Launceston

About Launceston

Launceston stood firm—Cornwall’s crown. By 1067, its castle loomed, Robert’s motte dishing Norman law—trials, taxes, miners’ fates sealed in stone. Sheriffs judged at Southgate Arch; rebels met ropes, yet the town held fast. Before William, a mint clinked silver pennies, “Lanstephanton” stamped for kings’ wars—Cornwall’s coin, no London lackey. Markets buzzed below, Kensey’s flow carrying trade. Not soft power, but grit—castle walls and coin dies forged a Cornish spine, unbowed by Tamar’s tides.

Today, that pulse hums—Southgate frames markets, St Mary’s tower chimes Causley’s verse. Sip Keltek at The Bell Inn, where mint tales swap with steam train yarns. Walk Castle Green, feel justices’ gavels; roam Northgate, hear coins’ echo. Lawrence House guards relics, Priory’s ruins whisper monks. No king rules now—Launceston’s folk do, their square alive with pasties, poets. Stay where power pulsed, from Church Street nooks to river cottages. It’s not pomp, but heart—grab a pint, tread the ramparts, and claim your stake in Cornwall’s coin.