Mysterious tales from Princetown

TALES FROM PRINCETOWN

Just before Christmas, I was invited to a gathering at the Duchy House B&B in Princetown, home of Dartmoor Prison. There was drink and nibbles and the opportunity to network with other Dartmoor businesses. Throughout the evening many interesting people came and went and I managed to have a chat with most of them.

These included Paul Rendell, the editor of the Dartmoor News magazine, a publication that I pick up wherever I can as it always contains snippets of useful local information as well as fascinating articles. We often have a chat at his stall at the Letterboxing Meets so it was good to have a catch up when he was off duty, so to speak.

The owners of Badgers Holt at Dartmeet were there. It was always a very popular tea room and a must go to destination venue but, sadly, like most hospitality businesses, Covid hit them hard. They have now bounced back as a wedding and special occasions venue and are doing very nicely thank you.

A local specialist coffee supplier was there, rubbing shoulders with a polar explorer, no less, who lives locally and has his own outdoor gear shop in the village. He was fascinating to talk to about all his exploits including being the inspiration behind many of Sir Ranulph Fiennes’ expeditions.

I spent a long time talking to a lady who runs a business called Liberty Trails, which offers high end horse riding holidays to its customers. They operate over Dartmoor and she is always looking for something a little bit different to act as entertainment for her guests, so, fingers crossed, we might be able to work together at some point during the coming season.

However, the person who inspired me the most, was a young lady called Chelsie, who was born and grew up in the village and has no intentions of leaving anytime soon. She now works at Dewerstone, a part outdoor gear shop, part cafe, which is situated opposite the visitors centre. As soon as it came up in conversation that I was into ghosts and spooky stuff, Chelsie began telling me exactly how spooky Princetown is, lying in the shadow of the grim looking prison. In fact her nan lives in a house right next to its walls.

Our hosts joined in the discussion and pointed out that their property, sharing the same name as the old building up the road, was used as an overspill for when the Duchy Hotel was filled to capacity. Knowing that the great author, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, stayed in the village whilst writing and researching his Holmesian novel, The Hound of the Baskervilles, I suggested that he may have stayed at theirs instead.

With my attention firmly on Chelsie, I put forward my idea of hosting one of my TIP meetings in one of the local pubs, possibly the recently reopened  Plume of Feathers, for I strongly felt that, along with the stories and history held within the prison walls and associated museum, the old church and graveyard; the Duchy Hotel and Chelsie’s own memories of a childhood growing up there, with all the tales that grownups might have used to keep kids in check, the village of Princetown could truly lend itself to a ghost walk with which to entertain both locals and visitors alike. We then made plans to meet up in the New Year...

That meeting happened a few weeks ago and after a very nice meal at the Prince of Wales pub, the other Princetown hostelry, Chelsie introduced me to the manager of the Plume of Feathers, Rachel who was very keen to help me with my plans, the result of which now allows me to add Princetown to my ever increasing portfolio of TIP on the Road events, with one on Friday April 5 when, hopefully, the kitchens at the Plume will be fully operational so we can have a meal before the meeting starts.

I must take this opportunity to express my thanks to Chelsie for not only inspiring me to set up my Princetown meeting, but for also giving me the idea of casting my net wider over the moorsand taking in Bovey Tracey and Chagford, with other villages soon to follow.

Unbeknownst to me, whilst I was busy plotting in Princetown a gentleman, by the name of George, was writing me an email about an experience he had had in that very same pub, back in the 80s...

His wife is an avid reader of my articles, and for many weeks after my request for stories appeared in one, she was badgering him to share his with me. He finally sat down to write it over the weekend after my visit and it hit my spam folder on Sunday. On a whim, I checked my folder the following Thursday, and I was totally gobsmacked when I realised the location of his story. I loved the amount of detail that he put into it and so with George’s permission I share his experience with you here:

In the mid 1980’s, I worked as a delivery driver for a Wines & Spirits Merchants based in Torquay and my delivery route would occasionally take me across the Moors.

One day, having almost come to the end of my rounds and heading back to Torquay, my last drop of the day was in Princetown. I think it is called The Plume of Feathers now. It was a pub which I had never delivered to before and if I recall, I had a number of boxes, essentially of samples, for the pub. This would have been around 10am and as the pubs didn’t open until 11 in those days, the large car park at the rear was empty, so I just pulled up in the middle of what was a gravelly space. 

I retrieved the three boxes and my sack truck from the rear of my 7½ ton lorry and locked the shutter as I always did. I manouvered my sack truck with the laden boxes across to the pub entrance, got a signature for the goods and returned to my lorry. I unlocked the padlock and proceeded to load the sack truck back inside. Now, up until this point, nothing untoward had taken place. Then, out of the blue, a young girl appeared standing to the right of me. On looking at the girl, it struck me as strange that one, she had come up to my lorry, two, her clothes were such that they stuck out, and, three, that I never heard her approach.  

She was young, 16 to20, white, and slightly built, with a softly spoken voice.  She wore a coal scuttle style bonnet (with material at the back and a rounded brim) and a long, light-coloured dress.  She asked for a lift, to which I replied that, unfortunately, I couldn’t do that as I was not allowed to and I tried not to make eye contact. After apologizing, I pulled my shutter down, padlocked it and the girl had gone.  I didn’t hear her go, I didn’t see her go. Strangely enough, for some reason, I decided to look under the lorry, around the lorry and even looked into the locked cab, which she could obviously not get into.  I even opened up the back of my lorry, unlocked the shutter and looked inside to reassure myself she was not hiding inside, which she wasn’t, of course.  In hindsight this was a ludicrous thing to do but I was confused as to where she had gone. Bearing in mind I parked in the middle of the car park I should have seen her leave, surely? I left the car park and went back to my base in Torquay – but the memory of my experience has puzzled me, and my family, ever since.

George then asked me for my opinion of his story, and if I had any explanation for him.

I think it’s particularly interesting that it took place in daylight, making the whole thing not so scary for him. Likewise, for the spirit, maybe she wasn’t aware of the vehicle that George was driving, but she felt confident enough and needy enough, to use the amount of energy needed to approach and speak to him.

I think this is a fabulous story, and it’s further enhanced by the fact that George went on to pursue a career in the police force where his eye for detail, and desire for the facts, would have made him a suitable candidate and an ideal witness to a paranormal event. This is the sort of experience that I’m hoping will turn up at my Dartmoor meetings over the coming months.