The Fighting Fairy Woman of Bodmin

I love Cornwall, whenever I visit it feels like I’m coming home, alas I am cursed to forever reside in the Midlands (or at least until the kids get older) so ive resigned myself to the occasional visit. When I do visit I always make a special effort to go to Minster Church, this beautiful small church is at the top of the Valency Valley and has much of its own history and folklore ( I will do a separate post this week). If you make your way to the bottom of the graveyard via a very steep muddy slope, just before the boundary of the churchyard you will notice a small opening in the undergrowth to the right.

Here lies Joan Wytte, a small modest grave but still magickal. Hers is an intriguing and sad tale the struggles of 17th century life as a cunning woman. When I go I always leave an offering, this time it was a beautiful piece of driftwood which I inscribed with Theban script and a shell from the beach at st Michael’s mount, I thought she may enjoy the echos of the sea and the calmness it brings.

Here is her tale…

In the wild heart of Cornwall, where mists cling to the moors and old stones whisper of forgotten times, there once lived a woman named Joan Wytte. The villagers called her the Fighting Fairy Woman, for she was small and fierce, with eyes as sharp as the edge of a blade and a temper to match.

But Joan was more than her temper, she was a wise woman, a seer, a healer. They said she could read the future in swinging pendulums and polished stones, call up spirits with murmured words, and banish illness with her charms. People came from miles around for her counsel, leaving her offerings in secret so their neighbors wouldn’t whisper of witchcraft.

A depiction of Joan in her cottage, The Museum of Witchcraft, Boscastle

As the years went on, Joan’s body began to fail her. Her hands stiffened with pain, her bones ached in the damp Cornish air, and her once-nimble movements grew sharp with anger. Quarrels followed her wherever she went, in the market square, in the lanes, even in the churchyard.

One day, after yet another brawl, the law came for her. Whether she struck first or simply defended herself, no one can say now. What we do know is that Joan Wytte was taken to Bodmin Gaol, the cold stone prison whose walls swallowed many a soul.

They say she raged in her cell, calling down curses on those who wronged her, her voice echoing through the corridors. But the damp was merciless, and the wind cut like a knife. In 1813, Joan’s voice went silent. She died alone behind bars, never given the chance to plead her case.

Minster Church and Graveyard

Most would think the story ends there, but Joan was not to be left in peace. Instead of being buried, her bones were kept. They passed from hand to hand, taken out and displayed, even used as a prop in Victorian séances, where her skull was said to speak when the candle flames guttered low.

For nearly two centuries, her skeleton was an object of curiosity, until at last it came to rest in the Museum of Witchcraft and Magic in Boscastle. Visitors whispered to her coffin, leaving her flowers and coins, as though she were still listening.

And perhaps she was.

In 2016, after much debate, Joan Wytte was finally given a Christian burial. Her bones were laid to rest in the churchyard of Minster, surrounded by yew trees and mossy stones. The wind sang through the branches as the earth closed over her for the first time in two hundred years.

Joan Wytte’s Grave Minster Church

Some say her spirit still walks the Bodmin Moors on stormy nights, her laugh carried on the wind, her fury crackling in the air. Others claim she is finally at peace, watching over the cunning folk and healers who walk the old ways today.

But one thing is certain: Joan Wytte has not been forgotten. She remains a guardian of Cornwall’s magical past, a reminder of the price paid by those who lived fiercely, spoke boldly, and dared to wield power that frightened the world around them.