The Devil in Shropshire

We are told that the storm which hit Shrewsbury in January 1553 was biblical. The rain lashed down and thunder ripped through the sky. The frostiness of the night felt oppressive, filling the hearts and minds of the town’s inhabitants with a sense of foreboding. Fear whipped its way through the winding streets, and on this night, if we are to believe the chapbook of St Alkmund’s church, the Devil Came to Shropshire. 

This wasn’t the first time his cloven feet trod on Shropshire soil, for Shropshire is the Devil’s County, and one doesn’t have to look far to find a rich body of Folklore which concerns his exploits. Littered across the landscape are a plethora of folk tales alluding to his presence, and proclivity for the region, which he either loves or loathes depending on who you speak to. This is not to suggest that he cannot be found throughout British Folklore, as the Devil has left his mark on placenames, buildings and cultural narratives throughout the UK. He has always been there, lurking in the shadows and unseen places, a turbulent being working to undo honest folk. 

In Shropshire there is a real richness to these stories, which are often intrinsically linked to the landscape. I have always been fascinated by these stories, and growing up in Shropshire has often meant that folklore is fundamental to my understanding of the area, it is the force that illuminates the landscape, breathing life into the forgotten corners of the county. Of all our stories, perhaps the most intriguing character in Shropshire folklore is the Devil. 

Characterised by his multitudes, he walks unfettered amongst Shropshire folk, subtly interacting with his environment and influencing the poor souls that he encounters. He is the great equaliser and as we shall soon see, no one is truly safe from his guile. The Abrahamic Devil has been central to western thought since late antiquity, shaping and embodying the concept of evil in various iterations. Understandably then, such a character has bled into folk narratives, creating a concept that is influenced by religious teachings, but separate in its purpose. 

The folkloric Devil is a trickster and tempter, feckless and yet astute. He is the arbiter of justice, a moraliser and yet wicked in his schemes. He can be absurd, but also incredibly human in his portrayal. He is a character worthy of fear and yet the subject of pity, even ridicule. In truth, his characteristics are complex, but so are we. His intricacies make him even more enthralling. I believe that the Devil serves as a vehicle for the thoughts and fears of a community, in response to their own challenges. He embodies the distinct issue that a group faces. This is why the Devil of an industrialised landscape is vastly different to the Devil of the agrarian one. The Devil changes because humans change, and the way that we relate to him does.  in some ways the folkloric devil should be seen as an empty vessel, in which we can pour our confusion, insecurities and fear into.  He embodies the human experience. 

I believe that the Devil is powerful, not because of traditional ideas about good and evil, but because he is a conduit for the anxieties of whoever speaks his name. The Devil’s importance lies in the fact that people have believed in him, and acted upon this, weaving narratives across the centuries to emphasise their conviction. Consequently, he serves as a gateway to humanity, and by looking at his stories, we can gain a greater understanding of those who came before us. He is fluid, shifting and changing with every intonation, he gains further purpose with every new retelling of his tale. The folkloric Devil is human in origin, a monster of our own imaginings, we serve as his creator. It is important to note that at least in Shropshire’s context, there is not the evidence to suggest that the folkloric Devil represents an earlier belief in a pre-Christian deity, or that it embodies the medieval concept of the Devil. Many of our tales are surprisingly recent in origin and date from the 17th- 19th century, and thus provide us with a window into society during this time. 

Throughout Shropshire, the Devil is referred to in familiar terms, with epithets such as ‘Uncle Joseph’, ‘Owd Nick’, ‘Owd Scratch’ and ‘Owd Mon’ used to describe him. These appellations portray a stark familiarity and provide a sense of personhood to the forces that the Devil may represent. This is an important delineation for several reasons. They portray a stark intimacy and perhaps a sense of familiarity, cementing his place in everyday life. 

