A collection of tales and mysteries about tragedy and despair; the lives of people that have left their everlasting mark on the landscape, now hidden amongst brambles, whispered in the wind or sparkling in the shadows. From country houses to isolated beaches, lonely roads to hidden earthworks, the county of Dorset is full of ruins and remains of life gone by. Every lump, bump, crossroads or river has some story to tell.
There are also Dorset’s many ancient stones and towering trees that come with varied legends.
Where do you dare to go?!
Click on name for more details…(then click on name for a walk!)
Athelhampton – A Haunted House.
Badbury Rings – The Flying Ravens.
Bettiscombe – The Screaming Skull.
Bincombe Tunnel – The Railwayman Who Never Got Home.
Blackdown – The Murder of John Brown and Hanging of his Wife Martha.
Bottlebush Down – The Angry Horseman.
Clouds Hill – The Legend of Lawrence of Arabia.
Coombe Keynes – The Three Witches and the Little Girl.
Corfe Castle – The Treacherous Maid.
Creech Grange – A Ghostly Army.
Durdle Door – The Drowning Maidens.
Eastbury House – The Thieving Servant.
Frampton – The Family Curse.
Gerrard’s Hill – Big Cats.
John’s Pond – The Escaped Prisoner.
Knowlton – Floating Figures.
Little Bindon – The Lost Abbey
Lulworth Castle – The Grey Lady.
Maiden Castle – Roman Soldiers
Music Barrow – Fairy Music and the Evil Queen.
Sandford Orcas – A Haunted House.
Throop – Lost Children.
Trent – The Horse and Carriage.
Tyneham – The Suicide.
Washer’s Pit – The Gabbygammies.
Wool – The Turberville Carriage.
Yellowham – The Woodwoses of the Woods.
This 15th century Tudor manor is home to a number of ghosts, and not all human. Sir William Martin built the house and it was his family that kept apes as pets, even adopting them into their coat of arms. One of their pets was trapped on a secret staircase where it perished and today its scratching can be heard as it tries to escape.
There are many more ghosts associated with the house too including a lady in white, a black priest, a man name Cooper who likes hanging out in the wine cellar and a pair of dualists who fight until one gets injured and then they disappear.
In the late 6th century King Arthur led an army of Britons to Badbury into a great fight against the invading Saxons in the Battle of Mount Badon – possibly the origin of Badbury name – and for a while he was successful at stopping their advances. Legends continue to claim that Arthur did not die but instead was changed by witchcraft into a raven to forever haunt the site of his greatest victory, his body buried in a golden coffin somewhere within the rings.
An alternate legend is that it is a place of the Celtic goddess Badb Catha – the Raven of Battle. Showing similarities to the Greek Goddess Athena, she was known to relish death on the battlefield and would encourage soldiers to fight with strength, sometimes filling them with rage and making them go berserk. She is also represented as a raven and, flying with King Arthur, the skies above the rings are often filled with these creatures. She is possibly another source of Badbury’s name.
Bettiscombe is famed for an 18th-century legend that involves a screaming skull. Back in 1685, Azariah Pinney joined the Duke of Monmouth’s rebels and was taken prisoner during the Battle of Sedgemoor. He was condemned by Judge Jeffery’s in the Bloody Assize and sentenced to be hung, drawn, and quartered. But he was given reprieve (thanks to a bribe and influential contacts) and instead sent to the West Indies as a slave. During his time there, he climbed up the ranks and became a successful businessman, managing his own sugar plantation called Mountravers Plantation on the small island of Nevis. Azariah’s son, John Pinney, was born in 1686, and in Fig Tree Church, still existing on the island, is a small memorial plaque marking his birth. John later became the Chief Justice of Nevis. The estate grew and combined gradually with other estates, resulting in the family employing over 2,000 slaves. Azariah and his son died within a year of each other, and so the plantation was passed to Azariah’s grandson, John Frederick Pinney, who was a kind soul and treated the slaves well. He died with no children in 1762, and therefore his cousin, the great-great-nephew of Azariah, known as John Pretor Pinney, became the sole heir of Bettiscombe and the plantations. He was in charge at the time of the emancipation of the slaves, entitling him to compensation, and returned to his native country in 1783, a very wealthy man. He originally returned to Bristol but then to his newly inherited county seat of Bettiscombe, accompanied by one of his own family slaves (real name unknown, but was called Bettiscombe!) from Nevis.
