The Storyteller: An Easter story on Sheepstor

As you all know, I love letterboxing, and once a year I make the pilgrimage to Lee Moor Village Hall to attend the biannual meet on the day the clocks change in March.

In the early days, they used to hold the meetings at The Forest Inn at Hexworthy. When I first started going they were at the prison officer’s club in Princetown, but that closed down and now the building itself is in a sorry state of repair...

This year, the clocks changed on Easter Sunday so I headed to the moor to get my fix of letterbox clues for the coming walking season and the hope of some free chocolate...

Lee Moor is an interesting place, being just a few rows of houses, nestled in amongst the spoil heaps and workings of the clay mining industry, not my favourite part of the moor,  but it draws me to its only amenity once a year. Ponies and sheep roam freely around the roads, and it’s not unusual to spot them in people’s gardens.

Parking outside, I paid my usual visit to buy the brand new catalogue, which I mark up with the boxes I’m particularly looking for over the coming months to complete various sets I’m interested in...gone are the days when I’m after everything I can find. Then I pay my dues to Malcolm, who diligently records all the new additions, deletions and those reported missing for the monthly updates he sends out...that keeps me informed until this time next year.

The hall seemed busier than usual, which is a good sign that the pastime is as popular as ever with people sitting around, swapping what are called One Day stamps, specifically for the meeting, telling stories of recent finds or non finds and catching up with friends that they only see on these occasions, unless they happen to bump into each other out on the moor. 

The majority of the tables house people who are selling sheets of clues to raise money for various charities, which is an excellent way to start the hobby whilst helping others.

I used to buy them, some even helped me learn about the Myths and Legends, but nowadays they all seem to be sighted in the same areas and there is nothing I hate more than stumbling over people in pursuit of the same box!

However, this year some friends of mine, who kindly supply me with their WOM (Word Of Mouth) clues that don’t get featured in the general catalogue for security reasons...I make a point of reporting back the condition I find them in, a task I feel will happily keep me occupied forever...have put out a set of stamps in support of Children’s Hospice South West so I felt the need to support them. Fortunately, no other walks have been located in the same area...unfortunately it is an area I have unhappy memories of, as it’s where I had a stumble many moons ago that left me with a fractured ankle. My friend Dave was with me, and between him, and a tree branch/stick, I made it back to the car and proceeded to drive home, with a degree of difficulty, before I found out the extent of the injury...six weeks off work at the theatre followed, with my leg up! I have revisited the area several times since, with trepidation, for it does hold several items of interest. It lies above Peter Tavy, below Boulters Tor, which is where it happened on a track that leads you to Langstone Moor stone circle and menhir, the ancient hillfort at White Tor, and, most importantly to a folklorist, Stephen’s Grave. Like Kitty Jay’s Grave, this is where a suicide is buried, except, in Stephen’s case, he is buried at a crossroads of moorland tracks not a busy lane and his headstone has the letter S inscribed on the base. The story goes he was a local lad in love with a local girl who, unfortunately for him, had eyes for another. One day, catching her in the arms of her lover, he ran home enraged with jealousy, with the mind-set that if he couldn’t have her then no one else would. Lacing an apple with poison, he took it to her house, intending to encourage her to eat it. At the last minute, he changed his mind and ate it himself, tragically dying soon afterwards. The powers that be regarded this as an act of suicide, so he was refused a Christian burial Instead he was interred above the village, at the crossroads of tracks where the marker stone stands and it is said that, as his body was lowered into the ground, some drying washing took flight from a clothes line in the garden of a farmhouse below which was taken as a sign by those present that his spirit was finally at peace...

Walk purchased, adding it to the rest of my haul from this visit, I  headed off on an afternoon box hunt, with the knowledge that I had an extra hour of daylight for it, as long as the weather behaved...

My chosen target area was Sheepstor, with stunning views over Burrator Reservoir, and home to the famous Pixie Cave. I hadn’t planned to visit them that day, however, as things transpired, I think they had other plans for me. Parking on the edge of the reservoir, to the north of the tor, I climbed up the tracks, still muddy from all the recent rainfall, to begin my search. I had three boxes on my hit list, but try as I might, I couldn’t get a handle on the first two, but I did find the traditional Easter cross, attached high up on an outcrop, offering stunning views to all who choose to visit. Eventually, I gave up to concentrate on the third one, which I was most keen to find, as it pertained to the said pixies and their rocky home. The clue took me to the west side of the tor, nearer to the cave, but I still couldn’t get the bearings to add up, maybe the wetness of the ground and potential slipperiness of the rocks was putting me off. Disappointed to have nothing to show for my efforts, I decided to call it a day, but just before I turned back, I spotted what looked like a discarded ball of blue twine amongst the rocks above me. Being curious, and feeling it could prove a hazard to local wildlife, I took a closer look and to my surprise I found it was a sheep, wedged under two rocks, the blue being the dye marking on its back exposed for all to see. Over the years, I’ve come across the carcasses of dead sheep amongst rocks, usually accompanied by the distinctive smell of death, but this one was very much alive! Happily munching on foliage in its prison, it made no attempt to struggle as I approached, presumably resigned to its predicament. It was very apparent it couldn’t get out without assistance, but it needed more than just me to extract it so I rang the number of the Livestock Protection Department of the National Park, something I’ve done several times before. Helping them to locate it as best I could, with grid reference, various pictures, descriptions of the surrounding landscape...I even learnt a valuable lesson about the What3words app (download it now, you don’t know when you might need it)...which they could pass on to the farmer it belonged to as identified by the blue dye. I even offered to stay on site to aid rescue, but they said to go as they couldn’t give me an ETA. Reluctantly I left, as it was starting to rain and getting dark. After making sure it seemed happy enough, still munching away, I made my way back to the car, heading for home to dry off and have my dinner.

The poor thing was on my mind all night, so the next morning I messaged the number asking for an update...Good news! I got a reply saying the sheep had been found by the farmer after a three hour search probably hampered by the rain and the dark and was now safely back at the farm. He even asked for his thanks to be conveyed to me...the farmer not the sheep! Turns out it was one of last year’s lambs. It had been reported that there had been a dog attack the previous Friday on Sheepstor and it had probably run into the rocks for safety as there was no other reason for it to be there. Recalling the scene, there was mushy sheep’s poo on the side of the hole, so the poor thing’s little tummy could have been upset by its ordeal and whilst it was in hiding, got distracted by the juicy foliage in the hole and just slipped in.

This story could almost be biblical...a lamb, persecuted, and almost hounded to death on Good Friday then to be rescued from its tomb on Easter Sunday by chance...by chance? Or did the nearby pixies lead me to the spot, so that I could do my good deed for the day? Pixie led, but in a good way!