The Devil is not some distant figure, separate physically and spiritually from humankind but a character that is easily witnessed in the domestic spheres. Tangible evidence of his influence is scattered across the landscape, you just need to know where to look. These names also suggest a level of understanding, even acceptance, which allows people to administrate the ungovernable forces of nature. One could even suggest that such appellations are made to ridicule, or poke fun at the devil, reducing his cosmic power to earthlier concerns. It’s far less scary to talk about the Owd Mon or Uncle Joseph than Satan, Beelzebub or Lucifer fallen. By personifying negative forces one can begin to understand and even accept them. Even today, it is hard to wrestle with metaphysical concerns and the Devil serves as a tool to rationalise experiences that have no convenient explanation. He fills in the gaps left by life’s uncertainty. This is not to suggest that the people of the past were overly superstitious or incapable of rational though, as this is a gross underestimation. We cannot easily quantify folk belief, but it would be fair to suggest that at times, when coupled with the influence of religion, the devil was seen as an active agent in daily life. He became the subject of a great body of storytelling, which was used to express concerns, represent hardships or even as a form of entertainment. The folkloric Devil holds a mirror up to the world around us, and even when he is a subject of fear, there is a sense of comfort and of humanity in these tales. 

We are going to be exploring some of these stories in more detail throughout this article. This is by no means an exhaustive account of the Devil’s time in Shropshire (though I am attempting to create as close to this as possible with my book on the subject). Some of our stories are cautionary, imploring you to avoid a certain place or action, some are entertaining; even silly, and almost all of them portray a situation where the Devil is undone by seemingly common folk, which is perhaps as much as a message to us now as it was in the past.

I suppose our story really begins in my childhood, which may seem odd for an article about the Devil, but it will make sense soon. For when I was a child, I was told with a grave authority that my grandfather had met ‘Owd Scratch’. I never questioned it, and indeed it became cannon within my family.  Unfortunately, he is no longer with us, so I have continued to tell his story, it has weaved its way into the fabric of my own being. The beauty of this tale is that it develops, gaining a new flare every time it is shared. I suppose now it’s my turn to retell it. Whether the owd mon had really met Owd Scratch I will never know, and I don’t think It matters either way. As with any folklore, its power lies in its purpose, in the reason it continues to be told.

My grandfather met Owd Scratch in Ironbridge, near St Luke’s church, with its 109 winding steps cut into the Gorge. As a child they felt infinite, a difficult climb for small legs. St Luke’s is a later addition to Shropshire’s ecclesiastical landscape (a proportion of Shropshire’s churches have their origins pre-1066). Following the spiritual revival brought about by figures such as John Fletcher, some prominent individuals within the area believed that Ironbridge was deserving of its own church. The community largely supported this, and began to raise funds for its development, which was actualised in 1837. The church was not formally consecrated until 26 October 1837 but after that, it became a key feature in the landscape. It’s a wonderful building, and was my grandfather’s local church, though I must confess he didn’t spend much time in there, if he could help it. This was a common problem in the area it seems, as one vicar during the 19th century suggested that the main obstacle to his work saving souls was ‘indifference, drink and the passion for amusement’. 

I think my grandfather found the church experience restrictive and would have preferred to be roaming freely than to be confined to a pew. He was a practical man and even as a boy he felt that his Sunday could be better spent. It didn’t help that his mother, my great grandmother used Sunday as a social occasion, a time to catch up with friends and relatives, and learn all of the local gossip. He wanted to be out there, exploring, and probably getting up to mischief. So, one Sunday he resolved that he would act, that next Sunday would be different. He gathered his friends and quietly made plans whilst the women were clucking away oblivious. They came to the decision that they would sneak away, and quietly play cards and other games whilst the service took place. Sure, the risks were great, but the rewards, oh the rewards would be even greater. With the promise of merriment fresh in their minds, the boys went about their business that week, safe in the knowledge that they were in for a better time the following Sunday. 

Sunday came around and the boys exchanged sly glances whilst people fanned into the church. It was time, carefully they snuck away, away from the churchyard, closing the clicket behind them gently, not to rouse suspicion. They hid halfway down the bank on the covered section of St Lukes church steps. None of them really knew how it had worked, but it had! They began to amuse themselves by playing card games and having great fun. How thrilling it was, knowing they have avoided listening to the vicar go on. 

However, their fun was soon to be interrupted, by none other than Owd Scratch himself!

My grandfather felt a large, cold hand on his shoulder, and an unfamiliar voice firmly say his name. Silence drenched the gorge, and, in that moment, it seemed an eternity had passed. His heart was a drum, violently resounding in his chest. He slowly turned around.  To look upon the face of the Devil.

The details are sadly rather vague here but upon meeting the wicked one’s gaze, my grandfather noticed the terrifying smile which was painted across Owd Scratch’s face. Old Scratch told him that he needed to be careful of his choices, for if he continued to play idle games and defy the sabbath, they would meet again, and that eventually, he would forsake his mortal soul. He informed him to remember those words and told him that he would never be far away, to think of him like his own shadow. 

