MORETON HAMPSTEAD
Moreton Church--The almshouse--The dancing tree--Other dancing
trees--The vintner's bush--The calculating boy--Life of Mr.
Bidder--The ravens of Brennan--Grimspound--The Great Central
Trackway--Stone rows--The Lych Way--Churches--Bowerman's
Nose--Ashton--The Duchess of Kingston--Hennock--The Loveys
family--Parson Harris--John Cann's Rocks--Lustleigh
Cleave--Hound Tor and Hey Tor Rocks--Widecombe--The Ballad of
Tom Pearse.
Moreton, with its whitewashed cottages and thatched roofs, has a
primitive appearance, and withal a look of cleanliness. It is now
the fashion to go to Chagford, which has been much puffed, but
Moreton makes quite as good a headquarters for Dartmoor excursions.
It has a fine church of the usual type, that was gutted at its
so-called restoration, and a remarkably fine carved oak screen was
turned out, but happily secured by the late Earl of Devon, who gave
it to Whitchurch, near Tavistock. A few years ago the fine screen of
South Brent was thrown out when the church was made naked under the
pretence of restoration, and allowed to rot in an outhouse.
Moreton undoubtedly at one time was a town in the moors, and the
bold ridge that runs from Hell Tor to Hennock to the east was till
comparatively recently furze-and-heather-clad moor.
An object of singular picturesqueness in Moreton is the almshouse,
with the date of 1637, with a charming arcade of granite stunted
pillars. Opposite another almshouse has been erected in modern
times, to show how badly we can do things now when our forefathers
did things well.
In the same street is the base of the old village cross and the head
of the same broken off. In the place of the cross the "Dancing Tree"
has sprung up, that has been made use of by Mr. Blackmore in his
novel of _Christowel_. The tree in question is unhappily now in a
condition to be danced round, not any longer to be danced upon.
The tree is an elm, and it grows out of the basement of the old
village cross, the lower steps of which engirdle the trunk; and a
fragment of the head of the cross lies just below. The tree must
have sprung up after the destruction of the cross, or, possibly
enough, it was itself the cause of destruction, much in the same way
as trees have destroyed and rent in sunder the tomb of Lady Anne
Grimstone, in Tewin churchyard.
Of this latter the story goes that Lady Anne on her deathbed
declared that she could not and would not believe in the
resurrection of the body. Rather, she was reported to have said,
will I hold that nine trees shall spring out of my dead body.
Now in process of time the great stone sepulchral mass placed over
her grave split asunder, and through the rents issued the shoots
of nine trees, six ash and three sycamores, together with great
trunks and coils of ivy, that among them have tossed up and hold in
suspense the fragments of Lady Anne's tomb. The story is of course
made to account for the phenomenon.
But to return to the Cross Tree, Moreton Hampstead. The elm, grown
to a considerable size, was pollarded and had its branches curiously
trained, so that the upper portion was given the shape of a table.
On this tree-top it was customary on certain occasions to lay a
platform, railed round, access to which was obtained by a ladder,
and on this tree-top dancing took place.
The following extracts taken from a journal kept by an old
gentleman, a native and inhabitant of Moreton Hampstead at the
beginning of this century, are interesting as giving us some actual
dates upon which festivities took place on the tree.
"June 4th, 1800.--His Majesty's birthday. Every mark of loyalty
was shown. In the afternoon a concert of instrumental music was
held on the Cross Tree.
"August 28th, 1801.--The Cross Tree floored and seated round,
with a platform, railed on each side, from the top of an
adjoining garden wall to the tree, and a flight of steps
in the garden for the company to ascend. After passing the
platform they enter under a grand arch formed of boughs. There
is sufficient room for thirty persons to sit around, and six
couples to dance, besides the orchestra. From the novelty of
this rural apartment it is expected much company will resort
there during the summer.
"August 19th, 1807.--This night the French officers[25]
assembled on the Cross Tree with their band of music. They
performed several airs with great taste."
[25] Prisoners of war staying on parole at Moreton Hampstead.
Unfortunately, and to the great regret of the inhabitants of
Moreton, the tree was wrecked by a gale on October 1st, 1891, when
the force of the wind was so great that the ancient elm could
not withstand it, and at about a quarter past two o'clock in the
afternoon most of the upper part was blown down, carrying with it
a large piece of the trunk, which is quite hollow. This latter has
been replaced and securely fastened.
