The Duporth Estate: Busting The Myths.

Duporth has a much older history than the manor house, which once stood overlooking the bay. The name appears in records dating back to medieval times. During the reign of Edward III, in the fourteenth century, a Simon de Deuporth was recorded as holding land there at an annual rent of 7s. 8d.

Another entry from the same period gives us a fascinating glimpse of life around the little bay. It refers to the “way of the sea at Deuporth” and records that eleven carriers of sand had been unable to use the route because of the violence of the sea.

Sea sand was commonly taken from Cornish beaches and carried inland for use on agricultural land, and the reference suggests that this was already an established activity at Duporth more than four hundred years before Charles Rashleigh arrived.

The landscape changed dramatically in the late eighteenth century. In 1779, Charles Rashleigh purchased around 94 acres of land there and began creating the country estate that would become his home for the rest of his life.

Construction of the new manor house began soon afterwards. The yellow Elvan stone used in the building was quarried at Polrudden, Pentewan, and loaded onto vessels and carried the three miles around the coast to the beach at Duporth. From there it had to be hauled the final few hundred yards uphill to the building site.

The house was completed in 1781, although the landscaping of the surrounding grounds continued for many years. Richard and Bridget Larn record that Charles and his wife, Grace, moved into their new home in September of that year and celebrated with a housewarming party.

 Duporth was much more than simply a new house. Over the following years, Rashleigh developed the surrounding land, planted trees and ornamental gardens and gradually created the country estate which became closely associated with his name. By the mid-1780s, Duporth was already established as a recognised address, and a surviving letter dated 1785 was written from there.

The later history of Duporth became clouded by disputed accounts of its ownership and by allegations concerning several of those involved. Newly discovered evidence suggests, however, that both Joseph Daniel and Joseph Dingle may have been unfairly portrayed in earlier versions of the story. The possible reasons for this are a story for another day.

Grace Rashleigh died at Duporth House on the 25th of May 1820, and Charles Rashleigh died on the 9th of March 1823. Charles had apparently expressed a wish that his “dwelling house at Duporth” should not be sold to pay off his debts. His daughter Martha, known as Pattie, hoped that she would be allowed to remain in the family home, but according to historians, sadly this was not to be. New evidence I have uncovered suggests they never sold it initially to pay debts, but later, unfortunately, they had to.

Duporth Manor, Built by Charles Rashleigh between 1779-1781. Copyright Lyndon Allen Collection.

Joseph Daniel and the Duporth Story

There is another rather curious story connected with Duporth which may help to explain some of the confusion over the estate during the last years of Charles Rashleigh’s life.

According to Richard and Bridget Larn, the story came from family records at Menabilly. They recorded that sometime in 1820 Charles wanted his long-serving manservant and confidential clerk, Joseph Daniel, to become a magistrate. There was, however, a problem. Daniel did not own sufficient property to qualify.

At that time, a county Justice of the Peace had to possess landed property worth at least £100 a year, clear of charges. The law also required him to swear that the qualifying estate was genuinely held for his own use and benefit. The oath was taken at the Quarter Sessions and was then kept by the Clerk of the Peace among the county records.

The story told at Menabilly was that Charles therefore made Duporth over to Daniel so that he would have enough property to qualify. No money was said to have changed hands, and the understanding was apparently that Daniel would later sign a release returning the property. Daniel, however, is said to have refused to do so.

It is a fascinating story, and one that has been repeated many times over the years, but there is a problem with it. So far I have been unable to find any evidence whatsoever to say that Joseph Daniel actually became a magistrate.

The Cornwall Quarter Sessions records from this period are quite detailed and in a number of cases name the Justices who were sitting. At the Truro sessions on the 1st May 1821, twelve Justices are named, but Joseph Daniel is not among them. Another substantial list survives for the Truro sessions of the 16th April 1822, and again Daniel is absent. The same is true of the long list of Justices sitting at Bodmin on the 14th October 1823. Searches using the alternative spelling Daniell have also failed to find him.

This does not prove that Daniel was never a magistrate. A Justice of the Peace did not have to attend every Quarter Session, and there may be surviving papers which have not been indexed by name. Nevertheless, his absence is interesting, particularly when the same records repeatedly identify other Cornish magistrates.

