Shropshire is a ghost ridden place. It seems as if every quiet corner hums with the spirits of the past and wherever you turn, you are walking upon well-trod ground. Scattered across these ‘Blue remembered hills’ are vibrant tales passed down through folklore, history, and storytelling, which shift and grow with each retelling. Stories of fighting monks, phantom armies, ill-treated women, and countless other characters fill the tomes of Shropshire lore, stretching back through the centuries. These apparitions or ‘frittenins’ if we turn back to our dialect are vital and certainly worthy of exploration. I believe that we can utilise folklore, and particular ghost stories to gain a unique insight into the past. Despite being an area rich in history, Shropshire is often left out of paranormal discussions, though it is often touted as being one of England’s most haunted counties. The ghosts of Shropshire are intrinsic to the landscape and are as much a part of the county as The Wrekin, Long Mynd or The Ironbridge. In fact, it goes deeper than that, I think that these stories are part of us. Though time goes on and the narratives may shift or change, they nethertheless leave their mark on us. I can still remember the first time I heard about Poor Marion De La Bruyere, the Tontine’s wicked Fred or The ghostly barge that sails down the river Severn. These stories have not only shaped my understanding of my environment and entertained me - they’ve also gained new meaning as I have grown up and moved away from home. They are a tangible link to that part of me which still wanders around the Severn’s banks looking for pottery and interesting stones. A goblin child, now an adult, I do the same thing, collecting fragments of the past through its stories. They are me; They are Shropshire. After all, Ghosts are never just ghosts, it’s not as simple as that. Ghosts are historical beings, legacies of the past who can provide us a window into the world in which they inhabited. There is a strong interplay between ghost stories and history, and I believe that we can learn more about the past by understanding the stories that are left behind. These legacies are waiting quietly in the peripheries, they want us to pay attention.
It is worthy of noting here that some of Shropshire’s ghost stories make for difficult reading. Certainly, some of the ghost stories I will be discussing are marked by tragedy, which makes it even more important to tell their tale. Some of them are based on real people, with verifiable historical grounding, and I think that is fantastic. Through telling such tales we have a tangible link to the past and can perhaps begin to understand what it was like to live for those who came before us. Ghost stories also provide us with an insight into that which haunts our society as well- we never really change us humans, though the world around us may do so. They can be conduits for our own isolation, fears, and manifestations of the challenges of life. They can also be a source of entertainment, humour, even comfort in trying times. They are intrinsic in understanding the depth and breadth of the human experience.
‘Frittenins’ then are complex things, and our relationship with them is equally so, but I think we are still drawn to these stories and experiences because we can see something of ourselves in them. The ghosts I reference in this chapter are varied, covering a range of themes, historical periods, and locations, all of which play a part in the wider ghostly narrative of Shropshire. Some of these stories have a lot to say, their narrative seeming to shout from the page whilst others are but a tantalising whisper of the world that was. Even those that seem to lack the facts play an important part of Shropshire’s wider story, all of our ghosts have meaning here, and are worthy of being represented.
This isn’t an attempt to validify the existence of ghosts, for I am by no means qualified to do such. Rather as we travel across the county via the pages of this book, I want to retell some of Shropshire’s stories, explore what they have come to represent and also discuss what we can learn from them.
This is not an exhaustive account of Shropshire’s paranormal phenomena; However, it is a collection of tales that I believe are too important not to tell, stories that have resonated with me and inspired me, which give us an insight into our county’s wonderful history. They truly are fascinating things, and so much more than they are given credit for. As you shall soon see, these stories are a gateway into a history that has been left untold. Often in my experience those who subvert society's expectations, those lost or unloved souls become ghosts. It’s a way in which their legacy can continue, even if memory of their life fades into the ether. This is my reason for telling these tales. These individuals deserve compassion and respect. They deserve to be remembered. Shropshire’s ghost stories truly mean a lot to me, and I hope that in time they come to mean something to you too.
Ghosts are important. This is a hill I will die upon, an opinion I will defend relentlessly. They’re more than that which goes bump in the night. They were people once, just like us, and by remembering them, we are being reminded what it means to be human.
So let us journey on now, through the county and allow its stories to help us understand.
