Witnessing folklore in action: The Devil's Stone turned in Shebbear

As it turns out, Shebbear is only 30 minutes away from Instow, where we had a family gathering, the other month, so Sarah and I went to check it out, in advance of the main event, so she didn’t feel she was completely missing out. The plan was to have a meal there, and to offer my services as The Storyteller, adding to the entertainment on their special night.

The pub didn’t open until 5pm, so, as we arrived early, it gave me chance to check out the church, and the village store, as other Sarah had informed me they stocked a local guide book, all about the Pubs of Shebbear, as apparently there used to be more...now there is just one, The Devil’s Stone Inn, where we would be staying in November, and eating that night. My timing was perfect, as I bought the last copy. They hadn’t been restocked at the time of our recent visit, which is a shame, as it’s an informative little read, detailing the history of alcohol selling in the village, from the earliest days, by the church, all through the different tenants, when licences were given to various properties to take on the selling, right up to date, where The Devil’s Stone is now the only pub in the village.

The book is meticulously researched, and written by Paul Watts, who has also set up The Shebbear History Project, in a hope to glean further insight into his now adopted home, from the locals, with a view to publishing further books about the village, and local area. I had hoped to meet him on the night of the turning, as he dedicates a chapter of the book to the hauntings at the inn, and I wanted to hear more...but we will come back to that later...

After making my purchase, there was still time to kill before the pub opened (Sarah was happy sitting in the car reading), so I went to explore the church, which stands behind the green, and its infamous stone. It’s another fine example of a typical Devonshire parish church, which appears to be well used, and much loved. As always, when visiting an old church, my first point of interest is the north door, to see if it is an example of a bricked up Devil’s Door, which would have been very in keeping with his stone outside. In this instance, the north door now leads into the vestry...peering through the keyhole you can see a sink and big tap...which has no access to the exterior of the building, which, in effect, means the door has been sealed up, not allowing it to be used as an exit for the Devil. This became a source of amusement, amongst my audience, on the night of the storytelling, as the vicar was present, and he took it all in good humour, after officiating over more devilish activity during the turning.

After my inspection of the church, I returned to Sarah, at the car, to find the pub was now open, meaning it was finally time to eat...

Once inside, I introduced myself to the landlady, to make sure our booking was secure...it was...and to offer my services for some storytelling on the night, after the ceremony. She liked that idea, even going as far as advertising it on the pub’s socials, to help draw a crowd...and it worked.

Our meals were lovely...but we didn’t eat alone! We sat by the bar to eat, so we could chat with our hosts, and we soon got introduced to their pets, two Cockapoos, called Tommy and Cooper, and a beautiful long-haired cat, called Lily. It wasn’t just that we were eating, that attracted them to us, but that we were sitting near the pot containing their doggie treats! For that whole evening, they were very spoilt. As we made our way back to Instow, that night, I was very much looking forward to my next visit, and witnessing folklore in action...Sarah was probably more focused on her cruise, but at least she now knew where I would be on November 5th.

Sadly, on the stone-turning day, the pub had decided not to serve food during the evening, as they would be too busy with drinkers. Instead, there would be a hog roast van outside, to feed the hungry. Sarah and I, had come across this particular van at a family wedding...they do a nice halloumi burger...but, as this wasn’t going to be available until later, the other Sarah, Steve, and I, made plans to have lunch elsewhere, before our arrival at the pub. This turned out to be at The Rydon Inn, just outside of Holsworthy.

So when November 5th dawned, both parties made our way there, and, as luck would have it, we arrived at the same time...this was to be a good omen for our travels together.

The food here was also lovely, and as we ate, we had a good catch up, and looked forward to that evening’s events...all the while a bonfire was burning in a nearby field, reminding us what else was happening that day, but all the time we were in Shebbear, we didn’t hear one firework, or smell any bonfires...Just hog roast and sulphur...

After lunch, we made our way to our home for the night. As we were too early for our check-in time, we took a look around the church again, before heading to the village store to stock up, ahead of our stay.

