Several of the old moorland farms have the word ‘warren’ after their name: Ditsworthy Warren, Huntingdon Warren and there is the Warren House Inn, the third highest pub in Britain, we are told. They were all farms where rabbits were bred commercially, the oldest being Trowlesworthy Warren which dates back to 1272. If you visit the ‘warrens’, which I hope you will, you can often find the remains of the old burrows that were constructed of stones and earth where the rabbits lived and bred. Nets and dogs were used to catch the rabbits and at Ditsworthy Warren you can still see the stone dog kennels made in the walls of the yard behind the farm.
I need to make passing reference to a few of the other industries that have brought man onto Dartmoor and in all cases have changed the landscape by his exploitation of the resources. Peat-cutting, quarrying, china clay mining and forestry all fall into this category. Of these four, only peat cutting is no longer carried out on Dartmoor on a commercial basis, but the remains of the old workings at Rattlebrook are well worth a visit and there are many large areas near the tinners’ works and mines and the old farms where there is plenty of evidence of the peat cuttings of the past.
I have not been able to mention all the activities of man such as the moormen, the packhorse routes, the cutting of peat-passes, the building of the prison at Princetown or the Dartmoor crosses but I hope to make up for some of these omissions in the Guide itself. However, I will end with what many consider a highly controversial use of Dartmoor by man and that is the activities of the military.
Of course it is nothing new and there were military manoeuvres on Dartmoor as far back as the 1860s, and from that time on firing and exercises have taken place on the various ranges that have been created. I need not dwell on the various licences and Bills that make it possible but all of you who walk on Dartmoor have to be aware that on quite a number of days of the year large areas of the north moor are closed for use and that you need to check always in newspapers, local post offices and other centres to make sure that there is no firing taking place; a subject I shall return to later.
Above and below:Dartmoor Ponies
Legends of Dartmoor
As man has lived on Dartmoor since prehistoric times and as the landscape itself is often mysterious, it is no wonder that there are many legends and folk tales to be heard. Many of them of course are to explain some of weird features of the moor or to give an explanation to some unaccountable occurrence. Again, as might be expected, many of the stories are linked to the Devil and perhaps the best known comes from my own village Widecombe-in-the-Moor.
However, this legend starts in the Tavistock Inn, Poundsgate where some of the locals were enjoying a pint on the morning of Sunday, 21 October 1638. They heard the sound of a galloping horse approaching and then suddenly the door burst open and a tall, dark stranger entered. There was something sinister and foreboding about him but the people in the inn shrugged it off as the stranger ordered a tankard of ale. He paid with gold and raised the tankard to his lips. As the beer went down his throat there was a loud sizzling noise and the locals drew back in horror and astonishment. Within a moment the pot was empty and the Devil, for it was surely him, swept out of the bar and the sound of his horse galloping off towards Widecombe could be heard in the silent inn. Later when the landlady opened her till, after drawing a great many pints to calm the nerves of her customers, she discovered that the gold given to her by the stranger had turned to withered, autumnal leaves!
The scene now shifts to Widecombe church and a young, dissolute tinner called Jan Reynolds who was a heavy drinker and gambler with a weakness for the cards and the girls; something of a ‘no good boyo’! It appears that he had sold his soul to the Devil for money, to pay his numerous debts, forgetting, as is often the case, that eventually there has to be a day of reckoning.
On this particular Sunday Jan had spent quite some time in the Old Inn before the service and now was slumped at the back of the church very much the worse for drink and playing cards to while away the time during the sermon. But quite soon, with the combination of the drink and maybe the sermon, Jan fell asleep. No sooner had he dozed off, than with incredible suddenness, a terrible storm blew up with ferocious winds, thunder and lightning. The congregation cowered in their pews and then with a loud explosion and, I am sure, fire, brimstone and a smell of sulphur, the Devil appeared through a hole in the roof of the tower, seized Jan by the scruff of his neck and before anyone could move, shot back to the top of the tower, where he had tied his horse to one of the pinnacles, taking the hapless Jan with him. With a final thunderbolt the Devil rode off with Jan in tow, sending the pinnacle to which he had tied his horse crashing down into the churchyard. They were sighted passing over the Warren House Inn, the last hostelry Jan Reynolds was ever to see, and then he vanished forever.
Looking towards Saddle Tor, Low Man and Hay Tor from Rippon Tor, Walk 23
Take this story as you will but there are parish records of a terrible storm on Sunday, 21 October 1638 in which four people were killed and 62 injured in Widecombe church. This storm has a place in the Guinness Book of Records as the worst tornado ever to have taken place in the United Kingdom.
I could fill a book with the numerous other legends there are but let me whet your appetite by mentioning a few more in the hope that you will be able to find out the stories yourself. First Jay's Grave on which, it is said, there are always flowers to be found. Then the Hairy Hands, seen and felt, if you were to believe the legend, where the Cherrybrook flows under the road near Powder Mills. Or Childe the Hunter, who in Norman times was caught in a blizzard while out hunting on the moor near Fox Tor Mines. To try to protect himself from the freezing storm Childe killed his horse and crept into the carcase but to no avail; his body was found by the monks of Tavistock Abbey, who because of the conditions of his will written in the horse's blood, were left his lands at Plymstock for giving him a Christian burial. A 19th-century cross over a kistvaen marks the spot where Childe was supposed to have died: Childe's Tomb on the map.
Then there is the Coffin Stone near Dartmeet. Or the story of Benjie of Cranmere Pool. Or the Dewerstone or Devil's Stone where he is supposed to hunt with his pack of Whist hounds, coal black creatures with eyes of flame. Hound Tor has the same legend. Near Hound Tor is the Bowerman's Nose, another hunter, turned to stone this time. Then there are Branscombe's Loaf and Cheese, Lady Mary Howard, the White Bird of the Oxenhams, the Hound of the Baskervilles. The list is endless.
Dartmoor today
Dartmoor was one of the first National Parks in the British Isles and dates from 30 October 1951. The headquarters and offices are at Parke, Bovey Tracey, Devon TQ13 9JQ, telephone 01626 832093.
This guide is no place to enter into the controversies and politics that surround the National Parks in Britain and in particular the Dartmoor National Park. The pressures on such areas of wild beauty, from those of you who, I hope, will want to walk on the moor to the many thousands who just drive up there in their cars and coaches and look for parking space, through to those with commercial interests such as farming, forestry, military training, china clay works and dams for water, not to mention building roads within the boundaries of the National Park are enormous. I read somewhere that more terrible things have happened to Dartmoor since it became a National Park than ever before it was designated!
Clearly as the pressures of urban life build up, more and more people will want to escape into the quiet and peace of the countryside, but do they really want that? I sometimes doubt it when I see the crowded car parks at Dartmeet, Princetown, Widecombe, Postbridge and New Bridge. So there has to be control, discipline, money and understanding care to make sure that Dartmoor still retains its beauty and wildness without, on the one hand, stifling and thwarting those who have to make a living on the moor, on the other, making the National Park like some awful exhibit never to be changed, with tight controls for entry and concrete paths to walk on as you find in some of the American Parks.
For people to