I want to first turn to a landscape very familiar to me- The Iron Bridge Gorge, which was the backdrop to much of my childhood. There are countless ghosts here. Indeed, even the Bridge itself has entities attached to it, such as the loving couple that wander arm in arm, stopping at the middle for an embrace, or the small girls who play happily nearby. This is a landscape of shadows. Where the scars of industry once lay, flowers now grow, But its history can be glimpsed through the veil, you just need to know where to look. The River Severn winds through the whole of the county like a snake, and it is to be the focus of our first story, which happens to be one of my favourite Shropshire hauntings. We will be discussing a ghostly vessel known as ‘The Ghost Barge of the River Severn’ and how it can shed new light into a forgotten area of Shropshire’s history.
The phantom boat is purported to be a frequent apparition, (Even my Grandfather saw it once, one evening whilst walking home from the foundry he worked at.) and almost all reports suggest a full apparition. It first appears near the Ironbridge and presents as a long dark ship, not largely different than the barges that used to make their way up and down the Severn transporting goods. At the boat's helm stands a tall figure, often described as wearing rather dated clothes, or a dark cloak. He guides the boat slowly down the river, and as it gets closer to the Ironbridge, its gruesome cargo is revealed. For on the ghost barge of the river Severn, is row upon row of corpses, piled up high. This is obviously a very macabre and shocking sight, but almost as soon as the corpses are noticed, the barge shimmers, and disappears from view.
This is not the end of our tale though, as Ironbridge isn’t the only place the ghost barge has been seen. There are a number of accounts that suggest the boat reappears in Jackfield, which is about 2 miles down the river. Here the boat appears tethered to the riverbed, where the bargeman stands, looking out towards the river. At his feet, littering the riverbed is rows of corpses. I believe that these two hauntings are related, and we have simply re-joined the bargemen at the end of his journey. Indeed, history seems to back up this theory, which we will now turn to.
This unique haunting dates back to a time of pestilence, which fell like a dark shadow over shropshire. The plague of the 1660’s ripped through the county, with disastrous effects for the community. The symptoms were horrible, beginning with a fever or chill, and culminating with nausea, headaches, delirium, and painful, pus-filled buboes, which- if burst would give a 50/50 chance of survival. Though records are incomplete, it is a fair estimate to suggest that Shropshire lost around 15% of its population in an 18-month period. That is a monumental amount of people lost in such a tragic way. Thus, it is believed that the ghost barge of the river Severn is in fact a plague ship, transporting bodies on their final journey. Until the advent of rail, the Severn was the main source of transport through Shropshire, into the wider world. During the time of the plague, boats took to the river, full of the dead. These boats would transport plague victims to the vast plague pits, in an attempt to haunt the spread of the disease.
Interestingly, Jackfield was the location for several plague pits, so such vessels would have followed this route. Due to the nature of plague itself, unless immune the bargemen would often succumb to the plague. One can only imagine the psychological effects of such a job, especially in small communities. Conceivably those who worked on these floating charnel houses would have been transporting friends, neighbours or even loved ones to their final resting place. You don’t forget that kind of experience, and these men would have carried with them the ghosts of the dead until the end of their lives.
It would be easy to say that the ghost of the plague barge is still journeying down the river. That the Bargemen still stands at its helm, unaware that he too has succumbed to the terrible illness. Perhaps this apparition really does have basis in genuine paranormal events, I don’t believe it’s my place as a folklorist to say. However, I don’t think framing this event as ‘just a ghost’ does the story any justice. If we turn to what the haunting represents, we can begin to understand the deep scars an event like the plague would have left on the small communities involved.
As I said earlier, Shropshire was believed to have lost around 15% of its population during this plague outbreak, and that would have been devastating. Though the passage of time often makes historical events seem intangible, It’s important to remember their humanity. I cannot help but think about the impact losing 15% of the people I know would have on me. In the small, rural communities that characterise Shropshire even today, it would have been hard to find someone who hadn’t been affected by this tragedy. The people who lived through the plague would have been living in a time of profound emotional stress and trauma, and as a result would have felt their losses deeply. it would have been very hard to know someone you loved had their lives robbed, and a decent burial during an era of such fierce Christianity. Thus, I believe this collective experience, and collective grief could influence the prevalence of such hauntings.
