Church Legends, Folklore, and Superstitions

by Sean Mcneaney

Visit Lincolnshire's churches at the right time and you'll allegedly see strange blue lights, ghostly revellers and even the Devil playing marbles.

I have always been fascinated by the sheer number of legends attached to many of our ancient churches and ecclesiastical buildings.

Every ruined abbey and nunnery it would seem, has a spectral monk and ghostly nun originating, no doubt, from the turbulent days of the dissolution of the monasteries. In many pre-reformation churches there are carvings of strange demonical figures, certainly not subjects from the Christian pantheon, that serve as fascinating reminders of the conflict between the early Christian church and belief in the old pagan gods.

When Christianity was first introduced to Britain in the sixth century many churches were built on the site of existing pagan temples. This practice was instigated by Pope Gregory, who, in a letter to Abbot Mellitus in AD 601, writes: "I have come to the conclusion that the temples of the idols in England should not on any account be destroyed. Augustine must smash the idols, but the temples themselves should be sprinkled with holy water and altars set up in them in which relics are to be enclosed."

This was done in the hope that people would continue to frequent their traditional places of worship and gradually convert to the new Christianity. Of course this did not happen overnight, the process took many centuries, but the church, by adopting and christianising many of the pagan festivals and traditions, eventually won the battle for hearts and minds. Problems arose, however, when priests attempted to build new churches away from ‘old places of worship'. This often resulted in the foundation stones of the new church laid during the day being destroyed or moved at night by persons unknown, to a traditional place of worship.

In Lincolnshire the best example of a church moved by night is St Thomas', Dorrington. The story goes that a Saxon named Totchi tried to build a church near the centre of the village on Chapel Hill near the playgarth, using the stones from an existing pagan temple which stood on a hill half-a-mile away. But, during the night, all the stones the builders had laid that day were mysteriously moved back to the hill-top. After three successive nights of this the builders gave in and Dorrington Church was built on the hill. An inhabitant of Dorrington told the late Lincolnshire folklorist Ethel H Rudkin that there was ‘a glacial erratic similar to the Drake Stone at Anwick (which is situated outside the south gateway of Anwick churchyard), close by" and that it is likely that the ancient stone is incorporated into the foundations of Dorrington Church. Evidently the influence of the old religion was strong in the locality, as the name ‘Dorrington' means ‘Daronwy town', Daron being the pagan god of thunder. The location of the church made it an important meeting place for druids and witches. One notable witch ‘Mrs H', was often said to be seen on Dorrington's church hill in the shape of a hare, and there is a curious legend that says if you look through the keyhole of Dorrington Church door at midnight on St Thomas' Eve you will see the Devil playing marbles.

Another church built on a place of former pagan worship is All Hallows Church, Horsington, now gone, where it used to be said that on All Hallows Eve, 31st October, at midnight, twelve blue lights rise from a mound where the old church used to stand and divide themselves into groups of three. Three went to Bucknall, three to Stixwould, and Waddingworth, and three to a barn at the back of the Old Rectory at Horsington which served as a church until a new one was erected in the village. The legend possibly derives from a folk memory of the November 1st fires lit on the site of All Hallows Church in pre-Christian times to mark the beginning of the new year. In many cultures 1st November had an altogether darker significance, as this was when the spirits of those who had died in the year moved on to their appointed place. Far stronger is the ritual known as the ‘Church Porch Watch' once observed on St Mark's Eve, 24th April. This involved people holding a vigil between 11pm and 1am at the church porch or lych gate on St Mark's eve in order to observe the ghosts of those who were to die in the parish the coming year. There are two accounts of a St Mark's Eve vigil in the county, where witnesses claim to have observed spirits of the future. The best known of these occurred in 1634 at St Vincent's church, Burton, near Lincoln - a contemporary manuscript of the account is housed in the British Museum. The second occurrence, at Laceby Village Church near Spilsby, was recorded by the Revd M G Watkins in ‘The Antiquary', July 1886. Strangely it is not included in any wider volumes of folklore regarding local beliefs and customs, and it appears here (to the best of my knowledge) for the first time since its original publication:

"A curate called Vicars and a tailor named Hallywell, after ‘using divers ceremonies,' watched on the mystic eve. Vicars fell asleep, when his companion ‘sees certain shapes, and vicars amongst them, who died in ye next year.' This sight made Hallywell so aghast that he looks like a ghost ever since the number of those who died, whose phantoms Hallywell saw, was I take it about four-score."

At Glentham Church there is an old superstition that says if you drop a pin in the keyhole of the church door, then run seven times around the church without stopping, you will meet the Devil. There are numerous variations on this particular legend, for example, in the churchyard of St Thomas a Becket, Digby, can be found the tomb of one Robert Cooke, a wealthy eighteenth-century squire locally renowned for his generosity and wild parties. Indeed such was Cooke's reputation for revelry that when he died at the age of seventy-two, it was said that he continued to party beyond the grave. To hear him all you have to do is run backwards twelve times around his table-shaped tomb and if a party is in full swing you can hear the chink of glasses and the sound of merrymaking. It's worth pointing out, however, that there are two Robert Cooke's buried side by side, so for the benefit of those wishing to eavesdrop on the old squire's spectral party, listen at the tomb inscribed ‘Robert Cooke Gentleman.' The tiny medieval church of St Peter's, Markby, near Alford, is the only surviving thatched church in Lincolnshire. Legend says - but I do not advise putting it to the test - that if you run around the church three times at midnight, then hammer a nail in the door, a ghost will appear, and with it hundreds of nails previously hammered into the door - each nail signifying failed attempts to exorcise the ghost. Lincolnshire's best known legend, that of the Lincoln Imp, the tiny grinning stone gargoyle that sits high on a corbel in the Angel Choir of Lincoln cathedral, is so well known that I hardly need to repeat it here. Less well known, however, is the following legend recorded in ‘County Folklore V' (1908) attached to the two magnificent rose windows in Lincoln Cathedral known as ‘The Eyes of the Church':

" A native of the city of Lincoln has just mentioned to me that two of the circular windows, the ‘Dean's Eye' to the north and the ‘Bishop's Eye' to the south, in the cathedral have the legend of the master mason and the apprentice attached to them. The elder man designed and built a window of great beauty, but his subordinate's work, the ‘Bishop's Eye' proved to be so much finer in conception and execution that beside himself with jealousy, the master flung himself from the scaffold on which he was standing and perished on the floor below. Certain dark stains are still pointed out as the traces of his blood. On being cross-questioned the person narrating the story adds that she is not quite clear as to its tragic conclusion. The master either committed suicide or murdered the apprentice in his rage. Anyway there was death by violence, and the marks of a man's life-blood, which will never wash out, are visible, although it is said they ‘look a good deal more like furniture polish than real blood'."

The legend of the master mason and the apprentice is also attached to an elaborately carved font in St James, Frieston, near Boston, and the skilfully carved prentice pillar in the fifteenth-century chapel at Rosslyn, West Lothian, Scotland. The recurrence of themes, as the reader will have no doubt observed, is typical of numerous tales associated with many religious buildings countrywide. For example, the winds blowing around Boston Stump said to have been raised by the Devil after a fight with St Botolph, echo a similar tradition attached to Lincoln Cathedral, and other churches on the Continent. In all probability, legends such as these originated from itinerant peddlers and tradesmen, who spread their stories by word of mouth and, it seems, that in certain locations some of these tales have taken root with subtle alterations for local character and colour.