St Ives, the nearest market town, was five miles off, but undoubting, the witch put on her bonnet plus cloak and started out. Her husband watched her from the cottage door go down the hill, and at the bottom of the hill he saw his wife quietly place herself on the ground and disappear. In her place a fine hare ran on at its full speed.
He was a little startled, but he waited and within the half hour in walked his wife with “good flesh and taties all ready for aiting”. There was no longer any doubt and the poor husband lived in fear of the witch of Treva to the day of her death.
Touch a Logan stone nine times at midnight, and any woman will become a witch. Or get on the Giant’s Rock at Zennor Church nine times without shaking it.
St Leven Logan stone was long noted as the gathering place of an army of witches who often flew to Wales, where they would luxuriate upon the milk of the Welshmen’s cows.