The Storyteller: Around the fire with the Devil of Dartmoor

Earlier in the year, I was asked by a gentleman if I could provide some entertainment for a stag do.

It was for his brother, who fancied an evening of storytelling, around the firepit, at the property they were hiring for the weekend. Now I’ve held sessions around a campfire before, and they have been great fun, but they were for mixed groups, and scouts, so I wasn’t sure how this might work for a bunch of guys away for a mad weekend.

However, I’ve been assured they are all in their 30s and 40s, lovers of the outdoors, and the idea has come direct from the groom himself...no strippers for him...unless I’m just the appetiser?!!

As it happens, the property they have hired is Dewerstone Cottage, a stone’s throw away from Dewerstone Rock...Dewer meaning Devil in Celtic...they are literally staying in an abode frequented by The Devil himself! Unwittingly, they have gifted me with my theme for the evening. 

As their chosen date is nearly upon us, I thought now might be a good opportunity to brush up on my devilish folklore...

One of my favourite Dartmoor tales, concerns a character called Jan Reynolds, and the unwise deal he made with the Devil. In return for seven years good luck as a gambler, with a deck of cards, he offered up his soul to be dragged down to Hell for all eternity. As good as his word, the Devil allowed Jan to amass a large fortune, beating all-comers that dared to take him on, and using his wealth to buy up lots of Dartmoor land. 

Then came the day of reckoning, when the luck ran out, and the Devil came to collect. He had heard that Jan’s favourite place to play cards, was in Widecombe in the Moor church, at the back of the pews, during a Sunday service. He thought, what a marvellous opportunity to thumb his nose at the church, to snatch the soul of a Christian, from in front of a vicar, mid sermon. So that was his plan. 

Unfortunately, his plan hit a snag from the off. Even though he had a residence on the moors, had many locations on the map named after him (he had even had a hand in the construction of two moorland churches), he didn’t know how to get to the one in Widecombe. So he was forced to ask for directions, which he did by stopping at The Tavistock Inn, in the tiny hamlet of Poundsgate. Having received instructions from the landlord, after causing a stir amongst the locals, and leaving his mark on the bar top, from his discarded tankard (a mark that can still be seen to this day); he flew off, on the back of his faithful flying horse, towards his goal.

Once there, he made a grand entrance, and dragged Jan out, by the scruff of his neck. His attempt to fly away with his prey, on the back of his horse, caused a spire on top of the tower to break loose, leaving a trail of death and destruction in his wake. This event is actually written up, on two wooden boards, hanging in the bell tower, to this day, but you need to decide if it was caused by a thunderbolt, or by a visitation from the Devil. Either way, it gives us the date, October 21st 1638, as the day the Devil came to Dartmoor.

One final piece of evidence, suggesting this actually happened, is the presence of an area of the moor, known as The Ace Fields, below Birch Tor, insight of The Warren House Inn. This is the spot where Jan finally lost his grip on his precious pack of cards, and, where they landed, up sprouted four stone-walled enclosures, each one in the shape of  a suit of cards, a spade, a diamond, a club and a heart...and, when they aren’t shrouded in gorse and bracken, they can still be made out on the hillside to this day...a permanent memorial to the folly of Jan’s pact with the Devil.

One of the tours I run for my business, I like to call The Devil’s Quest, based on the journey he undertakes to claim Jan’s soul. As it features several public houses along the route, I was almost tempted to call it The Devil’s Pub-crawl, but I was a bit concerned that it might attract the wrong sort of clientele, who might turn it into an excuse to drink a lot...how ironic then, that I’m about to share this story as part of the entertainment for a stag do!

As I said earlier, Dewerstone Cottage is not far from the Devil’s Dartmoor home, at Dewerstone Rock, which features in another, rather gruesome tale, of his antics, whilst he is in residence. It is to this spot, that he chases his human prey, whilst out hunting astride his horse, accompanied by his fearsome Whist Hounds, after fetching them, at night, from their daytime kennels at Wistman’s Wood, not far from Two Bridges. Finding themselves on the edge of the precipice, that is Dewerstone Rock, the poor, unfortunate soul has a choice, jump off, and hope for a swift death, or stand fast, and be eaten alive by the ravenous hell hounds. Is it any wonder then, that, over the years, many bodies have been found, shattered, at the foot of the rock face, having fallen from the heights above? 

