High up on the moor is the small hamlet of Sherwell and it was here in the days of the ‘old ways’ lived an old woman called Martha Whitchalse. Martha’s life had not be what could be called a ‘bed of roses’, more like a ‘bed of nails’. As …

It was a dark foggy night and the moor was as still as the grave, not a fox barked or an owl hooted. Times as this everybody should be firmly shuttered up infront of a warm peat fire and if they weren’t they wished they were. One poor soul found …

I recently revisited Ruth St. Leger-Gordon’s book ‘The Witchcraft and Folklore of Dartmoor’ and was reading the chapter on Magic Circles, pp. 146 – 152. In this chapter she makes mention of raising energy to build up ‘cones of power’ which struck a chord with me. Earlier in the week …

Dartmoor is an ancient land and the feet of man have trodden across its moors and valleys since the time of stone. Everywhere you can find traces of there homes, graves, and temples, all which have stood silently witnessing the passing of time. Many moorfolk say that they are evil …

The rivers of Dartmoor are normally tranquil waters slowly cascading over the moors to the sea. But without warning they can became huge, swollen torrents of peat brown angry water that washes away anything that dares stand in the way. It was on a wet stormy winter’s night when all …

Late one autumn night a moorman called Luke Rogers was returning home across the wastes. It was a still night with the moon playing hide and seek behind the billowing, shroud-like clouds. It must have been around the old stone circle when he decided he needed a rest from the …

“River of Dart, oh, River of Dart ! Every year thou claimest a heart.” It is a well known fact that sadly over the years the River Dart has taken many lives in one way or another and there are plenty of stories that relate such tragedies. Some such as …

Little Miss Muffet Sat on a tuffet Eateing her curds and whey Along came an viper Who sat down beside ‘er But never scared miss Muffet away. Ok, well it’s nothing like as prosaic as the original but for the purposes of this page it will have to do. Once …

“My ladye hath a sable coach, And horses two and four; My ladye hath a black blood-hound That runneth on before. My ladye’s coach hath nodding plumes, The driver hath no head; My ladye is an ashen white, As one that long is dead. “Now pray step in,” my ladye …

Just below the Dean Burn lies the small estate of Skerraton which back in the 1200’s was owned jointly by two noble people, Lady Dyonisia and Nicholas de Kingdom. Nicholas de Kingdom came from a Norman family who came originally over with William the Conqueror and for their services were …