This story has always had such a grip on my imagination. What did he look like, Owd Scratch? Why was he in Ironbridge that day? Did my grandfather ever see him again? Such questions consumed me, which really shows his ability as a storyteller I suppose. I remember checking St Luke’s Church steps whenever I was nearby, to make sure that Owd Scratch wasn’t still there, waiting in the shadows. Once I enquired about the story, asking if he hadn’t simply met an adult or someone else from the community, to which I was informed if it would have been, he’d have been given ‘a damn good hiding and dragged back in the church’. But as I have grown the story has become even more interesting to me, and gained new meaning, especially as it mirrors so much of the storytelling traditions present in Shropshire in the 19th and 20th century. 

In my grandfather’s story, the Devil is a moraliser, imploring him to consider his actions before he makes that step onto the wrong path. This role may seem atypical; however, we see the Devil serving as an instrument of morality in a number of Shropshire’s folk tales. The Devil is there to present the worst possible outcome of my grandfather's decision, actively warning our young perpetrator of the road he is about to take. This story is almost Augustinian in its purpose, with the Devil serving as God’s instrument of correction. Perhaps then, in this context he could be seen as an embodiment of the conscience, the small speck of guilt one feels when they are doing something they shouldn’t be doing. I would also argue that my grandfather’s account should be seen as an example of ordinary people’s interactions with Devil narratives, shaping familiar ideas to their own purpose or audience. If my grandfather didn’t meet Owd Scratch, this story demonstrates his knowledge of folktales, and his creativity, employing common folkloric concepts whilst shaping the narrative in his own distinct way. I believe that my grandfather’s story has earned its place in the wider corpus of Shropshire folklore and is the perfect introduction to the Devil’s many aspects. I only wish my grandfather had provided us with a description of Owd Scratch. 

My grandfather’s story is not the end of the Devil’s time in the Ironbridge gorge. This may have something to do with the area’s history, namely its role in the Industrial Revolution. Though picturesque now, the Ironbridge Gorge, or the Severn River Valley as it was once called was at the centre of the birth of industry in Britain. Indeed, the gorge was crucial for the development of key technologies such as the coke blast furnace, steam powered locomotion, wrought, and cast iron as well as the world’s first iron wheels. As well as this, for much of the latter part of the 18th century, more coal iron was being produced in Shropshire than any other county in Great Britain. The land has not forgotten this, with the battered wrecks of blast furnaces, limekilns and foundries still littering the landscape. A third of Telford is directly affected by the results of shallow mining in the area which demonstrates the sheer scale of industry.

In its heyday, the whole region would have been alive with the hum of human activity, a busy, noisy morass of people. Industrialisation changed the course of Shropshire’s history, catapulting the population into an age of iron, furnace, and kiln. This was a changing world of opportunity, illuminated by furnace fires that never dimmed but also, it was a world of misery and misfortune. The sights, smells and sounds of industry, both day and night would have been provocative, even hellish in the minds of those there to witness. During the 18th century, ironmaking in particular was seen as ‘The most awe inspiring of industries’ a real spectacle, enthralling all those who bore witness to this seemingly alchemical process. The advent of industry in this quiet corner of Shropshire brought visitors from all over the world, who watched in equal parts fascination and horror. These visitors included Poets, writers and artists who drew from the changing landscape ‘almost apocalyptic significance’. Correspondence from the 18th and 19th century regarding the gorge is rife with Satanic imagery, with the area being likened to the bowels of hell. Thomas Harral describes the ‘flaming apertures, huge columns of smoke and… sooty labourers like demons of the lower world’ in his ‘picturesque views of the Severn’, written in 1824. An Italian visitor wrote extensively of his stay in the area in 1787, stating that.

 ‘The approach to Coalbrookdale appeared to be a veritable decent to the infernal regions. A dense column arose from the earth…a blacker cloud issued from a tower which was a forge; and smoke arose from a mountain of burning coals which burst out into turgid flame’.

