All real old stories of long ago should begin with "Once upon a time,"
and so, once upon a time there was a Bishop of Exeter who lay very ill
at Dawlish, on the South Devon coast, and among those who visited him
frequently was the parson of an inland parish who was ambitious enough
to hope that, should the good bishop die, he would be chosen to fill his
place.
This parson was a man of violent temper, and his continued visits to
the sick man did not improve this, for his journey was a long and dreary
one, and the bishop, he thought, took an unconscionable time in dying.
But he had to maintain his reputation for piety, and so it happened that
on a winter night he was riding towards Dawlish through the rain,
guided, as was his custom, by his parish clerk.
That particular night the clerk had lost his way, and, long after he and
his master should have been in comfortable quarters at Dawlish, they
were wandering about on the high rough ground of Haldon, some distance
from the village. At last, in anger, the parson turned upon his clerk
and rebuked him violently. "You are useless," he said; "I would rather
have the devil for a guide than you." The clerk mumbled some excuse, and
presently the two came upon a peasant, mounted upon a moor pony, to whom
they explained their plight.
The stranger at once offered to guide them, and very soon all three had
reached the outskirts of the little coast town. Both parson and clerk
were wet through, and when their guide, stopping by an old, tumble-down
house, invited them to enter and take some refreshment, both eagerly
agreed. They entered the house and found there a large company of
wild-looking men engaged in drinking from heavy black-jacks, and singing
loud choruses. The parson and his servant made their way to a quiet
corner and enjoyed a good meal, then, feeling better, agreed to stay for
a while and join their boisterous companions.
But they stayed for a very long while. The drink flowed freely and both
grew uproarious, the parson singing songs with the best of the company
and shouting the choruses louder than any. In this manner they spent the
whole night, and it was not until dawn broke that the priest suggested
moving onward. So none too soberly he called for the horses.
At this moment the news arrived that the bishop was dead. This excited
the parson, who wished at once to get to work to further his ambitious
designs, so he pushed the clerk into the saddle and hastily mounted
himself. But the horses would not move. The parson, in a passion, cried,
"I believe the devil is in the horses!"
"I believe he is," said the clerk thickly, and with that a roar of
unearthly laughter broke out all around them. Then the now terrified men
observed that their boisterous friends were dancing about in glee and
each had turned into a leering demon. The house in which they had passed
the night had completely disappeared, and the road in which they stood
was transformed into the sea-shore, upon which huge waves were breaking,
some already submerging the clerk.
With a wild cry of terror the parson lashed once more at his horse,
but without avail. He felt himself growing stiff and dizzy--and then
consciousness passed from him.
Neither he nor his clerk ever returned to their parish, but that morning
the people of Dawlish saw two strange red rocks standing off the cliffs,
and later, learning this story, they realised that the demons had changed
the evil priest and his man into these forms.
Time and weather have wrought many changes in the Parson and Clerk
Rocks, not the least curious being to carve upon the Parson Rock the
semblance of the two revellers. From certain positions you may see
to-day the profiles of both men, the parson as it were in his pulpit,
and the clerk at his desk beneath him.
The red cliffs around Dawlish make the place peculiarly attractive at
first sight, and the attraction is not lessened by familiarity with the
town. It enjoys the best of the famous South Devon climate; warm in
winter and ever cooled by the sea breeze in summer, it is an excellent
holiday centre. Historic Exeter is close at hand and Dartmoor within
afternoon excursion distance.
[Illustration: "_The Parson and the Clerk_"]
[Illustration]