Ten Myths from the South West of England

Renowned for the scenic landscape, rolling hills, and soaring coasts, the South West has it all. The land is rich in nutrients, and the past has tales to tell in abundance. Holiday-makers and nature enthusiasts flock here all year round, desperate for a slice of serene tranquillity.

Dartmoor, Devon’s most precious jewel, glistens in the morning dew, bathed in the rays of a summer sun. Cornwall consists of crystal seas and roaring wind-turbines, the waves towering and the beaches clean. However, when night presses in, a darker side to the South West arises, and legends awake from their slumber. Here are ten of the most haunting tales that hang over a beautiful land.

Goemagot the Giant

The Legend of Goemagot spreads from Totness, to Dartmoor, to Plymouth Hoe, resembling a tale out of Tolkien’s world, the origins of which sprout in Asia.

A foreign prince, named Brutus, set sail from Asia after the Trojan War in the 11th century BC in search of new lands to inhabit. When Brutus docked at Totness, along with a large following of Trojan warriors, he found that giants occupied the land. A battle followed between the legendary Trojan warriors and the giants, where the latter were defeated. The survivors of the mighty race fled into the caves in Dartmoor and Cornwall.

The leader of the Giants, Goemagot, was injured in the fight, and was taken captive by Brutus and his men. They treated his wounds and looked after him. Bizarrely, Brutus decided to have Goemagot undergo a wrestling match. He was pitted against Cornelius, Brutus’ strongest kinsman, who had experience wrestling giants. The giants that had fled were invited to watch the match.

Ultimately, Cornelius won the match, tossing Goemagot off of the cliffs at Plymouth Hoe. The giant’s body was destroyed on the rocks, his blood turning the sea red. The remaining giants fled back to Dartmoor and Cornwall, where they were left in peace for many years. It is thought that Brutus named ‘Britain’ in homage to himself.

The Witch of Vixen Tor

Vixen Tor sits between Princetown and Tavistock, known to some as ‘The Sphinx of Dartmoor’. In the daytime, the towering formation sits high under the sky, light shed on every nook and cranny. However, when the shadows creep in, there are some crevasses that best be left untouched.

Legend has it that Vixiana, a witch, enlisted the help of demons to hollow out a cave beneath the structure, which she was known to inhabit. At dawn and dusk, Vixiana would sit atop the tor, casting her watchful gaze over the landscape, searching for lone travellers. When a victim came closer to the tor, Vixiana would call down a mist to confuse them, then call out directions that would lead them into a bog at the base of the tor. There the fog would be dispersed, and they would be sucked down to an inevitable death, with the wicked witch watching over them.

Vixiana, however, met her demise at the mercy of the most unlikely hands. A young traveller had heard of the superstitious tales surrounding Vixen Tor, and decided to venture there. He had a deep hatred of witchcraft, and feared nothing. He was equipped with two gifts given to him by the Pixies: the gift the see clearly, and a ring of invisibility. He used these gifts to get past the witch’s tricks, and crept unseen up behind her as she stood wailing in despair at her lost victim. The young traveller gave a shove, and sent her to rot alongside her victims.

Kitty Jay’s Grave

One of the best-known myths to originate in Dartmoor is that of Kitty Jay and her unmarked grave, which sits between Heatree Cross and Hound Tor. The reason her grave is unmarked is due to the nature of her death; suicide. In the near-past, suicides, for religious reasons, were not permitted to be buried in consecrated ground. As a result, their souls were bound to the earth, refused entrance to paradise.

It is believed that Kitty Jay was an orphaned pauper who worked on a farm. Coming from such a bleak background, she was distraught when her lover betrayed her, ruining her reputation and removing his love, and therefore hope, from her life. Kitty Jay hung herself outside of the farmhouse. She was buried with a stake driven through her heart, a customary ritual performed on suicide victims at the time.

In 1860, her bones were unearthed and reburied at her current resting place. Reports claimed that fresh flowers would appear on her grave, and, despite a heavy layer of snow, there would be no footsteps going to or from the site of burial. To this day, there are still flowers appearing on her grave, and a footless figure of a young woman is often seen lurking near the grave.

Wistman’s Woods

From personal experience, I can sincerely say that Wistman’s Woods is one of the most beautiful sights in the South West. At the bottom of two rolling hills runs a trickling river, the gnarled corpse clinging to the rising slope. Oaks grow between moss-covered boulders, thick beards of lichen hanging from the trees. There is a certain serenity about the woods, that is, if you are out of sight of the Eye.

Wistman’s Woods was once the sacred grove of the Druids, who would perform rituals within the secluded trees. It is also believed that the ‘Wisht Hounds’ reside here, a pack of hellhounds that stalk the darkness in search of lost souls or travellers. The dogs have red eyes, yellow fangs, and an unsatisfiable taste for human flesh. One legend depicts a farmer travelling back from a local fair. He was passed by a huntsman and his pack of hounds. The farmer asked him for some game, and the Huntsman tossed him a bundle. The farmer picked it up and hurried home. To his horror, when he unwrapped the bundle, he found the body of his dead son.

Hairy Hands

The legend of the Hairy Hands has been putting drivers on edge since the 1920’s, especially those driving down the narrow country lanes near Princetown and Postbridge. It all began one fateful night in 1921, when a worker at Dartmoor Prison was riding his motorcycle, along with his children in the sidecar, along the lanes. After the incident, the children retold the story. Apparently, when their father had been driving, a pair of hands reached out and took control of the vehicle. The father, whilst wrestling with the force, pleaded for his children to jump. They freed themselves, but he didn’t. Sometime later, another cyclist and their passenger testified to the same incident occurring to them.