He then likens the landscape to a scene from the works of Virgil. This is such an evocative description, relating the industrialised landscape to its own form of pseudo-Hell, the domain of a new kind of Devil.  How could the Devil not dwell in such otherworldly scenes? This ‘dirty, mean and ugly town’ characterised by the persistent red glow from the kilns, the flames and smog and fumes must have been a tangible embodiment of the Devils domain. A great visual representation of this landscape is ‘Coalbrookdale by Night’ by Philip James de Loutherbourg, it captures the visceral, almost uncanny quality of the industrial landscape. I believe in part, our understanding of the Devil’s role in the county has strong associations with the Industrial Revolution, which turned a once agrarian landscape into a clear expression of hellfire and brimstone. We will see this connection mirrored in places such as the Stiperstones, which too had their own industry connected to the landscape. The industrial revolution did not create the folkloric Devil, but rather centred him, and gave him a new purpose to the minds of those subjected to its rise. With all of this considered, let us journey but a mile downstream from the Ironbridge to Jackfield, which sits on the Severn’s southern bank.

 The village of Jackfield grew from the original river port and owes much of its existence to the birth of industry.  In the 1690s several large cauldrons were set up for the extraction of pitch, tar, and oil to serve the factories nearby and numerous trades were active the area, including pottery and Coalmining. Jackfield can perhaps claim to have been the home of the first railway in Shropshire (and the second in Great Britain) As in 1605 the lord of the manor at nearby Broseley constructed a wooden railway (known as a wagonway) from his coalmines to the river at Jackfield to assist the transportation of coal. Perhaps Jackfield’s most famous contribution is the Craven Dunnill Tile factory, which formed in 1872 and was to become one of Britain’s leading producers of ceramic tiles. 

Like much of the gorge, Jackfield was a hub of industry and with its active port, it was a far cry from the peaceful hamlet it is today. Certainly, it was described in the 18th and 19th century as having all of the characteristics of a seaport, being made up of cheap lodging houses, brothels, and numerous public houses Jackfield was not fit for polite society and perhaps that is why around 1896 (if we are to believe the folklore) the Devil went down to Jackfield.

The Boat Inn was full that night, with the hum of merriment audible all around the Tuckies. it was one of those long, lonely nights in the run up to Christmas, when one yearns for the warmth of drink and a log fire. The ale was flowing, and the local men were enjoying themselves after a day of hard work. Quite suddenly, they heard the heavy doors swing open. There, stood in the doorway was a strange figure. It was quickly noted that he wasn’t from the area, and he certainly seemed curious. His attire was dark and fine, far finer than anything they’d seen before. His whole countenance seemed outlandish, even eccentric; he was definitely out of place in this pub. Undeterred by the gawping locals, the stranger walked in, greeted the landlord heartedly and sat himself at the bar. There, he exchanged playful glances with the barmaids, talking sweetly in their ears, as they giggled at his advances.

In time, he grew tired of their company, and began to work his way around the room, chatting to local folk without restriction. He smiled freely and implored them to play a game of cards with him. He told them it was a popular pastime where he was from, and that he was the best player of them all. Some men refused openly, stating they’d come for a quiet drink, cursing him with colourful language, even raising their fists at him. However, the stranger used such soothing words, tempting them with promises of money, women or even gold. To rouse interest the stranger opened his coin purse to display his vast quantities of gold and coin. Some of the men were swayed then, and agreed they would play, hoping to gain their own fortune, or maybe rob him later if they lost. The stranger claimed he would give them. ‘The most enthralling game of their lives’. 

Many fell to his words and played the game. But the stranger seemed to always have the upper hand, swift as a fox he made his way around the local men, winning their hard-earned wages. Such a victory only seemed to inspire the stranger further, he walked the room, seeking out people to indulge him in his games. This time, he whispered of elaborate promises, he told the locals he could give them anything their heart desired. Of course, a few more men decided to take him up on the offer. With the ale dulling their senses it wasn’t much of a match. Soon enough, the stranger had barely anyone left to play.

However, one man had been sat quietly in a far corner of the pub, watching the events unfold. He was a gruff, solitary man, who much preferred his own company. As he watched the stranger strut around the pub like a peacock, he began to grow angry. Who was he? Why did he think he could just stroll in here and ruin the atmosphere? The man realised that the only way he could rid himself of the stranger would be to challenge him, and win. So, he stood up and in a resounding voice bellowed. 

 ‘I will give you a game’.

Thus, the two began to play. This was a formidable match up, and the stranger grew more frustrated with each hand. Frustration made him clumsy; he slammed the cards on the table and grumbled to himself, desperate to gain the upper hand. The longer they played, the more careless he got and at one point he scattered the playing cards all across the table, onto the floor below. The Stranger scrambled to pick it up, but before he could the man had reached down and looked under the table.

