Would Drake, or his ghost, vote UKIP ?

Buckland Abbey, Devon

In 1581 Sir Francis Drake bought Buckland Abbey in Devon. Local legend has it that his ambitious re-building programme was accomplished  in a matter of a few days, thus he must have made a pact with the devil!

Indeed, if you are travelling over the far reaches of Dartmoor during particularly bleak and windy winter nights, you might well see a shadowy black coach being driven by horses at breakneck speed. And if this isn’t bad enough, if you can get close you will see that the horses have no heads and there is a pack of wild, ghostly hounds howling alongside. The whole entourage is rumoured to be pursuing the business of the Devil, and is driven by Drake as retribution for his sins. And the sounds of the hounds can be heard several miles away, although some say it is just the keening of the wind, moaning over the desolate wilderness.

Drake's Drum, Buckland Abbey 

But, inside the peace and tranquillity of the Abbey is Drake’s Drum which was returned to England in 1596, this being one of his last wishes as he lay dying in Central America. He promised that if ever England was in peril he would hear the Drum being beaten and his spirit would return to help. Sir Henry Newbolt summed it up very succinctly in his poem Drake’s Drum ...

                             

Take my drum to England, hang it by the shore,
Strike it when your powder’s runnin’ low;
 If the Dons sight Devon, I’ll quit the port o’ Heaven,
An’ drum them up the Channel as we drumm’d them long ago.

In recent history this drum has been heard several times, especially before the battle of Trafalgar, and in 1939 before the start of hostilities.

Finally, one wonders if Drake has become a thoroughly modern ghost and his spirit is inspiring UKIP by more subtle means as the drum has not been heard recently!!

In Association with the Western Gazette 

You can also read this article, and many others, at the Western Gazette website. Click here to follow me and be the first to know when I publish my next short story, article or book review.

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An eccentric Vicar and his ghostly poetry

Robert Herrick

Probably one of the greatest times for literature in the British Isles was about 400 years ago. Writers such as William Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, John Donne, Milton, Dryden, Jonathan Swift, Alexander Pope, to name just a few, are even now household names.

But there is a long list of generally unknown “second liners” who are only judged so because they had the misfortune to be born during this star-studded time of history. Such a man was Robert Herrick.

I stumbled upon a book of his poetry titled A selection from the lyrical poems of Robert Herrick while rootling around in a charity shop some months ago. It appeared to have never been read which was a real surprise because it contains such gems as “The Hag”. This is a subject which readers of my book Catacombs of the Damned will readily empathise with, but judge for yourself.

                                             The Hag is astride,

                                             This night for to ride;

                                             The Devil and she together:

                                             Through thick and through thin,

                                              Now out, and then in,

                                              Though ne’er so foul be the weather.

                                              A thorn or a burr

                                              She takes for a spur:

                                              With a lash of a bramble she rides now

                                              Through brakes and through briars

                                              O’er ditches and mires,

                                              She follows the spirit that guides now.

                                              No beast, for his food,

                                              Dares now range the wood;

                                              But hushed in his lair he lies lurking;

                                              While mischiefs, by these,

                                              On land and on seas,

                                              At noon of night are a-working.

                                             The storm will arise,

                                             And trouble the skies;

                                             This night, and more for the wonder

                                             The ghost from the tomb

                                             Affrighted shall come

                                             Called out by the clap of the thunder.

An interesting aside is that Herrick was the Vicar of a small Dartmoor village. So his poetry is surprising not only for its subject matter, but also because he lived in a time of rampant witchcraft and therefore might have taken considerable personal risk in penning such a poem.

In addition, for those who read my recent blog about "a monstrously evil man" it is quite possible that he knew Richard Cabell.  And, as a final thought, when next you are out on the moors during a wind swept winter night, study the depths of the Heavens as you might just see Herrick’s Hag, “The Devil and she together” riding the skies, silhouetted against the full moon in the traditional Halloween setting.

Herrick was indeed a surprising choice for a Vicar.

In Association with the Western Gazette 

You can also read this article, and many others, at the Western Gazette website. Click here to follow me and be the first to know when I publish my next short story, article or book review.

Buy P J Cadavori's Catacombs of the Damned at Winstone’s of Sherborne, Waterstones or Amazon, in paperback and e-book formats. Click on the book covers below to view Catacombs of the Damned at Amazon.

 
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A stake through the heart and the Nobel Prize winner

Kitty Jay's grave

High on the ridges of Dartmoor there is a lonely grave. It is at a crossroads where suicides were normally buried. It is unconsecrated ground. There is a stake driven through the heart of the young woman inside which prevents her spirit returning to haunt those still living. Such was the eighteenth century treatment of those unfortunate souls who took their lives when circumstances became too difficult. It is the story of Kitty Jay.

Kitty was abandoned while a baby near Newton Abbot in Devon in the late 1700s. Believed to be the child of a prostitute she was taken into care and later sent to work on a nearby farm. Her name of Jay trumpeted her background because in those harsh days it was a slang term for a “working girl”. So it was no surprise that she was considered fair game by the farmer’s son who flatly denied any involvement when Kitty became pregnant. Her disgrace was such that in those unsympathetic times her only option to a life of further grinding destitution was suicide. She hanged herself in one of the barns.

But then perhaps it was redemption of a sort which visited her. Since that awful day of her burial, she has had a ghostly visitor who can still be seen on some  moonlit nights kneeling beside her grave with head bowed. This mourner is always dressed in black and it is said that it is the farmer’s son whose punishment is to attend a timeless vigil over Kitty and their unborn child. Also, there is a further mystery which seems to beg comfort for Kitty. She appears to have found favour in the afterlife because there are always flowers, whatever the season or weather, placed neatly on her grave. It is whispered that the wild spirits of Dartmoor have taken responsibility for her grave in perpetuity as nobody has ever seen these flowers being delivered.

