The Devil’s Talon

As you are probably aware by now, I am rather fond of stories about Satan. Littered across Shropshire folklore are tales of the devil’s proclivity for the region, and his entanglements with common folk. Characterised by his multitudes, he walks unfettered amongst us, and is the subject of a great body of folklore. The Devil, or Owd Scratch if we are to use one of his local names, is a distinct and wonderful entity, he is trickster and tempter, and even moraliser, he is a conduit for the anxieties of whoever speaks his name. He is also linked to the darkest months, a lord of winter in this land. From his throne on the Stiperstones, he calls forth all of his most wicked followers on the winter solstice, to perform the most important black mass of the year. There are celebrations and pledges of fealty before he judges his followers for their malevolence. One must tread with caution, lest you awaken his power. In the same vein is the following tale, which reaches its climax on Christmas Eve. Let us travel to Minsterley now, to the fine timber building known as Minsterley hall, to share the story of the Devil’s talon…

Minsterley Hall was first mentioned in 1581 as ‘A handsome new house’ built for Robert Clough. It has a long and interesting history, and during the Victorian period it was believed to ‘hold the character of being haunted’ with phenomena including stone throwing, loud banging and other unexplainable noises being heard. However, we are to give our attention to a darker period in its history and its associations with the Devil.

Our story takes place during the middle of the Georgian period, when Minsterley hall was abandoned after its owner had passed away. There was much discussion in the local area about who would be the one to take on the property. Perhaps it would be on of the notable’s from the surrounding area. One can imagine the surprise when the community found out that a stranger had took over Minsterley hall! This stranger was a gentlemen who purported to be from Shropshire (though there doubts of the authenticity of such, as no one knew of him or his family) who had returned to the area after making his fortune abroad. Not long after he had brought the property, shipments of luxurious furniture and other trinkets began being shipped to the hall from Italy and other far-flung places. It was of the most remarkable quality, and not like anything seen before. The man was vague about how he’d made his fortune, which made the community rather sceptical about him. As well as this, after just a short time within the county, the man’s fortune seemed to double. Indeed, he was doing very well for himself. It seemed, to the local folk that perhaps he was doing too well, and unnatural forces were at play. People began to whisper about the stranger, believing that he had sold his soul to the archfiend, to Owd Scratch himself!

The man did his best to ingratiate himself within the happenings of the area, though he kept much about his personal life a secret, even avoiding visitors to the property. This was, however until the week before Christmas. People from all over Shropshire began to receive invitations, in beautiful, gilded script, imploring them to come to the Christmas party at Minsterley Hall. It promised to be a wonderful occasion and coupled with the natural curiosity developing about the stranger, many people accepted the invite graciously.

Christmas Eve came, and the great and good of the county all came to Minsterley hall, and they were greeted by a fantastic site. The party was the most spectacular event ever seen in the county, with an exquisite banquet, fine drink, and pleasant company. No expense was spared it seemed, and It was decided that the stranger was a spectacular chap. After an evening of great merriment, the ladies retired to the music room, and the men went to one of the drawing rooms to drink and smoke and play cards with the host. They were having a merry time, until it was interrupted by an unholy sound, echoing across the whole property. It seemed to be becoming from the great avenue of trees that lead up to the house. It sounded like an awful, disembodied scream of ‘YOU ARE MINE’. The voice got closer and closer, and seemed to get louder with each time. There was great panic in the men’s room, as the cards and drinks were scattered. A couple of the more stout-hearted chaps peaked gingerly out of the window. They were greeted with a terrifying sight. A fiery red, tall figure dominated the skyline, running furiously towards the house. The men screamed in fright and fled from the house, followed quickly after by the women. They sheltered amongst the hedges, and watched as the awful figure grew larger and engulfed the whole house in red gold flames.

The events were over as quickly as they began. The people stood, suspended in their own horror. What on earth had just happened? After some time, they realised that the stranger was not amongst them. A strange sense of foreboding filled the air. Some of the group plucked up the courage to return to the house, to try and find out what had happened. Upon entering, they were greeted with a tumult. The previous finery had been destroyed, fabrics torn, the floor was littered with shards of glass and broken chinaware. Heavy wooden furniture had been thrown around the building like toys, and angry splinters of wood stood upright imposingly.

After a short while, they found the remains of the stranger. He lie broken, underneath a large, overturned table. Great gashes covered his body, the worst had nearly torn him in two. His life blood stained his white sheet and the carpet underneath, and perhaps most chillingly, a great sharp talon, black as pitch, was embedded in the dead mans eye.

It seemed that Owd Scratch had come to claim his prize.

One of the things I love about this narrative is that it can be seen in opposition to some of Shropshire’s other Satanic folklore. Here the Devil reigns supreme, a powerful primal entity. He is unlike the character that is undone by common folk. He seems to deliver vengeance against the wealthy and powerful, and perhaps is a comment against excessive wealth and frivolity. Many of these folk narratives would have been part of the working-class oral tradition, so perhaps they serve as a reminder that those in power or elevated positions are not always worthy of such an exalted place. It’s a reminder of the corruptive influence of excess and selling out oneself in pursuit of such will only end in misfortune. I want to briefly mention another piece of Satanic folklore now, which is again set within one of Shropshire’s stately homes, which is very much in the same vein as the Devil’s talon.

Plaish Hall has a long and formidable history. Built in 1580 it was the one-time home of the formidable William Leighton, chief justice to the area and one of the notorious ‘Hanging Judges’ (alongside Judge Jeffries) who can be characterised by their cruelty. The building actually has its own gruesome ghost story (which you may have read about in one of my previous posts), but we are going to discuss its association with Owd Scratch, who visited the home one dark winters night.

We are told it was a Sunday night in December when a group of Clergymen descended onto the hall, for an evening of gaming and merriment. They drank strong liquor and gambled, greatly enjoying their evening playing card games long into the night. When the clock struck midnight however, a terrible being manifested in front of them. Owd Scratch had appeared, as if from nowhere, he lurked over them, cloven footed with a menacing grim. The men were stricken with fright but managed to run away from the hall and to the safety of the surrounding area. However, upon seeing that visage of evil one man was frozen stiff, petrified, leaving him alone with the Devil. The fleeing clergy avoided the house and returned to their respective homes and spent the next few days trying to blot out the memory with both drink and prayer. However, after a while, some of the men were so plagued by guilt, that they decided to return to the hall, to try and find their friend.

 Upon arrival, they were greeted by an awful site.  In the spot where their friend once stood, a man-sized blood stain covered the floor. This blood stain is said to be indelible, as a reminder of Owd Scratch’s power.

This is a wonderfully evocative story and is ripe with symbolism. The idea of the very men who should be paragons of virtue, the clergy upending the sabbath with such immoral behaviour is a criticism of the church, but also demonstrates that often those who are the most vocal in their criticism of sin, are probably doing something worse. Its interesting to see Owd Scratch serving as a moraliser here, destroying those who do not participate in Christian observance, as in several stories he maintains this role.

Owd Scratch is the lord of Winter in Shropshire. This truly is his season…