A recent visit to the Cross Tree shows that the old elm is not
prepared to die yet; it has thrown forth vigorous spray and has
tufted its crown with green leaves.
Moreton tree is not the only dancing tree in the West of England. On
the high road from Exeter to Okehampton, near Dunsford, is a similar
tree, but an oak, and this was woven and extended and fashioned into
a flat surface.
The story in the neighbourhood used to be that the Fulfords, of
Great Fulford, held their lands on the singular tenure that they
should dine once a year on the top of the tree, and give a dance
there to their tenants. But this usage has long been discontinued.
The Fulfords are at Great Fulford still, notwithstanding.
Again another dancing tree is at Trebursaye, near Launceston. This
also is an oak, but is now in a neglected condition and has lost
most of its original form, looking merely as a peculiarly crabbed
and tortured old tree. Here anciently a ghost was wont to be seen,
that of a woman who had fallen from it during a dance and broken her
neck, and many stories were afloat relative to horses taking fright
at night and running away with the riders, or of passers-by on foot
who were so scared as to be unable to pursue their journey, through
seeing the dead woman dancing on the tree. At length matters became
so serious that Parson Ruddle, vicar of Launceston, a notable man
in his way, and famous as a ghost-layer, was induced to go to the
tree at nightfall and exorcise the unquiet spirit. The ghost had so
effectually frightened people that the dances on the top of the tree
had been discontinued. They were never resumed.
According to tradition there was again another dancing tree on the
road from Okehampton to Launceston, near the village of Lifton.
This tree was held to be the earliest to put forth leaves in all
the country round. Entertainments were given on it, but it has
disappeared, and the only reminiscence of it remained till recently
in "The Royal Oak" Inn, hard by which the old dancing tree stood.
There is yet another, the Meavy Oak, sometimes called the Gospel
Oak, for it is supposed that preaching was made from the steps of
the village cross that stands before it. The oak, however, is of
vast age. It is referred to in deeds almost to the Conquest, and
that it was a sacred tree to which a certain amount of reverence
was given is probable enough. The cross was set up under its shadow
to consecrate it, and probably to put an end to superstitious rites
done there. Anyhow this tree till within this century was, on the
village festival, surrounded with poles, a platform was erected
above the tree, the top of which was kept clipped flat like a
table, and a set of stairs erected, by means of which the platform
could be reached.
On the top a table and chairs were set, and feasting took place.
Whether dancing I cannot say, but in all probability in former
generations there was dancing there as well as feeding and drinking.
These trees where dancing took place are precisely the May-pole in
a more primitive form. The May-pole is a makeshift for an actual
tree; a pole was brought and set up and adorned with flowers and
green boughs, and then danced round. There was in Cornwall, and
indeed elsewhere, a grand exodus from the towns and villages to the
greenwood on May Day, when the lads and lasses at a very early hour
went in quest of May bushes, green boughs and flowers wherewith to
decorate the improvised May tree. This was then decorated profusely,
and the merry-makers danced about it; ate, drank, and rose up to
play, precisely as of old did the Israelites about the Golden Calf
in the wilderness of Sinai.
And most assuredly in early times, before Christianity had been
established, those dances and revels about a sacred tree, whether
naturally grown or whether manufactured as a May-pole, were an
act of religious worship addressed to the spirit of vegetation
manifesting itself in full vigour in spring.
When S. Boniface strove to bring the Saxons to the knowledge of the
truth, he cast down the great oak of Fritzlar which had received
divine honours. In this lived the spirit of fertility, and till it
fell beneath his axe, Boniface was well aware that he could not
triumph over the popular superstition.
S. Germanus, Bishop of Auxerre, who visited Britain to expose the
Pelagian heresy, was himself guilty before his ordination of paying
superstitious reverence to a pear tree. He had been a hunter, and
it was customary for those who returned from the chase to suspend
in the tree the heads and antlers of the game killed, as an act
of homage to the spirit that inhabited it. The Bishop Amator
remonstrated, but in vain. Then one day, when Germanus was out
hunting, Amator cut the tree down.
That some lingering notion of veneration due to trees hung on, and
was regarded as savouring of something not orthodox, is perhaps
shown by the following incident, which is perfectly true. It was
told me by the person concerned. A new parson had been appointed to
a remote parish in one of the north-western dales of Yorkshire under
the Fells. Not being a native of Yorkshire, but a southerner, he
was eyed with suspicion, and his movements were watched. Now in the
parsonage garden was a large tree, and about the roots was a bed of
violets. The suspicious villagers observed the pastor as he walked
round the tree and every now and then bowed to pick a violet. This
proceeding took place daily. Why he bowed they could not understand,
unless it were in homage to the tree, and they actually drew up a
memorial to the Archbishop of York complaining of their parson as
guilty of idolatrous tree-worship.
