the buttons.

Tom tickled the giant under the ribs. 'Let's have another round,' he said.

As Blunder raised his elm twig to whack Tom, Tom kicked Blunder in the shins and the great giant fell again, right onto the axle which went straight through him. The great giant roared, the great giant howled.

'Stop your bleating,' said Tom. 'Let me take the axle out and we can play another round.'

Tom rolled the old giant over and pulled the axel out. A great fountain of blood spurted.

The old giant roared.

'Stop your bleating while I plug the wound with a turf to stop the bleeding. Then we can play another round ' said Tom.

'It's no good,' groaned Blunder,' I'm going to kick the bucket. But I like you better than anyone else I've ever met, for your fair play and courage. The more you beat me, the better I liked you, for no one dared to stand up to me before. I have no children, so I will leave everything I have to you; my heaps of gold and silver, copper and tin, my castle, my lands and all my animals, they are all yours. All I ask is that you give me a decent burial.'

That Tom did. He buried Giant Blunder at Wheal Reeth, near Trencrom, where he lies peacefully.

Tom had many more adventures, some with his wife Joan, some with his friend Jack. And he looked after Blunder's riches well, and some of it can still be found in the pockets of the Trewellas and Trewarthas and Tregarthens in Kernow today.

Retold by Sue Field

Source Robert Hunt, Popular Romances from the West of England

William Bottrell tells this tale too, set further down West, in Traditions and Hearthside Tales Vol 1

In Bottrell's version Tom comes from Bojewyon, the giant is Old Denbras the Hurler from Towednack, and Denbras is buried at Chun Quoit.