Storyteller: The mysterious tale of Jan Coo and the Cry of the Dart

My latest letterbox hunt took me to Venford Reservoir, on Holne Moor, the one that supplies water to Torbay, and the one which David Essex is seen rowing across at the end of the video for his Winter's Tale Christmas hit.

Parking up, my route took me away from the reservoir, towards the River Dart, along wide tracks through swathes of tall bracken, with views towards the many outcrops of Bench Tor to my right, on my side of the valley, and the heights of Mel Tor and Sharp Tor on the other.

Along the way, I came across a clearing with a dead tree still standing in it, one that once stood tall, until possibly struck by lightning. Now it looks quite photogenic with Sharp Tor rising through its branches on one side, and, on this visit, a half moon in daylight on the other. Hanging from a branch, was a baseball cap, someone’s lost property waiting to be reclaimed? Or an offering to the river gods, for good luck, in the way that clooties are tied to trees at sacred sites?

I had been this way before, on a previous expedition, so I knew what I was looking for, a rickety old fence overlooking a sheer drop into the river below. Having found it again, it didn’t take long to locate the box I was after, and then I took the time to admire the view. Rising above the treeline on the opposite hillside, was the tip of Sharp Tor, whilst in amongst the trees I could just about make out the white rock face of the outcrop known as Eagle Rock, AKA Luckey Tor...which is an unfortunate name for a spot in this area, as it didn’t prove particularly lucky for a one time resident of these ‘ere parts known as Jan Coo.

Jan Coo was an orphan boy, who lived and worked on Rowbrook Farm, that stood, quite remotely, in the shadow of Sharp Tor, on the edge of the valley of the River Dart. Jan lived quite happily there for most of his adult life, then suddenly, one night, he started hearing voices calling out his name from the river below. Rushing into the farm kitchen, where all his workmates were gathering for dinner, he told them someone was in trouble in the river, and they were calling out for help. Joining him outside, they all heard his name, “Jan Coo! Jan Coo!”, being whispered on the wind. One of the older farm hands told him to pay no heed, it was only the pixies that lived down in Langamarsh Pit messing with him, but even so the rest thought it was best to check it out, to be on the safe side. As they scrambled over the rocky hillside, down towards the river, the calling stopped, and, for all their searching, they didn’t find any body, living or dead. They returned to the farmhouse exhausted. They ate heartily, and slept well that night.

The next night, as he was finishing his chores in the barn before dinner, Jan once again started to hear his name being called, “Jan Coo! Jan Coo!”, only this time louder and with more urgency. Once again he rushed into his fellow workers and begged them to help him look for whoever was in trouble, but this time they weren’t interested in being dragged out on another wild goose chase, so Jan went off on his own.

His colleagues ate dinner without him, expecting him to come back at any moment with another tale of wasted effort, but he never did come back. At first light, the whole farm was up early searching for Jan amongst the rocks on the hillside, along the river banks, even dredging the river itself, all the while calling out his name, “Jan Coo! Jan Coo!”, but no sign of him was ever seen again.

Maybe what Jan had heard, and somehow shared, was a premonition of his friends calling out to him, when he went missing. Some people said, as he had no parents, that he was a changeling, a pixie child left with humans to be raised by them, and now they had reclaimed their own. Others said he was just the latest victim of the Cry of the Dart, a sacrifice to appease the gods of the river, for everyone knows the age old saying,

“ O River Dart, O cruel River Dart, every year thou claim’st a heart!”