The bush hung out of a wine-shop signified that within were
drinking and dancing. The bush is but the sacred tree reduced to its
smallest dimensions, and the drinking and dancing that in former
times took place around the tree are now relegated to within the
house, but the bush is retained to symbolise roystering and mirth.
I remember the case of a gentleman who "went off his head;" his
family were reluctant to allow it to transpire. But one day a climax
was put to his eccentricities by his thrusting the stable broom out
at an upper window, and proclaiming, "This bush is to give notice,
that within I have got two marriageable daughters on sale. Sherry
stood all round. Going to the highest bidder. Going--going----" His
wife caught him by the shoulders, twisted him about, and said: "Gone
completely--and off to the asylum you shall pack at once."
Moreton Hampstead was the birthplace of that remarkable genius
George Parker Bidder. He was born in very humble circumstances,
his father having been a stonemason; and at the age of seven, when
his talent first became apparent, he did not know the meaning of
the word "multiplication," nor could he read the common numerical
symbols.
[Illustration: THE CALCULATING BOY]
An elder brother had taught him to count to one hundred. His great
haunt was the forge of the village blacksmith, a kindly old man,
about whom more presently. In his workshop neighbours would gather
to prove the boy with hard questions involving figures, as it soon
became known that he had an extraordinary faculty for calculation.
The earliest public notice of this that has been met with is in a
letter dated January 19th, 1814, and signed "I. Isaac," printed
in the _Monthly Magazine_ (xxxvii. 104).
"SIR,--Having heard that George Parker Bidder, seven years of
age," (he was really seven months over the seven years, as he
was born June 14th, 1806) "has a peculiar talent for combining
numbers, I sent for him, desired him to read a few verses of
the New Testament, and found he could scarcely do it even by
spelling many words; and knew not the numbers of the letters
from one to ten." (Mr. Isaac then asked him several questions in
the first four rules of arithmetic, to each of which he replied
correctly and readily. He then proceeds to say): "I then asked
him how many days are in two years. But here he was at a stand,
did not know what a year is, or how many hours are in a day,
but having the terms explained, he soon made out the hours in a
week, in a month, in twelve months. When asked how many inches
are in a square foot, he soon signified that he knew neither of
the terms, nor how many inches a foot contains, but with the
aid of explanation he soon made out the number 1728; and when
desired to multiply this by twelve, he complained the number was
too large, but having time, about two minutes, he made out the
number 20,738."
His father now took him over the country to exhibit his wonderful
powers. In 1815 he was presented to Queen Charlotte. He is said to
have been a singularly bright and prepossessing boy. In a memoir in
the _Proceedings of the Institute of Civil Engineers_ (lvii. pp.
294) we read:--
"Travelling about the country, for the purpose of exhibiting his
son's powers, proved so agreeable and profitable to his father,
that the boy's education was entirely neglected. Fortunately,
however, amongst those who witnessed his public performances
were some gentlemen who thought they discerned qualities worthy
of a better career than that of a mere arithmetical prodigy.
The Rev. Thomas Jephson and the late Sir John Herschel visited
Moreton in the autumn of 1817, to see the 'Calculating Boy,'
and they were so much impressed by his talent and general
intelligence that before the vacation was over Mr. Jephson and
his Cambridge friends agreed to defray the expenses of his
education, and he was placed with the master of the grammar
school at Camberwell. There he remained for about a twelvemonth,
when his father insisted on removing him, for the purpose of
resuming the exhibition of his talents. Among other places, he
was taken to Edinburgh, where he attracted the notice of Sir
Henry Jardine, who, with the assistance of some friends, became
responsible for his education. Bidder was then placed with a
private tutor, and afterwards, in 1819, he attended the classes
at the University of Edinburgh."
He quitted Edinburgh in 1824, and was given a post in the Ordnance
Survey. In April, 1825, he quitted the Ordnance Survey and was
engaged as assistant to Mr. H. R. Palmer, a civil engineer.
It is deserving of remembrance that George Bidder's first care when
starting in the world was to provide for the education of his two
younger brothers, and for that purpose this lad of eighteen stinted
and saved, denying himself all but the barest necessities.