John Galsworthy

And now to more modern times. One of our greatest authors and social commentator of his times, John Galsworthy of The Forsyte Saga who won the Nobel Prize in literature in 1932, wrote a short story in 1916 called “The Apple Tree”. It is generally accepted that the apple is a biblical symbol of the fall from virtue and most critics agree that his story was inspired by Kitty Jay.

Kitty was most unfortunate in life, but her memory lives on. Perhaps this is justice of a sort. If you ever visit her grave, spare a thought for her earthly misery, and the cruel times in which she lived.

In Association with the Western Gazette 

You can also read this article, and many others, at the Western Gazette website. Click here to follow me and be the first to know when I publish my next short story, article or book review.

Buy P J Cadavori's Catacombs of the Damned at Winstone’s of Sherborne, Waterstones or Amazon, in paperback and e-book formats. Click on the book covers below to view Catacombs of the Damned at Amazon.

 
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“A monstrously evil man” and his phantom pack of hounds

The time.........the mid 1600s

The place........the desolation of Dartmoor, in Devon.

Dartmoor, Devon

When you walk across the wildness of Dartmoor the tangible connection with pre-history, the bleak grimness of sharp winds howling through ancient stones with unsuspected patches of swirling mist can combine to give a dreadful feeling of unimaginable evil.

It is said that evil breeds evil, so it can come as no surprise that a monster actually lived during those times of witchcraft and religious fear. His name was Richard Cabell to whom no crime was too far. His passion for hunting with hounds, he cared not what he caught, rumours that he had sold his soul to the Devil and his cruelty to all those who were in his power were legendary. He was even reputed to have savagely murdered his wife.

Richard Cabell's tomb

But when he passed away in 1677 the legend was born. He was buried in Buckfastleigh churchyard in a tomb where heavy slabs of rock were placed upon his grave to contain his spirit; it was thought that his death was temporary and that his pact with the Devil would allow him to return to revel in even more brutal excesses. And on the night of his burial a phantom pack of hounds raced in from the depths of the moors to howl and bay over his grave. Ever since then he can be seen leading his hounds over the wilderness, the pack howling and shrieking across the desolate landscape...or it might just be the moaning of the wind through the rocks and the intense fear of the moors playing tricks with the imagination. But many swear to have seen him and his ghostly entourage.

Now...fast forward to the early 1900s. The stories of Cabell and  the terrors of Dartmoor had reached the ears of a certain Arthur Conan Doyle who vowed to visit the place and taste the terrors for himself. He spent many days travelling in a coach across the windswept desolation and was particularly attracted to the story of Cabell murdering his wife, having suspected her of infidelity. He beat her savagely before stabbing her to death, whereupon her constant companion, a large and faithful dog leapt upon Cabell and tore his throat out. But the dog was killed in the melee. Since then the ghost of this hound can be seen howling in grief across the moors, destined to search out and haunt all subsequent generations of the Cabell family.

The Hound of the Baskervilles

And so Conan Doyle’s most famous story, “The Hound of the Baskervilles” was born. As an entertaining aside, the coachman who drove Conan Doyle patiently for those days was called Baskerville. He readily gave permission for his name to be used.

For those brave souls who thrive on the paranormal, a visit to Dartmoor in the depths of winter to feel these stories for themselves is a “must do”.

In Association with the Western Gazette 

You can also read this article, and many others, at the Western Gazette website. Click here to follow me and be the first to know when I publish my next short story, article or book review.

Buy P J Cadavori's Catacombs of the Damned at Winstone’s of Sherborne, Waterstones or Amazon, in paperback and e-book formats. Click on the book covers below to view Catacombs of the Damned at Amazon.

 
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Berry Pomeroy Castle: Ghosts Among the Ruins

The scene: It is the year of our Lord 1549 and England is in turmoil. The Reformation is gathering pace and the Book of Common Prayer has been authorised by Parliament. Edward VI is King, aged 11, with the ineffectual Duke of Somerset his “Protector”. Rising prices, political weakness and religious intolerance is causing conflict and riots in the West Country.

This is where we join the story of death and dereliction. Edward has ordered the seizure of Berry Pomeroy Castle in punishment for the Pomeroys’ religious beliefs. Seeking death before dishonour, the two Pomeroy brothers choose to ride their blindfolded horses over the battlements of the castle, to perish violently below. With no time for mourning, the castle is then given to the brother of Jane Seymour whose family hold it for the next 130 years. You can read my article about Hampton Court to see what happened to Jane, and how she contributes to the ghostly history of England.

During their tenure the Seymours massively extended the buildings, until it was reputedly destroyed by lightning in 1685, and never repaired. It has often been asked what trees and plants were destroyed during the building and the chaos which always accompanies a building site. Many believe in the pagan protection which certain plants give, and which might have saved the castle (you can read my short story called The Guardians for a taste of this). But what we see now is a skeleton which perches on the crown of a lonely hill, overlooking the surrounding country with a mystical presence.

Visitors today often feel the coldness of something unseen when they stand close to the ruins. There are many ghosts whispered about by locals. Mounted horses have been seen. A shadowy lady haunts the shell who is said to be condemned to wander the corridors in perpetuity for smothering her baby, which was the product of an incestuous relationship with her father. And in the dark dungeons Margaret de Pomeroy was starved to death by her jealous sister over a love dispute. Margaret can be see beckoning, her face tortured with pain and grief, perhaps asking for witnesses to come forward. She can be felt with a cold chill by those who get too close to her. And there are many more stories about ghostly spirits, some even of children, who are the consequences of those troubled and brutal times.

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