Storyteller: Letterboxing for the Devil

There’s nothing I like better than when my hobby of letterboxing combines with Dartmoor myths and legends - it’s how I learnt them all in the first place after all.

And that’s just what happened recently, when I was sent a new private list of clues pertaining to the Devil and his moorland connections.

Not only does it relate to places that the Devil has given his name to but to the locations that feature in the many tales told about him, some of which I’ve built my business around, offering tours that visit some of them, telling the tales as we go.

The most obvious one is Devil’s Tor, overlooking the River Cowsic in the valley below, very close to the magnificent standing stone, known as Beardown Man, and somewhere I’ve visited many times in the past.

Then you have Devil’s Elbow, marked on the Ordinance Survey map, just outside of Princetown, as Devil’s Bridge, once giving its name to a pub in the town itself, sadly no more. One final named stamp is of the Devil’s Kitchen, which is a waterfall on the River Tavy, that runs through Tavy Cleeve, and the pool below, into which it plunges. This is also a splendid area to walk in, and the views from the top certainly reward the effort to get there.

The others in the set relate to some stories in which the Devil is the main protagonist. The first is concerning Brentor Church, high up on its volcanic outcrop, the building of which the Devil tried to thwart, instigating an intervention by St Michael, to whom the church is dedicated, and who successfully sent the mischief maker packing, with his tail between his legs.

Two stamps feature in my favourite Dartmoor legend, of Jan Reynolds and his pact with the Devil, which forms the basis of my Devil’s Quest tour. One is of the Tavistock Inn at Poundsgate, where the Devil stopped to ask directions on his way to collect Jan’s soul from the church in Widecombe in the Moor. While there, he downed a free pint, and left his mark, for the bottom of his tankard left a scorched circle in the surface of the bar. The other is of St Pancras Church itself, in Widecombe.

After snatching Jan from the back of the pews, where he was found playing cards with his mates, the Devil causes a spire to come loose from the church tower, sending it crashing through the roof, killing and injuring members of the congregation below. Now was this the work of the Devil, or was it a thunderbolt, as described on the wooden plaques that you will find in the church tower?

The final stamp refers to Branscombe’s Loaf, high up on Corn Ridge, overlooking Meldon Reservoir, with stunning views of the higher points of Yes Tor, and the outcrops of Black Tor. This was actually the first of the set I collected the other week, on a particularly hot day.

Parking up at Sourton Church, I climbed up the steep slopes to Sourton Tors and its trig pillar, then onwards and upwards to Corn Ridge itself, narrowly missing getting knocked over by a paraglider on his way down! Just below the summit was where I found the associated letterbox, before reaching Branscombe’s Loaf itself. I’ve visited this spot many times in the past, in fact it was our destination on the inaugural walk of my monthly Dartmoor walking group, many moons ago, but it was the first time I’d noticed that the infamous little outcrop was surrounded by a cairn circle, something that our ancestors constructed to enclose their burial sites.

A bit of research confirmed this was correct, but it didn’t explain why they would want to include an outcrop of rocks in this particular graveyard. Maybe it suggests there is a little bit of truth in the story that is attached to this spot...that the outcrop itself didn’t appear until Bishop Branscombe, who the Loaf is named after, had his alleged encounter with the Devil there in the 1200s. So there wasn’t an outcrop for our ancestors to enclose in the first place...

Branscombe was the Bishop of Exeter, and his many duties involved him making frequent journeys across the barren landscape of Dartmoor, accompanied by his faithful cleric. During one such arduous trip, as they reached the heights of Corn Ridge, the Bishop, feeling a bit peckish, suddenly exclaimed what he wouldn’t give for some bread and cheese right at that moment. No sooner had those words left his lips, when the pair were approached by a hooded stranger. From beneath his cloak, he produced a platter of the very bread and cheese that the Bishop was craving.

Without thinking, Branscombe reached for the offering, but before he could touch it, his sharp-eyed cleric dashed the platter from the stranger’s grasp, for he had spotted a cloven hoof protruding from beneath his long cloak. Spurring their horses on to escape the clutches of the Devil, all thoughts of hunger now being forgotten, leaving just the sound of his booming laughter ringing in their ears.

Where the bread and cheese had hit the moorland floor, up sprouted the outcrop that would forever more be known as Branscombe’s Loaf, right in the centre of the cairn circle... maybe this story is yet another attempt by Christian history writers to link our pagan ancestors with the machinations of their alleged master, the Devil himself.

Having contemplated this particular twist to the tale, and taking my fill of the magnificent landscape from that vantage point, the heat finally got the better of me - the phrase hotter than hell might be appropriate - and it was time to scurry back to the relative shelter of the car, and go in search of a well-deserved, refreshing cold drink.

Encouraged by the success of this first find, I look forward to seeking out the rest of this particularly Devilish set over the coming weeks and months.