The most important record would be Daniel’s qualification oath. If he really did go through with becoming a Justice of the Peace, he should have sworn that he possessed the necessary property before acting as a magistrate. The law specifically required that oath to be kept among the Quarter Sessions records.

There is also an intriguing difficulty with the traditional story. If Duporth had merely been put into Daniel’s name on paper, with a binding agreement that it still really belonged to Charles and had to be returned, it is difficult to see how Daniel could truthfully have sworn that the estate was held for his own use and benefit.

On the other hand, if Charles genuinely transferred Duporth to Daniel and was relying on a private promise that Daniel would later give it back, that might explain how Daniel was able to keep the property when their relationship broke down.

Unfortunately, without the original deeds it is impossible to know exactly what arrangement was made. Modern versions of the story have said that Charles “bequeathed” Duporth to Daniel so that he could become a magistrate. That statement cannot be right if the transaction took place around 1820, while Charles was still alive. Whatever happened must have involved some form of transfer during his lifetime rather than a bequest after his death.

What is particularly interesting is that the legal reason given for the transaction appears to be perfectly plausible. The substantial property qualification really did exist. What has not yet been established is whether the transfer happened exactly as later described, or whether Joseph Daniel ever completed the process and actually became a magistrate.

Following Charles’s death, there were several financial and legal matters that had to be sorted out. Exactly how ownership of Duporth passed from the Rashleigh’s was said to be unknown. The later account given by Richard and Bridget Larn states that Joseph Daniel subsequently sold Duporth Manor to William Thomas Mein Pattison, who was acquainted with the Rashleigh family.

However, a document I found at Kresen Kernow clearly states that Martha Rashleigh and the Tremayne family sold the Duporth Manor Estate to William Pattison in October 1824. The sale was for £5,350, which is around £600,000 today.

The fact that the Rashleigh family were parties to the sale strongly suggests that they either never lost their interest in the estate or had recovered it from Joseph Daniel before October 1824. Daniel’s absence from the document may indicate that he no longer held a legal interest in the property. On this evidence alone, it is difficult to maintain that Joseph Daniel was the sole owner of the Duporth Estate in 1824. Taken together, the evidence casts serious doubt on the traditional magistrate story, although the missing deeds prevent a definitive conclusion.

What is certain is that Pattison had become closely connected with Duporth during the years that followed.

There is also an interesting story connected with Pattison and the Duporth title deeds. A Dr Bull travelled down from Bristol with another man and approached Pattison’s solicitor pretending that he wanted to buy Duporth. The two men were left alone in an office to look through the deeds and other papers connected with the estate. They then disappeared, taking the documents with them.

Only a short time later Bull was arrested in London for the murder of a young woman. His portrait appeared in the newspapers and was recognised by Thomas Coode, the solicitor, who travelled to London in an attempt to recover the stolen Duporth papers. Unfortunately, they were never found.

A surviving legal document dated the 28th September 1839 helps to fill in part of the story. It names a number of members of the Rashleigh family who still had an interest in Duporth. These included Charles Rashleigh’s daughters Harriet, Sophia and Martha, together with other members of the family. Martha is described in the document as “Martha Rashleigh of Cuddra, spinster.”

The same document also names William Thomas Mein Pattison of Duporth and George Freeth of Lincoln’s Inn Fields, Middlesex. It was what was known as a release and quitclaim. In basic terms, this meant that any remaining claims or interests in Duporth were being given up so that the ownership of the property could finally be settled.

This probably explains some of the confusion surrounding the ownership of Duporth during these years. Pattison had taken over the estate after Charles Rashleigh’s death, but members of the Rashleigh family still had an interest in the property which had to be dealt with.

George Freeth then became connected with Duporth and appears to have purchased the estate from Pattison. However, Freeth did not acquire the manor because he was Rashleigh’s solicitor in 1823, as other historians previously claimed. Also, a gentleman named Burrows moved into Duporth around 1841, and remained there until 1866, although it now seems possible that he was living there as a tenant rather than being the actual owner.

