From Chagford we reach the open moorland by climbing Tincombe (Teigncombe) Hill, and we must follow the South Teign if we wish to examine the Fernworthy circle or the Grey Wethers. But we shall probably be more attracted by what was once a genuine moor town, as its name implies. Moreton Hampstead, no longer properly on the moor, though it once was, is the starting-place of the single true road that leads across Dartmoor, passing Two Bridges on its way to Buckland, Tavistock, and Plymouth. The ancient central trackway, which is far older, being connected with the Fosseway, also ran from Moreton. Though linked to great roads from the shires, there is nothing to show that the Romans ever used this track, or that they ever entered Dartmoor at all.
Perhaps Moreton is an even better centre for visiting the moor than Chagford, and it is quite as attractive in itself, with its interesting but despoiled church, and its fine arcaded almshouses, dating from 1637. The inhabitants, however, deplore the loss of their old "dancing-tree", an elm growing from the mutilated base of a granite cross. This tree was supposed to be over 300 years old, and it succumbed a few years since to age and many infirmities. Balls and concerts were given on a platform built on the massive branches. The tree has received literary honour in Blackmore's Christowell. It is from Moreton that we can best reach Grimspound, with its twenty-four hut-circles. The pound encloses about four acres, surrounded by a double wall of granite blocks. Scattered in the neighbourhood are other hut-circles, barrows, and stone alignments.
Bowerman's Nose (Celtic veor-maen, or great stone) is nearer to Manaton; it is a natural freak of weathered granite, 40 feet in height, standing at an elevation of about 1300 feet above sea level. Many foolish conjectures have been magnified into supposed fact by those who have taken this and other Dartmoor features to be the work of man. Manaton itself, with its own tor rising behind the church, is a beautiful little village, rendered more lovely by the River Bovey.
It is the fall of the Becka brook into the Bovey that provides the popular Becky Falls; but in summer, as Mr. Baring-Gould says, this is rather a water trickle than a waterfall; in autumn and winter, when fewer visitors see it, the stream is a turbulent torrent. Not far distant is the beautiful Lustleigh Cleave, which though not on the moor is thoroughly moorland in its character and its antiquities. So hugely piled are the boulders at its foot that the river is generally quite out of sight, to be heard but not seen.
But to get to a typical moorland parish we must not linger at Lustleigh; we must go out to Widecombe, and by whatever road we reach it we shall understand the sad fate of Tom Pearce's old mare. Widecombe is in a hollow surrounded by heights and tors (it must be understood that the word tor is only used where the granite actually protrudes from the soil). Bel, Rippon, and Hey Tors are on one side, Hamildon Down on the other. The valley, which is only low in comparison with the surrounding hills, was much worked in days out of date by the tin-streamers, and there is a plentiful growth of pines and sycamores above the traces they left.
The village is a small thing, but it looms large in moorland traditions, not only because of its famous sheep fair, nor because its church is the finest on Dartmoor, but because the Devil himself paid the spot some very personal attentions at one time, and indeed was once reported to have lived here. It was on an October Sunday in the year 1638 that a stranger riding through Poundsgate enquired the way to Widecombe, and, being given a drink, it was noticed that the liquor actually hissed as it passed down his throat. The folk were gathered at afternoon service when there came on a great darkness, followed, as Prince tells us, by a "terrible and fearful thunder, like the noise of many guns, accompanied with dreadful lightning, to the great amazement of the people, the darkness still increasing that they could not see each other". Ere long there came an extraordinary flame, filling the church with a "loathsome smell like brimstone", and a ball of fire fell through the roof. The folk all dropped terror-stricken to the floor. A large beam hurled itself down between the parson and the clerk, yet neither was hurt; others were less fortunate, four being killed and sixty-two injured. At last a man ventured to propose: "Shall we go out from the church?" but the parson answered: "Let us make an end of prayer, for it is better to die here than in another place".
There is little in the present building to recall this terrible visitation, in which it is clear that a most violent thunderstorm has assumed a permanent place in Devonshire folklore; but its story is told in a versified narrative hanging on the tower wall. This tower, though certainly struck by lightning on the occasion, was not destroyed; and it remains, reaching the height of 120 feet, a model of impressive Perpendicular. The woodwork of the roof is also excellent, and the surviving pictured panels show how fine the screen was before being cut down in 1827. So large a church seems to indicate a thicker population in early days, perhaps when the tin working was at its best; and it is stated that the tower itself was erected voluntarily by successful tinners.
At the September fair there is still a lively gathering of moor sheep, moor horses, and moormen, and the chatter has a rich Devonian intonation, with a delightful smack of the soil. Widecombe is one of the so-called Venville parishes, Venville being a word of doubtful origin (sometimes written Wangfield), which probably signifies a kind of feudal tenure. These parishes were freehold with certain attached services, and their inhabitants had a prescriptive right to all uses of the moorland except those of "vert and venison"—that is, of gathering green wood or killing the deer. There was never much green wood to gather on the moor itself, and the deer have long since departed, unless when one occasionally wanders over from Exmoor. The moorland proper, technically the Forest, is surrounded by commons, outside which are the Venville parishes; and these commons were formerly of far wider extent, having been sadly curtailed by "newtakes" and enclosures, sometimes by the authorities of the Duchy, sometimes by lords of the different manors, sometimes by moor-settlers themselves. A small fee is demanded by the Duchy for all cattle pastured on the moor by outsiders, the cattle of the moormen grazing free; and there are periodical "drifts", when each Venville proprietor claims his own, and "foreigners" have to pay the tax.
Widecombe on the Moor
(Page 38)