In 1833 he superintended the construction of the Blackwall Wharf,
and in 1834 joined George and Robert Stephenson, whom he had known
in Edinburgh.
Experience showed him the importance of electric communication
between stations; he introduced it on the Blackwall and Yarmouth
railways, and became one of the principal founders of the Electric
Telegraph Company.
In hydraulic engineering his chief works were the construction of
Lowestoft Harbour and the Victoria Docks at North Woolwich.
"Mr. Bidder took a distinguished part in the great parliamentary
contests which attended the establishment of railways. His
wonderful memory, his power of instantaneous calculation, his
quick perception and readiness at repartee, caused him to
be dreaded by hostile lawyers, one of whom made a fruitless
application before a committee in the House of Lords that Mr.
Bidder should not be allowed to remain in the room, because
'Nature,' he said, 'had endowed him with qualities that did not
place his opponents on a fair footing.'
"A remarkable instance of Mr. Bidder's wonderful readiness
and power of mental numeration occurred in connexion with the
passing of the Act for the North Staffordshire Railway.
"There were several competing lines, and the object of Mr.
Bidder's party was to get rid of as many as possible on Standing
Orders. They had challenged the accuracy of the levels of one of
the rival lines, but upon the examination before the Committee
on Standing Orders their opponents' witnesses were as positive
as those of the North Staffordshire, and apparently were likely
to command greater credence.
"Fortunately Mr. Bidder was present, and when the surveyors of
the opposing lines were called to prove the levels at various
points he asked to see their field-books, which he looked at
apparently in the most cursory manner, and quietly put down
without making a note or any observation, and as though he
had seen nothing worthy of notice. When the surveyors had
completed their proofs Mr. Bidder, who had carried on in his
own mind a calculation of the heights noted in all the books,
not merely of the salient points upon which the witnesses had
been examined, but also of the intermediate rises and falls
noted in the several books, suddenly exclaimed that he would
demonstrate to the Committee that the section was wrong. He then
went rapidly through a calculation which took all by surprise,
and clearly proved that if the levels were as represented at one
point they could not possibly be as represented at another and
distant point. The result was that the errors in the levels were
reported, and the Bill was not allowed to proceed."[26]
[26] Obituary Notice in _Transactions of the Devonshire
Association_, 1879. See also that for 1886, pp. 309-15.
Some of his extraordinary achievements have been reported, but they
are somewhat doubtful. It will be best to quote only one that is
well authenticated from the _Proceedings of the Institute of Civil
Engineers_ (lvii. 309).
"On 26 September, 1878, being in his 73rd year, he was
conversing with a mathematical friend on the subject of Light,
when, it having been remarked that '36,918 pulses or waves of
light, which only occupy 1 inch in length, are requisite to
give the impression of red,' the friend 'suggested the query
that, taking the velocity of light at 190,000 miles per second,
how many of its waves must strike the eye and be registered in
one second to give the colour red, and, producing a pencil,
he was about to calculate the result, when Mr. Bidder said,
'You need not work it; the number of vibrations will be
444,433,651,200,000.'"
Mr. Bidder died suddenly from disease of the heart on September
20th, 1878, aged seventy-two years.
Mr. Bidder remembered many of the old stories of the moor told him
by the blacksmith in whose forge he spent so many hours.
I have given one in my chapter on Dartmoor and its tenants. Here is
another, as recorded by Miss Bidder, the daughter of Mr. George P.
Bidder.
There was a woman, and she lived at Brennan[27] on the moor. And
she had a baby. And one day she left her baby on the moor to play
and pick "urts" (whortleberries), and she hasted to Moreton town.
Now as she went she saw three ravens flying over her head from
Blackiston. And she said, "Where be you a goin' to, Ravens cruel?"
They answered, "Up to Brennan! up to Brennan!" She had not gone far
before she saw three more flying in the same direction. And again
she asked, "Where be you a goin' to, Ravens cruel? "And these three
likewise answered her, "Up to Brennan! up to Brennan!" Now when she
had gone somewhat further, and was drawing nigh to Moreton, again
she saw three ravens fly over her head, and for the third time she
put the same question and received the same answer. When in the
evening she returned to Brennan Moor, there no little baby's voice
welcomed her, for all that remained of her child was a heap of
well-picked white bones.
[27] _Bran_, pl. _bryny_, Cornish, a crow.
