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Stories 1
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Burgess the miner was a widower, who lived with his little daughter
in a cottage in White Water Combe. After a time he fell in love with a
worthless woman, and as they found the child a nuisance he murdered it
and threw the body down a mine-shaft. This proved no concealment, for a
mysterious light shone above the shaft, so Burgess took up the body,
buried it hastily in a bank side and left the moor. Two
sheep-stealers saw a rag sticking out of some loose earth and thought a
sheep had been hidden there, for this was the usual sign. When they
began to scrape back the earth, however, they came across a child's
hand. Burgess was pursued and caught. He was hanged at Taunton Jail in
1858. There is still a ghostly light to be seen at the place of the
murder but it is very unlucky to see it. |
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One New Year's Eve the Squire of Norton Manor was drinking and
merrymaking at Langford Budville, when he suddenly decided he was going
home. It was nearly midnight, and everyone warned him not to go, but he
laughed and swore that he didn't care if he broke his neck. He climbed
on his horse with such a volley of oaths that they were glad to shut the
iron bolts behind him and draw up close to the fire.
As for the Squire, he rode off merrily till he came to Young Oaks, where
his horse swerved aside from a great pack of black hounds. If the Squire
had been sober he would have started to pray, but instead he told the
hounds to go to Hell (from which, of course, they had just come) and
slashed at them with his whip. Green fire ran up the lash and scorched
the rider and horse, which bolted and away went the Squire with the
ghostly pack behind him. On the Common at French Nut Tree the horse
stumbled and both the horse and the Squire broke their necks.
Every New Year's Eve the Drunken Squire is said to make the ride to
Norton Fitzwarren again and the unfortunate ones may well meet him
riding again to get away from the devil's hounds. If you should meet him
then throw yourself on the ground and pray that the hounds don't get you
as well! |
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At Fiddington once lived a smith who was so proud of his craft that he
very unwisely boasted he could shoe the Devil's own horse - "Ah!
An' shoe he to rights too."
But one midnight he was called up by a traveler whose horse had cast a
shoe, and when he looked at the rider of the great black horse, he found
it was the Devil himself.
The terrified smith had the wit to pretend he had left a hammer at this
Cottage and ran for the parson. The parson, however, refused to return
nearer than the roadside hedge where he remained to watch, having told
the smith if he valued his soul to keep his word and shoe the horse -
"But he must take no payment!"
The smith set to work, and the Devil was so delighted with the result
that he presented the man with a bag of gold, but was told politely,
"I never don't take nought vor work done at night."
Baffled the Devil glanced around, and caught a glimpse of the lurking
Parson.
"If it hadn' a-been vor that old blackbird in behind orchet,"
he yelled, "I'd a had'ee vor zertain zure!"
With that both he and his horse vanished. |
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There was a time, long, long ago, when giants came to live close to
Nether Stowey. They flung up a huge mound for their Castle, and lived
under it.
Some of the people fled to Stogursey, other ran up hill for safety on
Dowsboro' Camp, and others, poor things, just stayed where they were.
No one liked going past the Castle even if they had to, and most of
those who did come back were pale and terrified. The Giants had a
horrible way of putting their hands out of the hill and grabbing a
sheep, or a cow, or a man.
Once the monsters had tasted men's flesh they grew ravenous. They made a
riad on Stogursey Castle, and beat it down flat, and chased the
Stogursey people till they caught them in handfuls. When this supply ran
out they began again on the folk of Nether Stowey.
Most of them were old (and tough) or very young (and tender) for all the
able-bodied folk had run up the hills and were quite safe in Dowsboro'
Camp having a fine time. They didn't know what was going on so a poor
old gaffer tried to tiptoe past the Castle and tell them, but an arm
came out and got him.
Then a little lad got on one of his father's hill ponies along with a
'dirft' of them, and went away past the Castle at a stretch gallop. A
hand di come out, but it got such a kick it went in again mighty fast
and there was a dreaful yell.
The folk on Dowsboro' heard that and got ready to fight - but when the
little lad on his pony got to them they didn't wait to give battle up
there, No. "The men from Dowsboro' beat down Stowey Castle' and
after that anyone could pass the hill again - they still don't like
doing it at night.
Quantock saying:
'Men from Dowsboro' beat down Stowey Castle, and men from Stowey beat
down Stogursey Castle.' |
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