For Pattie Rashleigh, it was a sad end to her connection with the house in which she had grown up. After leaving Duporth, she moved to Cuddra House, but in time this became too much of a financial burden, and she moved into nearby Cuddra Cottage. She remained there until her death on the 26th October 1847, aged sixty-six. She never married.

It is rather sad to think that sixteen years after the death of her father, Pattie’s name was still appearing on legal documents connected with the home she had been forced to leave.

George Freeth remained an important figure in the later history of Duporth. It was during the Freeth period that the familiar Duporth clock tower was said to have been erected in 1882. George Freeth died in 1882. Was building the clock tower the vision of an 82-year-old dying man? I think not. Therefore, I would confidently say it was built when, or just after, he took over the estate along with many of the farm buildings. The tower is sometimes said to have been built by Charles Rashleigh, but this is not correct. It was not shown on the 1836 sale map by E Foster and son. That map, drawn up for the sale of Duporth Estate, also shows no gatehouse or Lodge as we now call it. Again, historic records state that Duporth Lodge was built at the same time as the manor house in 1781, and again, this is incorrect.

The clock tower from my Duporth collection

The clock itself is older than the tower and is marked John Thwaites of Clerkenwell, London, 1806. Believe it or not, there were originally two clocks, with one apparently kept as a spare. The clock which remains today contains parts of the workings of the original.

About forty years ago, the original clock mechanism was removed and stored in a house in Ropewalk Lane by John Newey, who was then the land agent for the Charlestown Estate. It was going to be repurposed as a village clock around the weighbridge area. I distinctly remember seeing it frequently when I went to the blacksmith's shop before it went to Ropewalk Lane. The old blacksmith's workshop is now called The Craft Kiln. The clock later disappeared from local view, and its present whereabouts are unknown.

When George Freeth died on 26 June 1882 at Duporth, his will created a major stir due to how he divided his immense wealth. His daughter, Caroline Freeth (later, Mrs Caroline Hodge), was named the primary beneficiary and inherited the entire Duporth estate. Caroline’s inheritance shocked onlookers because George had officially declared himself a bachelor when he married his wealthy wife, Ellen Ashton, in 1852. Caroline had been born in London ten years before the marriage, and she was not Ellen’s daughter. No public birth or baptism records existed for her until she suddenly appeared on the 1871 Duporth census as an adult.

From 1908 until 1924, Duporth House was leased by local resident Henry Hodge and his wife. Hodge's wife, Caroline, was Pattison’s daughter. Henry was in the Royal Navy and had served on HMS Britannia. In 1922, Duporth was bought by Walter Sessions for an estimated £8,000. Sessions was Chairman of English China Clays. By then a widow, Mrs Hodge remained living at Duporth as a tenant.

In February 1927, a portion of the land adjoining Duporth was sold off as building plots and became the Duporth Bay Estate.

The manor later became a hotel. In 1931, trees that obstructed the view in front of the house were felled, and once again Duporth was put up for sale. This time its new owners were to change the face of the estate for many years to come.

Duporth Estate was bought by Arthur and Lydia Potter and George and Doris Rankin, trading as Seaside Holiday Camps Ltd. A planning application for the construction of forty chalets was submitted on the 23rd February 1933. Construction progressed rapidly, and the camp opened during the Whitsun holiday of 1934. The camp proved extremely popular right up until the outbreak of the Second World War in 1939.

Duporth During the War

For much of the period between 1939 and 1945, the holiday camp was requisitioned by the War Department. Among the first troops to arrive were men of the Indian Army Royal Service Corps. The 25th Animal Transport Company arrived in 1940 after being evacuated from Dunkirk, and the 7th Mule Company joined them shortly afterwards.

Indian officers and their batmen stayed in the manor house while the lower-ranked soldiers were billeted in the holiday chalets.

On November 27th 1940, during a terrible storm, a huge beech tree had blown down and fallen on one of the camp chalets the Indians were asleep in.

This is a story from the Daily Mirror from January 1941.

HG TRIBUTE TO DEAD INDIANS.

