With its mists, bogs and will o' the wisp, Dartmoor has always been surrounded with stories of ghosts and mysterious legends. Moretonhampstead with its old buildings and ancient history has more than its share.
The White Horse Inn in the centre of the town welcomes all visitors but is reputed to have not one ghost but a whole family of them. They range from the top-hatted man who is such a regular sighting that no one remarks on him. An unseen presence in one bedroom caused a former landlord a very sleepless night indeed. The inn has seen many changes over the years and what was once a coach yard is now covered in but you can still hear the cries of the maids run over by a coach in the past. Can anyone explain why an empty cupboard suddenly becomes icy cold and a dog lead left there was impossible to hold. Beware too the swing doors that sometimes have a life of their own and open by themselves. Then there is always George (we have to call him something) who turns the beer taps on and off in the cellar even though the heavy trap doors are tightly shut.
A German visitor was so struck by the White Horse and the strange goings on that he wrote a play all about it. He then brought the cast of the first production over to visit the scene but none of whom slept too well that night.
The Square showing the White Horse Inn earlier this Century.
A little further along in Cross Street look out for Bow Lane one of the most ancient parts of Moretonhampstead. A regular ghostly inhabitant leaves one of the thatched cottages, not by the door as one would suppose but through the wall. All ghosts no doubt wish to show they don't need doors. This gentle lady is quite small and clad in a long dress and bonnet and carries her basket over her left arm. She makes her way up Bow Lane to do her shopping but halfway along she slowly fades from sight. No one knows who she is or why she never completed her shopping expedition. However, it is curious that she is always referred to with kindness and gratitude and even as my "guardian angel."
All visitors to Moreton should go and see our ancient and beautiful church of St Andrews. On your way pass the Cross Tree or Dancing Tree, unhappily not the original but one planted only a hundred years ago. In Napoleonic times the population of Moreton was increased by many French officer prisoners of war. They entertained themselves and the town by providing an orchestra which played in a platform built in the original Dancing Tree. Yes, the locals and French alike danced around the base of the tree fortified no doubt from the public house now known as Cross Tree House. Sometimes the French prisoners were exchanged with their English counterparts and could return home. One such prisoner who played the fiddle in the orchestra sadly died the day before his carnet of exchange was received and is buried in the churchyard. His gravestone can be seen in the church doorway and on a quiet night at the Dancing Tree you can hear him fiddling still with the long dead orchestra.
Through the churchyard and on to the Sentry, a local name which is not all it seems. If
you want to know more you must ask but you won't see any ghosts there although there is
one on patrol and has been for a long time. You really need a dog to help you but that is
another story.
Welcome to Moreton where the ghosts and the locals are all friendly!
E B Hobson. (Ghost Finder General)
