The White Hare of Lanherne

Every holiday Dan was sent to stay with his aunt in her cottage in the Vale of Lanherne, a wooded valley by the river near St Mawgan. The cottage was dark and damp, Aunt was strict and sour and to begin with, Dan did not look forward to the holidays. He played in the shady garden, found a gate to a beautiful orchard full of lichen wrapped gnarled apple trees ringed with golden daffodils.

'Don’t go into the orchard' said his aunt. 'It’s haunted.'

Dan did not believe her.

Aunt had to go to St Columb, she left Dan home alone.

'Don’t go into the orchard,' she said. 'It’s haunted.'

As soon as his aunt left, Dan ran to the hazel gate to the old orchard. He explored among the apple trees, climbing one or two, careful not to squash any daffodils when he jumped down. Then, through the trees, he saw a flash of white.

He wondered if it was ghost white, but he wasn’t scared. He followed the shifting shape till it stopped and settled in the long grass. Quietly, slowly he approached the snowy form. Looked pretty solid to him. It was a hare, a white hare, sitting so still. He crouched down and stroked her soft back, stroked her silky ears, she felt quite real, no ghost there.

'Don’t be afraid,' said the hare. Dan couldn’t believe his ears. The hare was real, and she could talk! 'I’m not a ghost , but I’m not really a hare either. I’m a girl, turned into hare form out of spite by a witch because I wouldn’t practice the dark arts with her. And a hare I’ll stay until someone blows three blasts on the magic horn, which is hidden deep in the caves under Bedruthen Castle.'

Dan hadn’t heard of the magic horn before but he knew of the castle, sometimes he went for a long, long walk up the vale to Mawgan Porth, then along the cliffs to Bedruthen, and down, down steep steps to the wide sandy beach.

Each time he came to visit his aunt, he would run to the orchard as soon as she went off to St Columb and talk to the hare.

Each time he came to visit his aunt, he would go for a long long walk to Bedruthen and search among the sea caves under the castle, but no horn was to be found.

Years passed, the orchard filled with primroses, apple blossoms, tasty apples; Peter Locke, Pascoe's Pippin, Cornish Aromatic. His sour aunt made sweet pies, apple dumplings, crumbles and apple cake, apple juice and cider, for Cornish orchards are the best of all.

Years passed and Dan was a young man, old enough to taste his aunt’s cider, but he still visited his aunt, chatted to the hare, searched for the horn. One spring visit, he was fast asleep when he was woken by voices outside his bedroom window. A crowd of little people with pointy hats were carrying lanterns which gave a bright light in the dark night. They must be piskeys.

He wasn’t scared, he ran outside and followed them, a long, long way up the vale and along the cliffs to Bedruthen, then they led him to a cave under the castle. Dan searched around and there, sure enough, in the corner, was a horn. Looked a bit like a sheep's horn to Dan, he hoped it was magic. Dawn was breaking over the sea, the piskeys had disappeared, but Dan found his way back to the orchard in the morning light, clutching the horn tight. He showed the hare, then put it to his lips and blew a loud toot, then another and another, and before his eyes the hare transformed into a beautiful young woman. The spell was broken.

Dan took her hand, and together they walked up the vale and along the cliffs. An old man saw them go by, and they were never seen again, but we know they were happy.