Brennan is what is marked on the Ordnance Survey as Brinning, a
lonely spot south of Moreton Hampstead, and between it and North
Bovey. It seems to me that the story needs but a touch, and it
resolves itself into a ballad.
BRENNAN MOOR.
Three ravens, they flew over Blackistone,
Down-a-down, hey and hey!
And loudly they laughed over Moreton town,
Over Moreton town,
Saying, Where and O where shall we dine to-day?
On the moor, for sure, where runneth no way.
As I sat a-swaying all in a tree,
Down-a-down, hey and hey!
I saw a sweet mother and her babie,
And her babie,
Saying, Sleep, O sleep. I'm to Moreton fair,
For Babie and me to buy trinkets rare.
As I was a-flying o'er Brennan Down,
Down-a-down, hey and hey!
I saw her a-wending her way to town,
Away to town.
Our dinners are ready, our feasting free,
Away to Brennan, black brothers, with me.
The babe upon Brennan, so cold and bare,
Down-a-down, hey and hey!
The mother a-gadding to Moreton fair,
To Moreton fair.
We'll laugh and we'll quaff the red blood free,
There is plenty for all of us, brothers three.
Three ravens flew over Blackistone,
Down-a-down, hey and hey!
And loudly they laughed over Moreton town,
Over Moreton town.
With an armful of toys, came mother, to none
Save a little white huddle of well-picked bone.
[Illustration: GRIMSPOUND
SCALE 120 FEET TO AN INCH]
From Moreton an expedition may be made to Grimspound.
This is an enclosure, prehistoric, on the slope between Hookner Tor
and Hameldon.
The circumference wall measures over 1500 feet, and was not for
defence against human foes, but served as a protection against
wolves. Grimslake, a small stream that dries up only in very hot
summers, flows through the enclosure at its northern extremity. It
passes under the wall, percolates through it for some way, and then
emerges three-quarters of the way down.
The pound was constructed where it is for two reasons: one, to take
advantage of the outcrop of granite that divides the waterways, and
which was largely exploited for the construction of the enclosure
wall and of the huts within; and the other, so as to have the
advantage of the stream flowing through the pound.
The entrance is to the south-south-east, and is paved in steps.
There are twenty-one huts within the pound; most of these have been
explored, and have revealed cooking-holes, beds of stone, and in
some a flat stone in the centre, apparently for the support of the
central pole sustaining the roof. Flints and rare potsherds have
been recovered.
The most perfect of the huts has been railed round, and not filled
in after clearing, that visitors may obtain some idea of these
structures in their original condition. This one has a sort of
vestibule walled against the prevailing wind. On the hill-top above
Grimspound, a little distance from the source of Grimslake, is a
cairn surrounded by a ring of stones; it contains a kistvaen in
the centre. On the hill opposite, the _col_ between Birch Tor and
Challacombe Common is a collection of stone rows leading to a menhir.
By ascending Hameldon, and walking along the ridge due south, the
Great Central Trackway is crossed, in very good condition, and a
cross stands beyond it.
On the left-hand side of the road under Shapley Tor, above a little
hollow and stream, before reaching the main road from Tavistock to
Moreton, may be seen a remarkably fine hut circle composed of very
large slabs of stone. On Watern Hill, at the back of the "Warren
Inn," or to be more exact, on that portion called Chagford Common,
are two double rows of upright stones leading from a cairn and small
menhir. The stones are small, but the rows are very perfect.
The Central Trackway to which I have alluded is a paved causeway,
the continuation of the Fosseway. It runs across Dartmoor. It can
be traced from Wray Barton, in Moreton Hampstead, where it crosses
the railway and the Moreton and Newton road. Thence a lane runs
on it to a cross-road; this it traverses, and is continued as a
practicable road by Langstone--where, as the name implies, there
was once a menhir--by Ford to Heytree, where is a cluster of hut
circles. Then it ascends Hameldon by Berry Pound, and becomes quite
distinct. From the cross on Hameldon it descends into the valley,
mounts Challacombe, and aims across the upper waters of the Webburn
for Merripit; on the marshy ground above the little field planted
round with beech at Post Bridge it can be seen. Road-menders have
broken up a portion of it, thus exposing a section. It traverses the
East Dart, and can be distinctly traced above Archerton, whence it
aims for Lower White Tor. It has been thought to be distinguished on
Mis Tor, and striking for Cox Tor, but I mistrust this portion, and
am inclined to think that the old Lych Way is its continuation from
Lidaford Tor, where it disappears. The Lych Way, or Corpse Road, is
that by which the dead were borne to burial at Lydford, till licence
was granted by Bishop Bronescombe in 1260 to such people on the moor
as were distant from their parish church, to recur to Widecombe
for their baptisms and interments. The Lych Way is still much used
for bringing in turf, and for the driving out and back of cattle.