Because of its reputation, as the home of the Devil’s Whist Hounds, Wistman’s Wood is a place to be avoided after dark...I, personally, have risked it, on several occasions, and have passed, unscathed...but a poor, local farmer, returning home from an evening’s overindulgence at his favourite watering hole, wasn’t quite so lucky...

As he rode his horse, rather unsteadily, passed the  copses of stunted oak trees, that make up Wistman’s Wood, out of the darkness, coming towards him, he could make out a lone figure, astride his steed, accompanied by a pack of hounds. As they got closer, he could see that all the animal’s eyes glowed red with flames, likewise, so did their master’s, from beneath his hood.

The farmer’s horse froze to the spot, and he felt all the hairs on his body stand upright from the shock, for he knew that he was in the presence of the Devil, himself. Emboldened by the amount of alcohol he had consumed, the farmer called out a greeting, to this night-time traveller, and asked him “how goes the hunt?”. Stopping his horse, beside this brazen fellow, the Devil produced a sack from inside his cloak and, without a word, threw it to the astonished farmer, before continuing on his way.

Horse, rider and hounds, all disappeared into the darkness, leaving the transfixed chap clutching the unexpected burden. Assuming it to be a rabbit, or some other animal, suitable for his cooking pot, the farmer hurried on home, eager to share his encounter, and his prize, with his wife.

Reaching his farmhouse, he dismounted, unsteadily, only to find his woman waiting for him, in the yard, in a distraught state. Thinking that his tale would cheer her up, he finally unwrapped the bundle, holding aloft the contents, causing his wife to wail even louder, for what he was brandishing was the dead corpse of their new-born son, that the Devil had just collected, that very evening, on his hunt for lost souls, whilst her husband had been carousing with his drunken mates...

I mentioned the fact, that the Devil had a hand in the building of two well-known Dartmoor churches, both built on a hill, one intentionally, the other on his whim. The one at Brentor, was purposely sited there, at the request of a local merchant, to honour St Michael, who had saved him from a terrible storm, at sea.

The Devil took umbrage at this idea, thinking that its position placed it too close to heaven, so he set about obstructing the goodly works, by moving all the building materials, after the workmen had downed tools at the end of the day, to the bottom of the hill. This same interference, happened over the course of a few days, until the merchant, once again, beseeched St Michael for his help, to complete his tribute to his saviour. Happy to oblige, St Michael sent the Devil packing, with his pointed tale between his legs, allowing the workmen to finish their task, and the church, dedicated to St Michael, has stood the test of time, on top of the volcanic outcrop, known as Brentor, ever since.

The other example of the Devil’s handiwork, hasn’t fared quite as well. This one, is the infamous Holy Trinity Church at Buckfastleigh. Originally intended to be constructed in the town, the Devil thought, that if it was built on top of a hill instead, it would never get a congregation, as they would be too lazy to climb up every Sunday. Once again, he interfered with the building materials, at night, over the course of several days, until the townsfolk gave in, completing their new place of worship on high, whilst at the same time constructing a set of steps, making the climb up to church services a whole lot easier. They were put to good use, for many years, until, in 1992, the church was virtually destroyed, in a tragic fire. It was never rebuilt, as, by then, a handier church had been built in the town, below. I’m sure the Devil had a little chuckle, when such a spiritual place was put out of action...

Finally, he has also been credited with shaping the Dartmoor vista, into the rocky landscape, that we all know and love. For, it is said, there once was mighty combat between one of England’s champions, King Arthur, no less, and the Devil, who, for many days, hurled rocks at each other. King Arthur’s position, became known as Blackingstone Rock, whilst the Devil stood on, what is aptly known as Heltor Rocks. Neither party was able to claim victory, from their efforts, but, all around them, where their ammunition had come to rest, up had sprouted the rocky tors, that we see to this day...all that was left, was for the locals to name them, well, most of them, anyway.

I hope the gentlemen at the stag do, appreciate my offerings, on the night...there will be plenty more where they came from...and, don’t forget, if you fancy my brand of entertainment at any events you might be planning, you know who to call...