Altarnun

About Altarnun

Altarnun’s heart beats in its bench ends—79 oak panels etched with life and lore. Inside the quiet of St Nonna’s Church, a treasure of late-medieval Cornwall, each carving whispers a tale. Created in the 1500s by Robert Daye, a masterful local craftsman, they show a Cornish piper mid-tune, a fiddler frozen in bowstroke, saints and villagers immortalised in wood. These are not the stories of kings, but of moorland folk—hands that shaped the land and the church alike.

Over thousands of centuries, generations have smoothed these carvings, their touch wearing soft hollows into the oak. Daye’s name is scratched among them, not for pride, but legacy. His work—carved from a time when Bodmin Moor’s stone and timber shaped village life—still hums with reverence. The moorstone walls of St Nonna’s, lifted from the edge of the wild, hold fast beneath the watch of a steadfast 15th-century tower.

Today, the church glows with quiet light, its pews still and steady, and the bench ends continue to speak. After a stroll, pause in Trewint’s windswept lanes or along the Penpont stream. Wander over Penpont’s ancient bridge, where packhorses once trod, and feel the moor’s breath in the air. Altarnun isn’t a postcard village—it’s a living story, nestled deep in Cornwall’s uplands.

No need for grand sagas—Altarnun’s soul lies in its quiet details: the worn crosses near Short Cross, the steady cob walls near Fivelanes, and the unhurried rhythm of a Cornish village that remembers. Grab a pasty, sit in Daye’s pews, and let the carved piper’s tune guide your thoughts. In this place, history and moorland life are carved deep and held close.