HOME GUARDS, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Indian Army transport muleteers on a bleak West Country hillside, paid tribute at the funeral of two of the Indians’ comrades who had been killed accidentally.

In front of the group were two coffins, made nearly 4 ft high, so that on the day of the resurrection the two Punjabi Mahomedans in them may sit upright to make their supplications to Allah.

The lids of the coffins were off, revealing the dead men, each clad in three sets of spotless white linen. The Indian mourners stood barefoot, softly chanting the prayers which their Maulvi (Indian chaplain) intoned.

Then the coffin lids were screwed on, the Home Guards stepped forward, saluted the dead and reverently placed wreaths of English roses on the coffins of those Indian patriots who had come thousands of miles to fight for their King-Emperor.

The Escort Sang

Slowly the coffins were borne two miles to a military cemetery, and on the way the Indian bearers and escort sang of man’s coming and going and of the will and goodness of Allah.

In the procession marched with slow step a score of Home Guards. All the florists in the town combined to supply scores of wreaths for civilian friends of the men of the Indian contingent.

My Aunty Kathleen described this scene to me more or less word for word before her passing a few years ago. The three soldiers are buried at Campdown Cemetery.

Indian Army Service Corps officers at Duporth in November 1940. Lyndon Allen Collection.

 When the Indian Army later moved out, American Army units moved in as preparations began for D-Day.

The Americans hid their tanks and lorries beneath the trees in the woods around the estate. American soldiers became a regular sight around the village and were especially popular with local children, giving them chocolate and another novelty which many of the youngsters had never seen before — chewing gum.

They left Duporth in June 1944, with many of the men being shipped out from Turnaware Point on the River Fal before heading for the beaches of Normandy.

The Great Fire of 1942

In the early hours of Tuesday the 27th January 1942, a disastrous fire destroyed much of the west wing of Duporth House. St Austell Fire Brigade received the call at about a quarter to one in the morning, and firemen, with three pumps and Lieut. H. Cecil Rowse in command, sprang into action. Later, fire-fighting units from Bodmin, Fowey and Lostwithiel arrived to assist the St Austell brigade, bringing the total number of pumps in use to seven.

When the first firemen arrived, the west wing and part of the roof were already well alight. Water was obtained from a hydrant and from static water at the Brick Hill leat, and had to be pumped up the hill through two long lines of hose.

The blaze was brought under control in a little over two hours, although the Bodmin fire pump and crew remained behind with their St Austell colleagues after the Fowey and Lostwithiel crews had returned home. Firemen remained on duty at Duporth House until around 10 am that morning.

The origin of the fire was said to have been a bedroom fireplace. The story told locally was that men upstairs were feeling extremely cold and decided to light the fire, not realising that the chimney had previously been stuffed with old clothes to stop the draught. The material caught fire inside the chimney, and the flames quickly spread out of control.

Considerable damage was caused not only by the fire but also by the large quantities of water needed to extinguish it. Fortunately, most of the famous wallpaper which decorated one of the rooms was saved. It was said to be similar to wallpaper that had previously been removed from the White Hart Hotel in St Austell and sent to the Victoria and Albert Museum in London.

The west wing was eventually rebuilt, and after the war you could clearly see the difference between the windows at either end of the manor house. The rebuilt western side had much more modern windows than the older Georgian surviving section.

Back to Holidays

Following the war, Duporth was de-requisitioned and returned to its original purpose as a holiday camp. At the end of 1947, further land was purchased, including the area which later became the caravan park.

During the late 1950s and early 1960s, Duporth attracted many professional people, including doctors and lawyers. As a child, I remember seeing the visitors walking past our house in their shorts with their lily-white legs on show.

Many people travelled down by train, and Saturday was changeover day, with what seemed like a constant stream of new holidaymakers arriving.

I always loved Sundays as a child. My grandmother worked at the camp and at the end of the week, on changeover day, some of the wealthier holidaymakers would leave behind toys that their children had brought with them and played with during their holiday. Mrs Rankin told my grandmother that she could take some of these toys home.

