Altarnun

About Altarnun

Altarnun’s heart beats in its bench ends—oak etched with life. In St Nonna’s church, from the 1500s, Robert Daye carved 79 panels: a Cornish piper mid-tune, a fiddler’s bow, saints caught in wood. Each tells a tale—villagers’ hands smoothed them, their whispers linger in Penpont’s hush. No scroll lists their names, but Daye’s chisel, scratched with his own, sings of moor folk who loved, laughed, prayed. The moorstone walls, plucked from Bodmin’s edge, hold them close, steady as the 15th-century tower overhead.

Today, those carvings hum—church glows, Keltek flows at the Kings Head. Trace a piper’s lines, feel Altarnun’s pulse; roam Trewint’s lanes, catch moor winds. No grand sagas here, just lives—crosses by Short Cross, packhorses over Penpont’s bridge. Stay where stories were carved, from cob nooks to Fivelanes’ edge. Altarnun’s soul endures—grab a pasty, sit in Daye’s pews, and let the piper’s tune guide you.