While working for Pinney, the slave became ill and his dying wish was to be returned to his homeland to be buried. Pinney agreed to this but when the slave finally passed, he showed little compassion and retracted his promise, burying him in St Stephens Church. Soon after the burial, strange noises were heard coming from the cemetery, screams and cries with no clear source. Within the manor house windows would rattle and doors would slam. The only answer seemed to lie with the slave. The body was exhumed and put into the attic at Bettiscombe where the skeleton perished but the skull remained. The noises ceased. There have been a number of occasions throughout history where efforts have been made in its removal, but the screams, cries, rattles and slams return with a vengeance. Today it still is part of the manor’s furniture.
In 1883, 24-year-old railwayman Sidney Watts died tragically while walking home through Bincombe Tunnel. The next morning, his body was found on the tracks—broken, soot-covered, and still wearing his oil-stained uniform. Ever since, train drivers on the Weymouth to Dorchester line have reported a dark figure on the tracks, triggering emergency alerts. In 1991, one driver was certain he’d hit a man in the tunnel, but no trace was found. Some say Sidney never left, trapped between worlds, his spirit still wandering the tunnel endlessly trying to make it home.
One of the most famous residents in the graveyard of Holy Trinity Church in Blackdown is John Brown, the victim of a murder in 1856 by his own wife, Martha Brown, who was the last woman to be publicly hanged in Dorset. Martha had had a sad life. By the time she met John, she was a widow who had also lost her two children. The marriage was doubted as John was 20 years her junior and it was thought he was only with her for her money. They created a life for themselves in neighbouring Birdsmoorgate, neighbouring Blackdown, opening a small shop. However, John was seen to be a bit of a philanderer, known to many for having an affair with his own neighbour.
One summer night in July, on returning home late and inebriated, an argument broke out between him and Martha, which was not seen as uncommon. John kicked Martha out of her chair and proceeded to thrash her with a whip. In retaliation, she hit out, grabbing the nearest thing – an axe from the fireplace – and hitting him on the head, killing him immediately. In her panic, she ran for help, claiming that he had been kicked by a horse. On investigation, her excuse was shamed and she was found guilty and sentenced to be hanged. Two days before the execution, she confessed, with her own full details of the night, outlining a history of abuse. Despite petitions for clemency, she was hung on 6th August 1856 at the gates to Dorchester gaol, with public executions being abolished only 12 years later.
Watching in the audience was a 16-year-old Thomas Hardy. The sight of her hanging body was etched into his memory for the rest of his life. He later worked with Lady Hester Pinney, who lived at Racedown in Birdsmoorgate, to investigate the story, which is thought to have inspired his most well-known novel, Tess of the D’Urbervilles.
Martha was buried in an unmarked grave within the grounds of Dorchester Gaol. With the gaol now closed, sold, and ready for development, the town council (as well as the Archbishop of Canterbury) has agreed to have the bodies laid within moved to Poundbury Cemetery. However, identifying the exact location and, once found, the individual identities, is yet to occur. John rests on the southern side of the chapel in Blackdown, his stone slightly wonky and his inscription almost illegible, just like his own role in history – misunderstood and forgotten.
The legend of Bottlebush Down is of a fierce warrior. In 1927, a well-respected doctor and scientist was convinced he witnessed a ‘horseman wearing skins, which rode up beside… then disappeared into the side of a barrow’. The man wore a long, flowing cloak and rode the horse bareback, without a bridle or stirrups. He was also seen waving an implement angrily above his head. A few years later, and unaware of the previous story, two girls on a bike ride reported an incident to a policeman where a big, scary man wearing furs had chased them on horseback, but then disappeared.