The paved causeway is fine, but in parts it has been resolved by
centuries of use to a deep-cut furrow. It was said formerly that of
a night ghostly trains of mourners might be seen flitting along it.
There are extensive, and in some cases very ancient, stream works
at the head of the two Web-burns. Chaw Gully is an early effort in
mining. The rocks were not blasted, but cut by driving wedges or
cutting grooves into the stone, then filling the holes with lime and
pouring water over the quicklime, when the expansion split the rock.
Great quantities of tin have been extracted from these rude works;
how early and how late these are none can say. The same heaps have
been turned and turned again.
There are good screens in the churches of Bridford, Manaton,
Lustleigh--where is also an inscribed stone--Bovey Tracey, and North
Bovey; and beautiful scenery in Lustleigh Cleave and about Manaton.
Bowerman's Nose is a singular core of hard granite, left standing
on a hillside in the midst of a "clitter." The way in which it was
fashioned has been already described.
The valley of the Teign is beautiful throughout; it deserves a visit
both above and below Dunsford Bridge. Fingle has been spoken of in
the chapter devoted to Exeter. Below Dunsford the river should be
left to ascend a picturesque combe to Bridford, in order to visit
the very fine screen and pulpit.
Christow Church is good, and there is in the porch a stone, on which
is inscribed, "Nathaniel Busell, aet. 48 yeers, clark heere, dyed
19th Feb., 1631." Tradition asserts that he was shot where he lies
buried by the soldiers of the Parliament, who desired to enter and
deface the church; but Busell refused to deliver up the keys. In the
churchyard are some stately yews.
Ashton possesses a screen with paintings on it in admirable
preservation. Here was the seat of the family of that name from
which came Sir George, who, after the battle of Stratton, passed
over from the side of the Parliament to that of the king. Hence also
sprang the notorious Duchess of Kingston, the lovely Miss Chudleigh,
who was tried for bigamy in Westminster Hall by the peers in 1776,
and who was the original from whom Thackeray drew his detailed
portrait of Beatrice Esmond, both as young Trix and as the old
Baroness Bernstein. She has had hard measure dealt out to her, and
cruellest of all was that John Dunning, a native of her own part of
Devon, should have acted in the prosecution against her and insulted
her before the peers, so as to wring tears from her eyes. There can
be no question but that when she married the Duke of Kingston she
believed that her former clandestine marriage was invalid.[28]
[28] I have told her story in my _Historic Oddities and Strange
Events_. Methuen, 1889.
Further down the Teign, in a beautiful situation, is Canonteign,
an old mansion of the Davie family, well preserved. Hence Hennock
may be visited, lying high on the ridge between the Bovey and the
Teign. Of this place Murray in his _Handbook_ told the following
story:--"It is said that when a vicar of Hennock, one Anthony
Lovitt, died, his son, of the same name, took his place, although
not in orders. The parishioners made no objections, and it was not
until some years afterwards, when he tried to raise their tithes,
that they denounced him, thinking that, 'if they were to pay all
that money they might as well have a real parson.'" The story,
however, is not true. There _was_ a vicar, Anthony Loveys, and he
had a son of the same name whom he appointed parish clerk, and the
second Anthony remained on as clerk after his father's death and the
appointment of a new vicar. The name continues in the place, and has
become that of a yeoman family. There was a very locally-famous
parson of Hennock, named Harris, not yet forgotten. He was a wizard.
Those who had lost goods went to him, and he recovered them for the
true owners. One day Farmer Loveys went to him. "Pass'n," said he,
"last night my fine gander was stolen. How can 'y help me?"
So Parson Harris went to his books, drew a circle, muttered some
words, then opened his window, and in through the casement came the
gander, plucked, trussed, and on the spit, and fell at his feet.
On another occasion someone else came to him with a similar
complaint, only on this occasion several geese had been carried off.
"You be aisy," said the vicar. "The man as has a done this shall be
put to open shame." So next Sunday, when he got up in the pulpit,
he proclaimed:--"I give you all to know that Farmer Tuckett has had
three geese stolen. Now I've read my books and drawn my figures,
and I have so conjured that three feathers of thickey geese shall
now--this instant--stick to the nose of the thief."
