Blisland

About Blisland

Blisland twinkles with piskies—Cornwall’s small folk. Knee-high, moss-clad, they dance through Bodmin Moor, leading travellers astray in De Lank’s mist or gifting luck to weary farmers. No parish scroll names them, but Blisland’s hedgerows hum their tune. Moor winds whisper of fairy rings near Lavethan Wood, while the Stripple Stones, ancient and quiet, guard secrets in the bracken. On Trehudreth Downs, piskies trip you with glee, giggling as you curse—or stack your hay by moonlight, asking for nothing but a pint in thanks. St Protus’ holy well still sparkles with their mischief, its waters as cold and sharp as their wit.

Today, Blisland keeps their spark. The village green buzzes with chatter, the Blisland Inn spins stories over Keltek’s golden foam, and the air carries more laughter than worry. Wander beneath the old churchyard oaks, where shadows might blink, or take the moor paths and dodge their knotted tricks. No grim tales here—just misplaced boots, mysteriously milked cows, and a feeling you’re never quite alone.

Stay where the small folk still play—from mossy cottages to manor house nooks. Blisland’s charm isn’t just in stone and slate; it beats wild in wind and water. Grab a pasty, chase a flicker in the lane, and let the piskies lead your dance.