One of Dorset’s most famous residents, Colonel Thomas Edward Lawrence, aka Lawrence of Arabia, made this little place his home. He was sadly killed in 1935 whilst riding home on his beloved motorbike. There is much controversy surrounding his death, whether it be accidental or a premeditated murder. A black car was seen near the scene but never found. Occasionally, the distinctive sound of his Brough Superior motorbike echoes in the surrounding heathland, only for it to come to a sudden stop. Before he was killed, he wrote about Clouds Hill, describing it as an earthy paradise that he would never leave; and he seems to have stayed, as his ghostly Arab-dressed figure is said to often grace the windows of the house.
The red-brick Dairy Cottage is rumoured to be haunted by not one but four ghosts. Three of them are women who were branded as witches – the fate of many independent-minded girls of a certain time. They apparently do no harm but occasionally cause mischief. The fourth is a young girl who was murdered there in the 18th century. Little is known about her, but the only witnesses have been girls of a similar age.
Corfe and its castle have been occupied for centuries. The first fortification was built by William the Conqueror, and throughout its long life, the site has known little but war. During the Civil War, it belonged to the Bankes family—loyal Royalists who also owned Kingston Lacy. They held the castle successfully against repeated assaults by Parliamentarian forces until 1645, when betrayal came from within. One of their own opened a now-hidden gate to the enemy, turning the defenders’ strength against them and sealing the castle’s fate.
Since its fall, the ruins—and the village below—are said to be haunted by the ghost of a headless woman in white, believed to be the very traitor who betrayed the Bankes family. She is said to appear only after sunset, her pale form glowing against the cold stone, sending a chill of darkness over all who see her.
But she is not alone. On still, moonlit nights, the sound of a weeping child drifts through the air, and at times the distant thunder of ghostly hooves echo around the surrounding hills. A Cavalier, wearing a wide-brimmed, plumed hat and cloak, strolls the earthworks of The Rings before disappearing into the riverbanks. Flicking lights frequently occur, with no explanation, and a woman dressed in rags has been seen desperately scrubbing flagstones.
On a misty winter night in December 1678, Captain John Lawrence of Creech Manor, his brother, and several labourers witnessed a ghostly army, thousands strong, marching along the ridge from Flower’s Barrow to Wareham. Cloaked in fog, their armour glimmered like Roman steel. Terrified, the brothers raced to warn the town. The residents, in panic, hastily barricaded the bridge, but the phantom army never arrived.
Creech Grange later experienced its own tragedy. Rev Nathaniel Bond inherited the property in 1844 and in 1848 he commissioned a large portrait to mark the occasion, including his newly installed Creech Grange Arch depicted on the horizon.
However, their lives soon changed forever. In the painting, Nathaniel and his wife Mary, who he proposed to after only 19 days, stand with their five oldest children outside Creech Grange. The Bond’s oldest boy, John (10), died the following year from tuberculosis. Leonora Sophia (11) died in 1862 after an accident led to her petticoat catching fire. She was burnt, became very ill, and died of pneumonia. Denis, at his mother’s feet (6), died at Oriel College, Oxford, only a day after his 21st birthday. A sixth child, John Lloyd, was born in 1856 but never reached his first birthday.
The surviving children, Nathaniel and George, went on to continue the family line, with their name and motto ‘Orbis non sufficit’ (The World is Not Enough) becoming the inspiration behind the famous British spy – James Bond. The painting is hanging in the Dorset Museum, but some say the ghosts of the lost children still play at the arch, giggles filling the air.
Famous for its striking Portland limestone arch, Durdle Door is not only a natural wonder but is also said to be home to spirits from another world. For generations, sailors have spoken of ghostly girls dancing on the pebbles and in the surf beneath the arch. The tranquillity soon breaks into screams before the last of them slips beneath the waves and vanishes without a trace.
Some believe these spirits were once maidservants from nearby Lulworth Castle, which was ravaged by fire in 1929. It is said they fled the burning estate in terror, only to meet their fate in the dark waters below Durdle Door.
High up in the narrow valley of the small river Tarrant, deep in the medieval hunting ground of Cranborne Chase, is the shadowy village of Tarrant Gunville. On its eastern slopes is the estate of Eastbury, once one of the biggest and most impressive houses in the country. Now all that remains is its east wing, stables, and entrance gates, all of which have been slowly cocooned by the intricate landscape design returning to nature.
