...heaven did not seem to be my home, and I broke my heart with weeping to come back to earth; and the angels were so angry that they flung me out into the middle of the heath on top of Wuthering Heights, where I woke sobbing for joy."
Catherine Earnshaw, from Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte 1818 - 1848
The moors, around Devon in England's West Country, are ravaged by westerly winds, bringing with them unsettled and windy weather, particularly in winter, and the winds in spring and early summer bring the heavy mists . One can clearly imagine Emily Bronte's Catherine and Heathcliff, of Wuthering Heights, standing at the top of one of the crags, his arms around her, her back to him, her head resting on his chest, staring out across to Wuthering Heights. Catherine's long, thick hair and dress skirts blowing wildly, Heathcliff's wild tangle of curls ruffled and forced back off his dark and passionate brow - locked for all eternity in their forbidden love for each other and their beloved heather moorland.
There is a lot more than wild, abandoned love and romance among the moors. The moors seem to bring out the passion of lovers as well as the passion of murderers, and the eternal wanderings of ghostly hounds. This is where Squire Cabell supposedly murdered his wife in 1677. This is where the faithful hound of the murdered bride returns each year to haunt the ancestors of Cabell. This is where Sherlock Holmes encountered the
Tales of a large black hellhound with malevolent flaming eyes of red, the Black Shuck, or the Doom Dog runs wild throughout the moors. It is said that his appearance bodes ill to the beholder and terrifies his victims then leaves them with the horrifying nightmares that plaque them in their sleep at night.
Sometimes the Black Shuck has appeared headless, and at other times he appears to float on a carpet of mist. According to folklore, the spectre often haunts graveyards, sideroads, crossroads and dark forests and the moors of England, just as the monstrous hound that Sherlock Holmes' was searching for.
The Black Shuck drifts in from the restless seas and can take on many forms other than a black dog the size of a donkey. Seeing this creature is really bad luck for the unfortunate who may be around at the time, but, if you ever see one, do not, repeat, do not, gaze into it's eyes, for to do so, those glowing eyes looking back into yours would be an omen of death. Local lore has it that this phantom dog has eyes that bleed fire and haunts the countryside, looking for it's prey.
The myths of Dartmoor sparked Conan Doyle's imagination and he wanted to hear more. Bertram Fletcher Robinson, a journalist and friend of Doyle's, was more than agreeable to sit with Doyle in the hotel they were staying at in Norfolk and tell the local tales of Squire Cabell, his vicious killing of his wife, and the deadly attack on Cabell from his wife's faithful hound. The hound also died that same night from Cabell's knife wounds and haunts the moors just as Cabell does.
But this ghostly hound seeking revenge on each generation of the Cabell family is not alone on the moor. Other legends told of howling black hounds unleashed on the moor upon Cabell's death, The Whist Hounds, a howling pack of gigantic, red-eyed dogs said to stalk the moors with the devil; and, of course, the Black Shuck of Dartmoor, the enormous hound with flaming eyes that looked for unsuspecting travelers foolish enough to cross the moors on late nights.
So, if you are seeking romance in the lovely English countryside, stay clear of the moors at night. During the day the lands are breathtakingly beautiful with the English Heather and other wild flowers, butterflies and birds flitting about, the lovely roaming hills, the fresh scent of the sea - one could get lost in their own romantic imagination there. Driving through all this beauty makes one want to stop, jump out of the car and run across the heather laden hills as Catherine did when looking for Heathcliff. But, only the very brave or the spirits of the ones very much in love, like Catherine and Heathcliff, who know every inch of the land that offers so many surprises, dare traverse these moorlands when the sun sets. You would be better off staying in the more populated places with friends.
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