He was greeted by a pair of great black hooves…

He recalled in horror, letting out a cry,

 We’ve been playing cards with the Devil! 

Before he could act any further, a great gust of wind raged through the pub, blowing the heavy doors open again. The walls shook, pint glasses smashed, and pictures fell from their hooks. This wind was so strong that it swept the Devil out of the building, laughing, and spitting curses as he went.

One can only assume that had the games continued, the souls of those in the Boat Inn may have been at stake, as Owd Scratch only bets with the highest stakes.

There is something so wonderful about this tale, and it is definitely worthy of focusing now on deconstructing some of the key ideas. Here, we see the Devil in a more traditional form, the tempter, whispering promises, influencing their actions, twisting people to ensure they will partake in his games. The motif of the Devil as a mysterious stranger is found in one form or another in the folklore of various parts of the UK, including the Scottish Highlands and Wales. Often, we also see that this mysterious stranger is linked in one way or another to card games or gambling. Though the bible doesn’t explicitly condemn the vice of gambling, it cautions people of the moral corruption caused by a love of money and greed. Timothy 6:10 for example states ‘the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil. Some people, eager for money, have wandered from the faith and pierced themselves with many griefs’.  In the past, gambling was seen as a social and moral issue, linked to drinking and other unchristian behaviour. Gambling and the Devil are often intrinsically linked, and this is not just within folkloric narratives. one does not have to look far to find evidence in literary spheres of the Devil gambling, often with the most extreme of outcomes.

There are several tales which link the Devil to a specific area and often such an association is used to implore the listener to avoid that place. Acton Burnell in Shropshire is home to several of these stories. The first is linked to a stretch of road which runs from Acton Burnell/ Ruckley to Cardington. On this road lay a rough stretch of cobble stone of about 30 yards in length, which is believed to be the remains of a Roman road. However, folklore tells us that it was built in a single night by the Devil, to aid him on his nefarious travels. This stretch of road was known as the Devil’s Causeway and is haunted by the Devil still. 

Certainly, the Devil is believed to wander this road still, and mostly appears to anyone who chooses to walk this path at midnight. Owd Scratch takes the form of a man riding a white horse (sometimes with horns and hooves like a goat or cow and far taller than any mortal man). He has tasked himself with judging the souls of those who are caught out late. If you have lived a good life, you may pass unheeded as the Devil knows he cannot harm you. You will live to tell of your encounter and warn future travellers of the dangers.  However, if you are a wretched soul, the Devil is free to beat you to a ‘bloodied pulp’. Certainly, this seems like an extreme fate, but if you consider the risks associated with travel, especially on isolated rural roads at night, you can begin to understand the reason such stories develop. 

I would argue that the purpose of this story is to emphasise the risks of the human world, the Devil is thus a conduit for the fears inspired by long, open roads and dark nights. Perhaps a harrowing crime occurred on the stretch of road long ago, so horrible people resolved that only the Devil could have done it, we will never know, however this story clearly serves as a deterrent. A similar analogy for the threats associated with travel can be found in the folk tale of Ippikin, who terrorised the area around Presthope. During the medieval period whole stretches of Wenlock Edge were plagued by bandits and robbers, and it was genuinely seen as unsafe to travel this route. Consequently, Ippikin’s story typified this fear in the same way our Devil narrative does.

Our next tale takes place not too far from the causeway, by the side of an old Roman road, with banks on either side. Halfway down the bank there sits a ferny, flowery area, surrounded by ancient trees of Yew, Holly, and Ash. Here a ‘beautiful spring which drips into a rocky basin’ which is known locally as ‘Frog Well’. Sadly, the exact location of Frog Well has not been confirmed, having been lost in the 1800s. Despite this, the spring has a long history, perhaps even predating Christianity, and has been used for centuries. Its waters are said to never fail, and it is believed to have powerful healing properties for the eyes. This is certainly an idyllic scene, perhaps more suited to fairies or water nymphs, but they are not the subject of this story. Indeed, Frog Well is a favourite for the Devil. 