In the late 18th century, the estate manager was William Doggett. Known for his underhand and violent manner, he was an untrustworthy character who took advantage of his position. With the Earl at the time frequently abroad, it was easy for him to sell off the building’s material and treasures, as the house was slowly being demolished, pocketing the cash for himself. When the Earl returned unannounced, William knew there was no escape from his actions and shot himself in the library. The blood stain covered the wall and, despite the many housemaids’ efforts, it never washed off.
It was said that his restless soul haunted the remaining corridors of the house, often appearing with his face covered in blood. Villagers experienced strange apparitions, being awoken in the night, with strange marks appearing on their necks and arms as well as hearing faint wails and screams on the whistling wind.
Around 50 years later, the village church went through some renovation. This required moving Doggett’s coffin and, unfortunately, the lid fell off. Horrified, the villagers discovered that his body had not decayed at all. They became convinced that it had been him causing the disturbances in the night. Arising from his coffin and drinking their blood, feasting as they slept. Terrified, they drove a stake through his heart, quashing any future chance of a vampire rising.
Despite their efforts, he apparently still roams the landscape, hidden in the surrounding woodland. At midnight, a phantom coach and horses stop at the entrance gates to Eastbury House. Doggett appears, wearing his token bridges and yellow ribbon. He steps in, and the carriage takes him up to the house. Silence descends, the temperature drops, and a shot is fired.
Today, the decorative landscape has been left to grow, taking back what was once its own. Bent iron railings circle the northern boundary, and crumbling walls edge its southern and western boundary. The surrounding woodland conceals stones, bricks, and earthworks, while an ancient Neolithic long barrow and Bronze Age burial mounds merge into the trees. A Roman road cuts straight through the estate, passing the isolated Zareba Clump, a dark wooded cluster of heavy yews, tall beeches, and hallowed oaks, claimed to contain a silver table, possibly treasure from the house. But it is rumoured to be aggressively guarded by Doggett’s spirit!
Frampton was once part of an estate, controlled by the large Benedictine Abbey of Saint Étienne of Caen. After the expulsion of the monks, by the command of Henry VIII, the abbey was slowly demolished and Robert Brown built Frampton Court, in 1704, on its foundations. Whilst having dinner, the family were interrupted by the last Benedictine monk of the destroyed abbey, who placed a curse on them, claiming that no first-born son would ever inherit the estate.
After 130 years, with no male heir, Frampton Court was inherited by a family member, Lt. General Sir Colquhoun Grant, who had fought in the Battle of Waterloo. His eldest son had perished in the fighting so he was left with just his daughter, Mercia. Mercia was a rebel, refusing any match her father set for her, instead favouring the poorer Richard Brinsley Sheridan. General Grant was seen as a hero, known for fighting hard and fighting well, with a number of horses shot from under him. With fortune to his name, understandably the General was unlikely to allow Mercia to marry below her standing, despite Brinsley being the godson of the Prince of Wales.
Brinsley had eloping in the family, with both his grandfather, Richard Brinsley Sheridan (1751-1816), and mother, having performed the same act. He therefore followed the family pattern and eloped to Gretna Green, with Mercia on 15th May 1835, when she was 19, causing quite a scandal at the time. They were helped by his three sisters, one of whom, Caroline Norton (1808-1877), was having an affair with the Prime Minister at the time!
On discovery, the General stormed to the Sheridan’s home, finding only Brinsley’s sisters, husbands, and mother. He blamed the whole family and demanded a duel with Lord Seymour, Lady Georgiana Seymour’s husband.
In the early hours of the morning, on a misty Hampstead Heath, the duel began with both men taking shots. To everyone’s shock, they missed. Mumbling, discussion, and disagreements took place, but thankfully, bloodshed was avoided. Forgiveness luckily came quickly. The General died six months later, having reconciled with both his daughter and her new husband. They inherited the manor and went on to live a happy marriage, producing nine children.