The camp was also said to be haunted. The ghost was given the nickname Flo. After the demolition of the manor house in 1989, it was said that Flo moved into the dining room and kitchens next door. Staff arriving in the mornings would sometimes unlock the doors and walk inside only to discover that the kettle had just boiled!

Whether you believe the story or not is another matter, but it became one of the many little legends connected with Duporth.

Duporth suffered another disastrous fire on the 8th June 1961. The blaze destroyed the main central building, which contained the ballroom, dining room, kitchens and other facilities. A contemporary report in the Cornish Guardian valued the destroyed building at between £40,000 and £50,000. The cause was believed to have been a cigarette left smouldering on a chair in the ballroom. A replacement building was erected in time for the 1962 holiday season.

My mother later went on to run the camp shop for 26 years, right up until the 1990s.

Butlins bought the camp in 1976, and it continued to operate under the Freshfields banner. During the 1980s, the holiday camp was rebranded as Haven Holidays.

At its height, Duporth could accommodate around 1,200 holidaymakers as well as the staff needed to look after them. Visitors and staff were housed in a mixture of chalets and caravans, with full-board and half-board holidays available. The camp had almost everything it needed, including its own takeaway and village shop.

The End of Duporth Manor

By the late 1970s, Duporth Manor had begun to show serious signs of decay, and eventually the building became uneconomic to repair.

I did get the chance to walk around it once before it disappeared. A friend of mine later oversaw its demolition in 1989. The stone from the manor was taken to Anthony House in East Cornwall, where it was used as part of ongoing restoration work. Anthony House had been built using identical stone. It was a sad ending for the old house, which had stood overlooking Duporth Bay for more than two centuries. The holiday camp itself continued until 1999, when it was sold to private buyers. It changed hands once again before eventually being sold for housing development in 2006.

Duporth Estate Glass House

One of the most beautiful little structures in the grounds of Duporth Manor was the glass house. It was sometimes called the bandstand, although in truth it had never been used as one.

Previous owners used it as a winter reading room. It originally contained bench seats and provided somewhere to sit on an autumn or spring day and take in the magnificent view across the bay. The glass house stood to the south-west of the main house, on the second lawn, and dated from the Victorian period.

The Glasshouse. Copyright Lyndon Allen Collection.

The gardens surrounding Charles Rashleigh’s former manor house must once have been very elegant, and it is a great shame that so little documentation about them survives today.

The estate once consisted of many acres of gardens, fields and woodland, although a large portion was sold for building plots in the Duporth Bay area during the 1920s. This area was originally known as The Vanson.

The house was surrounded by around thirty different meadows, although some were later planted as orchards while other areas became shrubbery and ornamental gardens.

I know that Charles Rashleigh bought many specimen plants from Kew Gardens around the time he moved into Duporth in 1781. He also bought trees from Kew to plant around the water-storage ponds, and a few of these old trees survive today.

Rashleigh created a fine pinetum, and the grounds were adorned with rhododendrons and azaleas. Plants that we perhaps take for granted today were much more exotic then. Pampas grass and monkey puzzle trees were among the plants grown within the grounds.

Rashleigh also had a very elaborate fish pond and fountain. Its water came from the Charlestown leat in Mill Lane.

The water had already performed a great deal of work before it reached Duporth. It powered waterwheels in Mill Lane at the naphthalene works, the blowing house and the grist mill before being diverted towards Polmear Mine, where it drove two more waterwheels.

From there the water continued across the higher ground towards the Duporth Estate, eventually flowing into Rashleigh’s fish pond before continuing towards the cliffs and sea.

Duporth changed enormously over the centuries — from the country estate of Charles Rashleigh, to a hotel, a holiday camp, a wartime military base and eventually a housing development.

Thousands of people passed through the place, and many thousands more carried away happy memories of holidays spent there.

For those of us who grew up around Duporth, however, the memories are a little different. They are memories of the people who worked there, the visitors walking through the village, the soldiers during the war, the fires, the old manor house, the glass house and clock tower, the stories about Flo and, for me, those Sundays when my grandmother came home carrying toys left behind by the holidaymakers.

Some Sundays seemed like Christmas to me.

Originally Written by Lyndon Sid Allen, 2021. Updated with new evidence in 2026.

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