Once we could check-in, we were shown to our rooms, and I had been allocated a single, number 8, which, according to the pub’s haunted history, is allegedly one of the more active rooms. I had managed to read the book I’d purchased on my first visit, and, according to that, several presences have been reported, including a mother and daughter, whose footsteps have been heard crossing the upstairs landing, possibly the victims of a fire, long ago, and a grumpy old man, said to be a rent collector...no wonder he is grumpy! It is also said that gallows used to be erected in the backyard area, whilst one of the larger guest rooms was used as a courtroom, so anyone sentenced to death, didn’t have far to go, to receive their punishment! It was Sarah and Steve, who said room 8 was haunted. I had only their word for that, but I was happy to see what sort of night was ahead of me. The room itself was newly refurbished, small, but enough room for one. As I got changed into my Storyteller garb, the sound of someone having a bath, emanated from the bathroom, which was odd, as it only had a shower! When I enquired if this was part of the pub’s haunting, the owners looked at me puzzled, for there had only ever been a shower in that room. They attributed the sound to the heating...oil sloshing around in the radiator...they were right! Never assume everything you see or hear is part of a haunting, just because a building has a history. That heating system was the only thing that disturbed me during my stay in that room.

Once I was ready, I took up my position in the dining room, where my audience would gather, after the ceremony. I had produced a special Letterbox stamp, to mark the occasion, which I’ve now left at the pub, for any passing Letterboxers to add to their collections. Whilst we waited for the main event, I chatted with those inside, who were enjoying their hog roasts. Whilst outside, a group of local folk singers entertained those standing in the very long queue for food. Then it was time, so I scurried over to the green, where the stone had been roped off, in preparation for the proceedings. I managed to get a good position, so I could film what was about to unfold.

Traditionally, it’s the church bell ringers who have the arduous task of turning the stone. Ahead of this, they entertained the crowds by demonstrating their craft. Then, at the allotted time of 8pm, they took up their positions, with their metal rods, and waited for the nod from their vicar, after he had explained to the assembled, why what was about to happen, happens...

It is said that when The Devil fell, or was kicked out of Heaven, he landed on the village green in Shebbear. St Michael, the great protector, was tasked with overseeing his ultimate fate, and when he saw him land, he immediately placed a heavy boulder on top of him, to prevent him from causing any mischief amongst the people of earth. He then tasked the locals, with the job of turning the stone once a year, thus ensuring the safety of the world, and bringing good fortune to the good people of Shebbear. Apparently, this act stops him from escaping...

The only time the villagers broke with this tradition, was during the Second World War. During the following year, the village had bombs dropped on it, so it has taken place every year since then, and will forever and a day, as superstition is very strong in these rural parts.

After the vicar’s amusing introduction, the bell ringers were instructed to carry out their task, and, with vocal encouragement from the crowd, the stone was turned for another year, although they did appear to struggle at one point. Curiously, this does leave a bare patch, where it had previously lain, but I was assured The Devil was safely underneath the stone in its new position, and the patch will be covered over again next year.

Then it was time for me to entertain, with more tales of The Devil, and his mischief, including talk of The Devil’s Door, that involved banter with the vicar, as to whether his church had one or not, which did amuse the locals. I went on to discuss my Witches Triangle, with tales of witchcraft on Dartmoor, before moving on to more personal stories, of my own experiences, all of which my audience seemed to appreciate. Gradually, as the night wore on, people started to head for home, until I was left with two gentlemen, who were interested in theatre ghosts, as one of them currently works at the Queen’s Theatre, in Barnstaple, which he is adamant is haunted. I was able to share with them my findings from the Princess Theatre...

Meanwhile, Sarah and Steve had finally joined the queue for the hog roast van...only for them to run out, two people in front of them. Thank goodness for the snacks I’d bought from the village store. I eventually retired for the night, looking forward to my cooked breakfast in the morning, and formulating a plan to visit a few more churches, in that part of Devon, that form part of The Three Hares trail...but you will have to wait until next week, to hear more about our little adventure, the following day...