In 1882, Mercia died, followed by Brinsley in 1888. The house was inherited by Algernon Thomas Brinsley, their sixth-born, who had outlived all of his older brothers. At this point, the house was struggling. Algernon was selling off cottages and manuscripts to make ends meet. His son, Wilfred, was next in line but was intent on marrying a penniless girl, against his father’s wishes – now a family tradition. When the First World War broke out, Wilfred was determined to fight, leaving his new, young, pregnant wife, Clare, behind. He was killed shortly after, at the Battle of Loos. Meanwhile, back at Frampton, Clare was refused any allowance by the family, despite her unborn son about to become the first-born heir. After being shunned, she embarked upon a new life, travelling around the globe with a babe in arms, writing about celebrities such as Charlie Chaplin and her own cousin – Sir Winston Churchill – for the daily papers. She was even accused of being the lover of Leon Trotsky as well as a Soviet spy.
On the death of Algernon in 1931, the responsibility of Frampton Court fell to Clare, but she was terrified of the curse upon her son, which had held strong for the past two centuries. Instead, after gaining permission from other family members, it was decided that the building would be demolished and the estate sold. It was split into 16 lots, and all was purchased except for one single acre, where Algernon is buried.
Clare believed that she had saved her son, escaping the evil finger of the reaper, but, in 1936, four months after his 21st birthday, he died from appendicitis. The last acre had retained the curse that was accurate throughout Frampton Court’s history, right up until the final heir.
A new house was built, just to the west of the original site, using some of the original building. The only remains being its stables and ice house, hidden in the woods. The new house has also played a role publicly, having appeared on the programme ‘Three in a Bed’ on Channel 4 in 2010.
Southwest of Beaminster towers Gerrard’s Hill, casting its shadow over the Marshwood Vale. Locals whisper that the surrounding woods and hills are home to something unnatural – large, wild cats. Sightings of panthers, pumas, and shadowy feline shapes stretch as far as Lewesdon Hill. Livestock have been found, their deaths unexplained. Though some blame escaped exotic pets, others believe something older and darker stalks these hills, elusively thriving in a largely uninhabited environment.
At the foot of Gerrard’s Hill lies the village of Stoke Abbot, where the road from Beaminster is said to be cursed. On moonless nights, travellers hear the thunder of hooves and the rattle of wheels. Some step aside instinctively, only to find nothing there..
John’s Pond is an old irrigation well once linked to the flood plains of the River Frome. Dorchester Gaol, which closed its doors in 2014, was known for its impenetrable walls and vigilant wardens — a place from which no man had ever escaped. Yet one night, a daring prisoner known only as John — some say a gentleman, others a rebel — managed the impossible. Under the cover of darkness, he slipped into the labyrinth of Victorian drainage pipes that once carried water beneath the gaol. Crawling through the suffocating tunnels, the air grew foul but he faithfully followed the faint promise of freedom beyond.
He emerged into the open, moonless night as the distant lamps of Dorchester flickered behind him, and stumbled into the wet meadows, his chains still clinking at his feet. But in the darkness, John failed to see the pond lying before him and with a sudden splash, the water swallowed him whole. They say his spirit never left the pond, trapped in the small pool, and on still nights, when the mist drifts low across the fields, the rattle of chains can be heard echoing from the water as a ghostly reminder of John’s final bid for freedom.
The 12th-century Knowlton Church stands within ancient Neolithic earthworks, long associated with prehistoric ritual. It is a rare and striking place where Th two worlds of pagan and Christian collide so visibly. To the east of the church, aligned with the summer solstice, stands a grove of yew trees once believed to mark the entrance to the underworld.
Over the years, many visitors have reported seeing the same spectral figures. A ghostly face is said to appear in the ruined window of the church tower, a weeping nun drifts among the gravestones and a dark, cloaked figure vanishes into thin air. At times, swirling white mists have enveloped the ruins, accompanied by faint, ethereal voices that fade as the mist dissolves.
The isolation of the site and its vast, open skies, especially at night, give Knowlton an eerie, almost magical atmosphere.
The church remained in use until the 17th century, serving a now-vanished riverside hamlet, possibly abandoned during the plague. The sound of the bells were famed for their beauty, said to be the finest in the land. According to legend, when the church fell into ruin, villagers from nearby Sturminster Marshall decided to claim the bells for themselves.