In the late 20’s, a woman was staying in her caravan at the ruins of Powder Mills, when she awoke in the night, her heart struck with fear. Hands were coming towards her in the darkness. She made the sign of the cross, to repel evil entities, and the hands disappeared. To this day, people report erratic driving or a loss of control around the areas where the previous accidents and deaths took place. The hands have made a clear mark on history.

Tarr Steps

Located in the heart of Exmoor, the Tarr Steps possibly date back to 1400BC (Link 11). The bridge consists of seventeen slabs that weigh two tonnes each, forming the well-renowned clapper bridge. Supposedly, the devil built the bridge to sunbathe on. The devil, liking to cause trouble wherever he goes, made it so that none could pass. This was incredibly inconvenient to the locals, who requested that a local parson speaks to Satan. The parson could understand the devil’s verbal attack, and he was impressed by the human’s comprehension of his words. The devil made an agreement with the parson: whenever he wasn’t residing on the bridge, the villagers could cross.

Charlotte Dymond

On the 14th of April 1844, 18-year-old Charlotte Dymond went missing on Bodmin Moor, where she was potentially murdered. Charlotte worked on a farm, alongside two other male servants, John Stevens and Matthew Weeks, both in their early twenties. It was believed that Charlotte and Matthew were in a relationship, though the pairing has always been a strange one. A strong reason behind their union is the fact that Matthew came into some inheritance, and Charlotte, an illegitimate child, had no name. There was, however, another suitor pining for her: Thomas Prout, the nephew of the owner, and an occasional labourer on the farm.

On the day of Charlotte’s death, she and Matthew went out, dressed in their Sunday best. A fog fell whilst they were heading towards the moor. Matthew returned to the farm, but Charlotte did not.

People noticed things. Weeks’ clothes were torn, covered in mud despite denying being on the moor. Matthew then informed the household that Charlotte had been offered a position at another farm. When the owner of the establishment checked on the story, it was revealed to be false.

Over a week after she had been missing, Charlotte’s body was found on the banks of Roughtor Ford, her throat slit. Weeks fled but was hunted down at his sister’s house. He was put on trial and was found guilty despite pleading ‘not guilty’ until the very end. He was sentenced to death and was hung for his crime. Some say that they see a young woman roaming the moors on a Sunday, wearing her Sunday best.

The Ballad of Charlotte Dymond was written in honour of the dead damsel.

The Legend of King Arthur

A legend so great that it earned itself a spot on the BBC, King Arthur hailed from the South West, along with the famous Sorcerer. His name? Merlin, who protected the King from evil. Nestled on the Cornish coast, the ruins of Tintagel Castle remain, overlooking an emerald sea. Beneath the castle, running deep into the cliffs lies Merlin’s Cave, which sits opposite a running waterfall that trickles into the sea. Others say that the Cave was where Merlin carried baby Arthur, having found him washed up on the beach.

According to legend, King Arthur was born in Tintagel Castle to Uther Pendragon and Queen Igraine. Some scholars believe that Tintagel itself was the kingdom of Camelot, although all of this is mere speculation. Archaeological discoveries have added fuel to the fires of theories. In the 1930s, an excavation unearthed Mediterranean pottery, and lots of it. This hints at the prosperity of Tintagel during the alleged reign of King Arthur.

Jan Tregeagle

Considered to be one of the evilest men to walk in the South West, the tale of Jan Tregeagle is, in fact, a very sad one that we can’t help but feel sympathetic towards.

Tregeagle lived in Bodmin in the 17th century, working as a magistrate. He was a man obsessed with wealth and power, going to great lengths and evil means to acquire a noteworthy status, including making a pact with the devil and robbing an orphan of his land. As Tregeagle grew older, however, he began to feel remorse over his actions, and soon started repenting. He donated his wealth to the church in the hopes that it would cleanse him of his sins, but that was not the case. Despite his eternal agreement with Satan, the local priests felt obliged to pray for him and kept his demons at bay. Jan died, and his body was buried.

Jan Tregeagle did not remain dead. At a court hearing over some of his land, Jan Tregeagle appeared to be a witness, a ‘thin, shadowy spectre’ that ‘materialised’. It was decided that the only way Tregeagle could rest in peace was if he waited for Judgement Day. To prevent him from being dragged to hell, he was set a task to complete. If he were to stop, even for a minute, then he would be taken by the demons that pursued him.

To this day, Jan Tregeagle continues his endless task, his howls and wails loud on cold, dark nights as he contemplates the hopelessness of his situation.

The Mermaid of Zennor

Zennor, a small village not far from St. Ives, sits between the coast and the moorlands. At one of the churches, a beautiful woman used to occasionally attend. People didn’t know much about her, and her erratic appearances added to the illusion. Due to her beauty, she was the subject of many conversations. A man named Matthew was infatuated with her. After a service one Sunday, she smiled at him across the room, and he followed her outside.

Matthew was never seen again.

One Sunday morning (years later) a ship cast anchor off Pendower Cove near Zennor. Whilst the captain was sitting on deck, he heard a woman singing enchantingly. When he looked over the railing, he saw a mermaid. She explained that the ship’s anchor was on the door to her home, and she was anxious to get back to her husband, Matthew, and their children. The stranger from the church was Morveren, daughter of Llyr, king of the sea. The captain, fearing the mermaid’s nature, fled to deeper waters before returning to shore, informing the townsfolk of Matthew’s fate.

There are alternative endings to the tale, but one factor remains the same: Matthew and Morveren end up destined to be together, and eventually reside beneath the sea.