It is believed that he is often seen to be around the well, accompanied by a few of his closest imps. Of course, they all take on the form of frogs, to avoid detection. Owd Scratch is the biggest frog and seems to be the most concerned with being recognised, so he is said to spend most of his time deep underwater. The imps however are smaller frogs, and seen more often, perhaps serving as a warning to leave the Devil in peace. I love this folktale for so many reasons, especially because it seems as if the Devil is using this sleepy corner of the County as a place to unwind. However, it has deeper meaning; water sources such as Frog Well were often at the centre of worship in pre-Christian times, with gods and deities being attached to them, and ritualistic behaviour often continued long after the advent of Christ. Frog Well would be no different. Perhaps then the tale attempts to deter those who may still take part in such rituals, warning them than worshipping non-Christian entities open your heart out to the Devil. There may also be a more grounded explanation. If you consider the dangers of being around open bodies of water, especially during a time where swimming wasn’t the norm, this story could be deterring people from their watery grave.

Plaish Hall has a long and formidable history, now a private dwelling, it was built in 1580 and was once home to William Leighton. William Leighton was chief justice to the area and one of the notorious ‘Hanging Judges’ (alongside Judge Jeffries) notorious for their cruelty. The building has its own gruesome ghost story (which you may have read about in one of my previous posts) as well as being associated with Owd Scratch. Indeed, Plaish Hall played host to the Devil once.

One Sunday night, a group of Clergymen descended onto the hall, for an evening of gaming and merriment. They were drinking and enjoying themselves greatly, when one suggested they should play some cards (a pattern seems to be emerging here). So, they began to play, and mid-way through the game, the Devil appeared. The men were stricken with fright but managed to run away from the hall and to the safety of the surrounding area. Well, that is all except one man, who was frozen stiff with fear, and left alone with the Devil. After a few days, guilt got the better of the men, and they returned to the hall, to try and understand what happened to their friend. Upon arrival, he was nowhere to be seen, however, in the spot he once stood, a substantial blood stain covered the floor. This blood stain is said to be indelible, as a reminder of Owd Scratch’s power.

There are other areas which have satanic connections. An anecdote from ‘A sheaf of Gleanings’ by Charlotte Burne and Georgina Jackson states (albeit rather vaguely) that near Horderley in Craven Arms there is a hill which has a boulder on top known as the Devil’s Stone. It is generally believed that children used to gather berries and place them in the holes of the stone as an offering to the Devil, and if you ran around the stone 20 times, he would appear to you. It isn’t mentioned what happens next.

The Devil can also be found near the River Clun at Clunbury there is a building known as Chapel Farm. Widespread belief states that Chapel Farm became a farm due to the Devil’s campaign of terror. He disrupted sermons, and spent the night tormenting the village with loud, nocturnal noises. Eventually the congregation of the church fled in terror, leaving it abandoned. Though both anecdotes give us little information, they go part of the way in demonstrating how entrenched Satan is in local folklore.

The following story suggests Satan was influencing Shropshire folk as late as 1915. Indeed, a group of women known only as ‘the women from Prees and Whitchurch’ told writer Edmund Vale that the Rector at Ightfield had secret dealings with the Devil. They informed him that the Rector sacked a garden boy for being cheeky, sending him on his way back to the village. He bumped into the boy later in the day and asked him what he was doing. The boy replied that he was trying to find a job, and the rector sniggered, telling him that ‘he would never find a place again’ before leaving. After this encounter, the boy started to feel strange, and quickly fell ill. The doctor was called, and the boy told him he’d been feeling well until having spoken to the Rector. He recounted their conversation, before telling him that after the Rector had driven off, a strange shadow had appeared in the road and wouldn’t leave his side. Even as they were speaking, the boy said the shadow creature was with them. Three days later the poor boy died, having shivered ceaselessly since that fateful conversation. I think this is a very interesting story, which could certainly have a medical explanation, however it demonstrates the level of superstition, and belief in the power of the Devil which still hung on into the 20th century.

Throughout Shropshire folklore, we are given an insight into what people believed about the Devil through fragments of folk belief that were recorded by Charlotte Burne or other notable folklorists, many of which concern charms to keep him away. Horseshoes were a notable example, which have a whole plethora of protective qualities. Around the Severn valley and Shrewsbury, Horseshoes were attached to boats by bargemen to ensure a safe journey, and also to ensure that the Devil did not disrupt sermons. In more rural areas, branches of thorns were concealed above the entrance to a home, as the Devil was repelled by sharp objects. A further example of apotropaic markings to prevent the Devil can be found in Eaton under Heywood in Shropshire. It was custom to draw knot like patterns on the threshold with oak, elder or dock leaves to prevent the devil from entering. This, coupled with other protective devices, like the simple crosses of rowan wood which were meant to stop both witches and the Devil would have protected the household from the otherworldly threat. 