One dark night, they crept to Knowlton and removed them. Awakened by the noise, the Knowlton villagers gave chase across Cranborne Chase, catching sight of the thieves as they fled in the distance. In their panic, the robbers dropped the bells into the River Stour while crossing White Mill Bridge. When confronted, they denied all knowledge, leaving the Knowlton villagers to return home empty-handed. But when the thieves later tried to retrieve their prize, the bells slipped deeper and deeper into the silted riverbed and remain there today.
To this day, it’s said that on still nights, the lost bells of Knowlton can be faintly heard ringing, muffled by the water.
Deep in the woods above Lulworth Cove, behind fences with no exit or entry, lie the lost ruins of Little Bindon. Built by monks in 1149, it was later abandoned in favour of the new Bindon Abbey near Wool. A few monks remained, living in silence and isolation, until their dying days. Locals whisper of a lone stag that haunts the ruins, antlers tangled with ivy. Some say it’s the spirit of a monk who stayed too long and if you follow him you will never return. I have even seen it myself, and naïvely notified the Rangers of the trapped animal.
In addition to its role in Durdle Door’s ghostly tale, the castle has its own resident spirit of the Grey Lady. Little is known about her, except that she has haunted the castle for centuries, often seen drifting through bedrooms and corridors. During the devastating fire of 1929, she was said to have screamed for help from the top floor, waving desperately. But when firemen rushed to reach her, they found there was no floor and the screams abruptly ceased. Others have since reported strange happenings within the castle, including sudden drops in temperature and the sound of unseen footsteps
Claimed to be the largest hillfort in the country, even in Europe, (though that title actually belongs to Ham Hill in Somerset), it’s no surprise that this site was once thought to have been the scene of one of the bloodiest battles between Iron Age natives and the invading Romans. More recent studies, however, suggest that the conflict was likely between rival tribes. Still, the shadowy remains of a Roman temple prove that the Romans eventually claimed it as their own.
On several occasions, visitors have reported seeing a vast Roman army gathered in the centre of the earthworks, marching as if ready for battle. Those who witnessed the ghostly spectacle were left shaken, while others standing beside them saw nothing at all.
The Romans left a strong mark across the county, and similar apparitions have been reported elsewhere: at Eggardon Hill, along the old Roman road between Dorchester and Yeovil (now the A37), on the Priest’s Way near Langton Matravers, and in Puddletown Forest. At Thorncombe Wood, a soldier has been seen hovering in the trees, later found to be standing on the exact level where the Roman road between Dorchester and Badbury Rings would have run in the 1st century AD.
For many generations, and for some even now, it was believed that the Culliford Clump (part of the Bincombe Bumps) was the home of fairies. The belief is encouraged by the sound of soft singing that apparently occurs here every day at noon. The fairies were once ruled by a cruel queen, who stopped their singing and brought doom, gloom, and fog to the hillside. Little streams of fairy tears began making the ground boggy in the valley, and people did not dare to discover the cause. However, an old warrior, bearded and weak, was the only one brave enough to climb the hill and face the fairy queen. He shouted at the bumps to announce his arrival, and the queen and her army suddenly appeared. They tied him up with spider webs, pulled him to the ground, and demanded treasure. He claimed to have nothing but his heart, and perished there and then. His body dispersed, leaving just bones, and a large white stone replaced his heart. His dust blew into the wind, spinning his remains into a skylark. The bird fluttered into the sky, singing a sweet and graceful song. The clouds parted, and the sunshine began to warm the earth. In anger at this beauty, the queen screamed and reached out to grab the stone heart, but it vanished in a flash, leaving a scorch mark on the ground (which can still be seen today). The fairy folk buried the old man’s bones under each of the bumps, and the white stone heart reappeared on top of the mound, the fairies decorating it with feathers, leaves, pebbles, and flowers. Today, with your ear to the ground, you may hear the fairies singing again. The white stone heart is still there somewhere, hidden by the gifts of the fairies, and so is the evil queen!