Up went the hand of one in the congregation to his nose. At once
Parson Harris saw the movement, pointed to him, and thundered forth,
"There is the man as stole the geese."
His maid, Polly, had a lover, as the manner of maids is. The young
man took service in Exeter. Polly was inconsolable. He left on
Saturday, and the girl did nothing but sob all day. "You be easy,
Polly," said her master; "I'll conjure him home to you."
So he began his abracadabra, but Sunday came and Sunday passed, and
no John appeared. Polly went to bed much shaken in her belief in the
powers of the master.
However, about the first glimmer of dawn there came a clatter of
feet and a rapping at the door, and lo! outside was John, in his
best suit, except the coat, bathed in perspiration and out of
breath. The spell had not taken effect on him all day because he had
worn his best coat _with the Prayer Book in the pocket_. But so soon
as ever at night he took off his coat, then it operated, and he had
run all the way from Exeter to Hennock.
At Hennock are Bottor Rocks and also those of John Cann. A path at
the side is called "John Cann's path." John Cann is said to have
been a staunch Royalist, who was hunted by the Round-heads. He took
refuge among these rocks, to which provisions were secretly conveyed
for his use, and there he secreted his treasure. The "path" was worn
by his pacing at night. He was finally tracked to his hiding-place
by bloodhounds, taken and hanged, but his treasure, the secret of
which he would not reveal, lies concealed among the rocks, and a
little blue flame is thought to dance along the track and hover over
the place where lies the gold.
Lustleigh Cleave is a fine rocky valley, so strewn with rocks
that the river for a considerable distance worms its way beneath,
unseen. From hence an ascent may be made to Becky Falls, a dribble
except in very wet weather, and higher still to Manaton and to Hey
Tor Rocks, bold masses of hard granite. More picturesque, though
not so massive, are Hound Tor Rocks, that take their name from the
extraordinary shapes, as of dogs' heads formed by the granite spires
and projections.
Widecombe is a valley shut in by moor; where the people are much
of a law to themselves, having no resident manorial lords over
them, and having no neighbours. A sturdy and headstrong race has
grown up there, doing what is right in their own eyes, and somewhat
indifferent to the opinions and feelings of the outer world. In
winter they are as much closed in as was Noah in the ark.
This was the scene of a terrible thunderstorm, a record of which
is preserved in the church. Mr. Blackmore has worked it into his
novel of _Christowel_. The tower is very fine, but the church
does not come up to one's expectations. Widecombe is walled up to
heaven on the west by Hameldon, and the morning sun is excluded by
a bold chain of tors on the east. It was for the purpose of going
to Widecombe Fair that Tom Pearse was induced to lend his old mare,
which is the topic of the most popular of Devonshire songs.
"Tom Pearse, Tom Pearse, lend me your grey mare,
All along, down along, out along, lee.
For I want for to go to Widecombe Fair,
Wi' Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney, Peter Davy, Dan'l Whiddon,
Harry Hawk, old Uncle Tom Cobbleigh and all."
_Chorus._--Old Uncle Tom Cobbleigh and all.
"And when shall I see again my grey mare?"
All along, etc.
"By Friday soon, or Saturday noon,
Wi' Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer," etc.
Then Friday came, and Saturday noon,
All along, etc.
But Tom Pearse's old mare hath not trotted home,
Wi' Bill Brewer, etc.
So Tom Pearse he got up to the top o' the hill,
All along, etc.
And he seed his old mare down a making her will
Wi' Bill Brewer, etc.
So Tom Pearse's old mare, her took sick and died,
All along, etc.
And Tom he sat down on a stone, and he cried
Wi' Bill Brewer, etc.
But this isn't the end o' this shocking affair,
All along, etc.
Nor, though they be dead, of the horrid career
Of Bill Brewer, etc.
When the wind whistles cold on the moor of a night,
All along, etc.
Tom Pearse's old mare doth appear, gashly white,
Wi' Bill Brewer, etc.
And all the long night be heard skirling and groans,
All along, etc.
From Tom Pearse's old mare in her rattling bones,
And from Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney, Peter Davy,
Dan'l Whiddon,
Harry Hawk, old Uncle Tom Cobbleigh and all.
_Chorus._--Old Uncle Tom Cobbleigh and all.