There were certain locations where the Devil was said to have greater power and exert a stronger influence than others. One of which was anywhere narrow, or difficult to pass. A village style typified this and was described as a favourite resort of Owd Scratch. He was said to cause calamities here for travellers. However, his destructive power could be prevented if you turned an item of clothing inside out, before crossing. It was noted that some women even did this with their dresses to stop the Devil. I believe this symbolises a belief in the Devil’s ability to impede progress and its interesting that this belief was being reported as late as 1904. 

Similarly, in some parts of Shropshire, it was believed that you must never look back after starting out on a journey, this was because the Devil lingered close by, waiting to claim your soul. This emphasises the danger of travelling which must have felt very real to inhabitants of the past.

On the Shropshire’s side of Offa’s Dyke, it was once believed that the landmark was a furrow, cut by the Devil in a single night with a plough. This was not an ordinary plough however, as it was pulled by a gander and a turkey, which is certainly an evocative image. We are also told that the Clee Hills area was a stronghold of the Devil, with many who dwelt there under his power.   

In all of Shropshire, the Stiperstones is perhaps the place most synonymous with the Devil. Certainly, the Devil’s association with The Stiperstones is perhaps one of the longest in the country. By 1595, the rock formation was already known as the Devil’s bridge and was seen as a centre of his power. Cutting through the landscape are several imposing rocky outcrops, the most famous of which is The Devil’s chair.  

The Devil’s chair is the subject of a great body of folklore, almost all of which is associated with its namesake. It is said that Owd Scratch was heading back through the hills, after spending some time in Ireland. He carried with him a quantity of large stones, in his apron pocket, which he was planning to use to fill up a valley known as Hell’s Gutter, which was not far from the area. (Alternative versions suggest he was planning to dam the River Severn and flood the whole of Shropshire). Interestingly, there are similarities between this and the Wrekin’s origin story, which was initially said to have been caused by the Devil and not a giant, which is the more popular tale. 

As one can imagine, carrying stones comes with its own set of challenges. It had been a long journey, and he was beginning to feel the strain. Quite suddenly, his apron strings snapped, scattering the stones around him. This infuriated the Devil, and even to this day he is said to jump up and down on the stones, trying to force them back to earth. When he succeeds, it is believed that England will fall. Charlotte Burne recounts this from a source she refers to as ‘Owd Netherley’ an old lame man who ‘used to lug coal with a cart and two donkeys about the Condover county’. He states that the Devil hates Shropshire vehemently, due to it being a county of ‘good protestants...who read the bible’. So, he spends his time sitting on the chair, hoping that his weight will force it to earth and bring about the ruin of England. Another story suggests that the Devil uses the ‘Devil’s Chair’ exactly as the name suggests, a chair, or throne, to watch out over the whole of the county and plan his evil deeds. A local belief states that if you spend the night sitting on the Devil’s Chair, you will either be inspired or be driven insane. Perhaps some of you are brave enough to try.

Though a popular walking destination now, it was generally believed to be a dangerous place particularly on the longest night of the year. This is when the Devil is most present. He sits like the king of the hills, and calls forth all the county’s diabolic followers, witches, ghosts, warlocks, and cruel spirits, to judge their misdeeds, as they partake in the most important black mass of the year, culminating in the election of the king of evil for the following year. This is such a powerful image, and certainly cements Shropshire’s place in the cannon of Satanic folklore.

The storm that hit Shrewsbury in January 1553 was unlike anything anyone had ever seen. It caused rain to lash down and thunder so loud, it felt as if the sky was being torn asunder. And on this night, the Devil came to Shropshire. Cloaked by the storm he clawed his way up the spire, destroying part of the clock on his way, (which is still missing), and struck the bell violently, melting the imprint of his claws upon it, claiming it as his own. Folklore states that it was the fourth of the seven bells in which he left his mark, which was sadly recast in 1812. It is believed that he still spends time in Shrewsbury, perching on the spire, watching, and waiting. The Devil isn’t quick to anger, but if something displeases him a storm will follow. Thus, when you hear the distant rumbles of thunder, it probably means that Owd Scratch is unhappy.