This is not a rare occurrence, as another barrow near Bottlebush Down also has its own gang of mischievous fairies!
This haunted manor house is set in the hidden depths of North West Dorset. Nestled down winding country lanes and in the high, yet deep and narrow valleys of tributaries to the River Yeo. This back of beyond, gnarly oak-dominated scenery adds to its already mystical aura. The house itself has been called the most haunted in England, claiming to have 14 ghosts in total. The tales were encouraged by a previous owner in an attempt to gain a few visitors! These include a farmer who committed suicide in the house’s hall, an aggressive footman who has thrown visitors to the floor with an icy grip, a little girl who stands at the top of a staircase, and a wicked priest.
However, the saddest story is of one young boy who grew up in the house. He was sent off to join the navy, where he killed a man. He was judged insane and sent back to Sandford Orcas, locked up in a room where he died, aged 27. He was buried in a secret passageway behind the great chamber. Occasionally, his screams can be heard, pleading to be released.
A mill has stood on this site since the 12th century, its ancient foundations still embedded within the 19th-century structure that remains today. For nearly a thousand years it ground the grain of generations, until 1974, when the installation of an upstream flood scheme drained the water and silenced its wheels. In the early 20th century, the mill was run by Parsons & Sons, whose faded sign can still be seen on the weathered brickwork. The property was sold in 1957 and has stood derelict ever since.
A tragedy from its history echos amongst the ruins. In the early 1800s, a group of village children, seeking adventure on a Sunday afternoon, ran to the mill to play. They never returned having been lost to the water. Their spirits apparently still linger as small figures, dressed in their Sunday best, have been glimpsed along the riverbanks, laughter and singing filling the air. But as night falls, they enter the mill and the sounds turn to quiet sobs.
High on the hill to the east of the village of Trent sits Trent Barrow, an ancient spiritual earthwork. Deep within its heart lies a small lake known as Bottomless Pit, hidden beneath a dense woodland canopy.
Legend claims it was here the mythical sword Excalibur was cast. As King Arthur lay dying after his final battle (possibly at Badbury Rings to the south or Cadbury Castle to the north), he commanded his loyal, one-armed knight, Griflet (later known as Bedivere), to throw the sword into the deepest lake. Bedivere refused twice, as he had so much faith in the sword’s magical powers and the danger this could bring, risking it falling into the wrong hands. But Bedivere trusted Arthur, so carried out the King’s final dying wish. He travelled to Trent, to the lake that was known to have no bottom, and threw it in to the calm but dark water, never to be seen again.
Centuries later, during the height of the turnpike era, rival carriage companies raced recklessly for faster times between scattered taverns, tollhouses and towns. In 1796, a coach hurtling south from Bristol to Sherborne, towards the village of Trent, accidentally veered off course and plunged into the lake. The four horses, coachmen, and passengers vanished beneath the surface, and despite desperate efforts, were never found.
Nevertheless, their presence still remains. The sound of galloping hooves can still be heard, forever repeating their journey, racing along nearby Ham Lane and into the trees. Then, for a moment, the woodland falls silent, the birds stop singing and the air turns cold.
The barrow is on private land, owned by The Ernest Cook Trust, some distance from any public footpaths. In 2022, a new permissive path to the barrow and lake was confirmed, but access is limited to the summer months due to tree safety.
Hidden deep within the Purbeck hills lies Tyneham, a village silenced in 1943 when its residents were asked to leave, their homes required for the war effort. Despite the promise that they could one day return, the villagers locked their doors, left their belongings behind, and never came back. Today, the houses crumble beneath ivy, yet the church and school still stand. Inside, schoolbooks remain open upon the dusty desks, waiting for lessons that will never resume.
But the village is not entirely empty. The old phone box is said to occasionally ring, though no one is ever on the other end. Voices with no apparent source echo around the crumbling walls, and some visitors claim to have had stones thrown at them by unseen hands.
Towering above Tyneham is Flowers Barrow, an Iron Age hillfort that is slowly crumbling into the sea. Once marking the end of a vast network of Dorset Roman roads, it has long been said to echo with the march of ghostly Roman armies (see the tale of Creech Grange for more).
