Situated below Yar tor is a kistvaen known as ‘The Money Pit’. The story attached to this particular one concerns a farmer from the Poundsgate area who by all accounts was a kind and friendly soul. One night he had a dream in which he saw the kistvaen loaded with …

In the year 1641, near the little moorland town of Chagford lived a woman called Mary Whiddon who lived at nearby Whiddon Park. As with many folk tales her story involved two men one of which was the jealous and vengeful type. Mary had made the mistake of jilting one …

Tom Upcott was a farmer from the parish of Walkhampton, he lived on a small, remote farm with his wife and two boys. One morning, as he was about to drove some bullocks to Tavistock market, his wife dashed out into the yard. “Tummas” she yelled, “I want ee to …

  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 …