In the 18th century, a milkmaid lived at nearby Baltington Farm. Her heart was broken when her intended left for London, and in despair, she took her own life. In those days, suicides were often buried at crossroads to prevent their restless souls from wandering, but Tyneham had no such place. Instead, she was buried on the hillside, overlooking the village. Fearing she might rise again as a vampire, the villagers drove a stake through her heart. Her body remains at Maiden’s Grave Gate, and on moonlit nights, a faint figure in white can be seen standing on the slopes, watching the village below.
Washer’s Pit is a small, peaceful pond perched at the top of Stubhampton Bottom, beside the lane leading into Ashmore Wood. Long ago, an ancient barrow rose above the ground, its slope marked by a stone cross. Local legend tells of the Gabbygammies, eerie, ghostly creatures whose strange, gibbering cries were said to echo around the barrow and cross.
In 1840, the old cart track was replaced with the lane, cutting directly through the barrow. Bones uncovered during this work were reburied in Ashmore churchyard. Since then, the Gabbygammies are said to haunt the village pond or the church itself, while the stone cross vanished, swallowed by the hillside. A well is also believed to lie nearby, though its exact location has long been lost.
Another chilling tale speaks of Elizabeth Barber, daughter of the local squire. One night, she awoke suddenly after dreaming of a woman being attacked at Washer’s Pit. Convinced the dream was real, she roused the household. Men were sent to the pit and discovered a woman in white, dangling above the water by her hair, close to death. She was rescued, and her attackers pursued into the shadowy depths of the Chase, never to be seen again.
Despite surviving, the woman is said to relive her torment, appearing repeatedly, still hanging by her hair or brushing the shoulders of those who pass by. Versions of the story vary: some say she was saved by a cook or washer woman (as the men were too scared to go!), while others claim the Gabbygammies tried to prevent her return to Ashmore.
St Nicolas Church in the village holds many memorials to the Barber family, anchoring this spectral tale firmly into the wooded landscape of Washer’s Pit.
Just outside the village of Wool, set back from the rush of modern traffic, stands Woolbridge Manor. The dramatic, slightly time-darkened building was once the ancestral home of the Turberville family, who inspired Thomas Hardy’s most famous novel, Tess of the D’Urbervilles. In Hardy’s tale, the house was reimagined as Wellbridge Manor, serving as both the honeymoon abode of Tess and Angel Clare and the backdrop to their unfolding tragedy.
On nights when the moon is full, an eerie spectacle has been witnessed upon the medieval bridge spanning the River Frome. A ghostly coach, drawn by a full team of horses, emerges from the manor before charging across the bridge with force. Legend claims it carries John Turberville and his bride-to-be, Anne Howard, eloping under the cover of darkness. Yet this spectral sight is said to reveal itself only to those of Turberville blood. For everyone else, there is only the sudden rush of something mysterious and the unnerving sense of being knocked aside by an unseen force.
Deep within the shadows of Yellowham Wood, legend tells of the Woodwoses, who are wild, shabby, and hairy forest creatures said to dwell among the trees. These savage beings, smaller but no less fearsome than the North American Sasquatch, are believed to spontaneously emerge, their bright eyes glinting through the undergrowth. Tales from nearby villages warn of their temper, and their terrible habit of stealing maidens away into the depths of the forest.
In the early 19th century, such tales crossed from fireside gossip into the courtroom. Records from Dorchester tell of an unmarried girl, heavy with child, who laid the blame for her condition on ‘the Wild Man of Yal’ham’. Her story caused a sensation – dismissed by some as hysteria, yet others swore that strange shapes had been seen moving through the trees that same summer.
Nearly two centuries later, in 2014, the British Bigfoot Research Organisation (BBR) turned its attention to Yellowham Wood. Over two nights they carried out investigations, reporting a series of unsettling encounters including rhythmic tree knocking (that seemed to answer their own), frequent distant movement, sudden twig snapping, and the overnight appearance of a freshly formed stick structure. The final blow came with a long, unearthly howl echoing through the trees, sending the entire team fleeing to the safety of their car.
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