Furthermore, due to the close proximity to the River Severn, the plague would have felt like an ever-present feature of life in Ironbridge, as they watched the boats fill up and follow the river to Jackfield. Their continued existence would have made it very hard to escape the events that were unfolding. Even when those ghastly vessels left the river, and the community started to recover, the collective memory of those dark days would have been repeated and remembered far beyond the lives of those who’d experienced it. It's hard to forget the past, especially an event as life changing as a pandemic like plague, or indeed Covid 19 during our own lifetimes. Therefore, as each person told their story, the plague barge would set sail again.
Often, you find that in folklore, there is a kernel of truth, however small this may be. I believe this could be the explanation for such a haunting. The ghost barge continues to haunt the river Severn, reaching out through the centuries because the story was repeated enough for it to become a reality. It is imploring us to remember those nameless people whose lives were cut short. So, I will continue to tell the story.
Our next tale takes us to the parish of Muckley Cross, which sits on the road between Much Wenlock and Bridgnorth. It concerns a woman known only as Mary Way, who’s true history has unfortunately been obscured by the passage of time and folklore. Muckley Cross is a small place, and probably looks much the same as it did at the time of our story. Not much happens there, if we are to believe the silence of the surrounding fields and birdsong, which makes it the perfect place for such a heinous crime.
From what we can discern about Mary Way, she was a local girl, and in some versions of the folktales she was in her late teens or early twenties. She knew the area well, and walked the road frequently, on her way to work. Unfortunately, if she truly existed, any facts about her personality or features are forgotten in folklore. What we do know is that she was walking home from work one evening, when her life was tragically cut short.
The story states that although she was comfortable walking these country lanes, she was still at risk. Two men were following her as she walked home, and they violently attacked her. Mary was beaten by the men and sexually assaulted, before they murdered her. It is said that the men cut off poor Mary’s head, before throwing it in a hedge and absconding from the scene of the crime. When Mary didn’t return home, her parents grew worried. Her father, as well as several other local men formed a search party, and searched the surrounding area. Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before they found her body, and severed head on the main road out of the village.
One cannot imagine how traumatic such a discovery would have been. After she had been found, the search widened, and attention was turned to finding the murderers. The men were soon found, covered in Mary’s blood. They were arrested and the next few days were spent trying to gain a confession. Eventually, the men confessed to the crime, and were sent to trial. The story states that they paid for their crimes and were hung at Shrewsbury jail.
As for Poor Mary Way, in death she gained no respite. For her spirit is said to wander the road between Muckley Cross and Bridgenorth in a confused and restless state. When she is seen, her spirit often manifests without her head, which to me is very sad. It’s sad that even in death she is being denied a personhood. She was once described as a very active spirit, however since new roads have been built, diverting traffic from the area, sightings have dwindled, and she’s faded from popular memory.
At first, you cannot help but be shocked by the brutality of such a story, and how a crime like this would have profoundly affected an area like Muckley Cross. To witness such a young woman snatched from life would have been a collectively traumatic experience and would have left a lasting impression on the community. Perhaps that’s why her ghost endured, any strange noises became her whispers, unexplained phenomena became a sign she hadn’t truly gone. Hers isn’t a story of anger or revenge- like some other famous Salopian spirits, I feel her spirit wants to understand why. Is this not representative of the community who lost her?
As I have previously mentioned, at the time of writing I cannot find much historical verification of the crime, and there appears to be another version of her story where she is a suicide victim (which was shared by Charlotte Burne) There is some evidence that it dates from the 1600’s, but this doesn’t mean we cannot learn from the folklore. To me, though it cannot be specifically proven that Mary existed, it also cannot be proven she is a complete product of fiction. Perhaps there was a similar crime, a murder or attack of a young woman that later, as years passed became the retelling we know now. As I have said there are a multitude of examples of murdered women littering Shropshire’s folklore. Perhaps hers is a story far older than we realise.
If we move away from the conversation regarding historical basis, we can turn to discussions as to why her story has endured. People wanted to remember her, they wanted to tell her story. She is a symbol of the collective fear of a community, she represents the reason why women quicken the pace and stay vigilant whenever walking at night. She has become the woman that didn’t get away, all of our fears personified. Mary Way’s story has endured because although she had been lost to time, crimes on such a scale have, and continue to happen to women. As generations past, those who told her story would have done so to remember, but also to warn young women of the dangers such a world posed to them. A similar example is within the ‘Bloody Jack’ serial killer narrative at Shrewsbury Castle- a character lost to history. His story continued to warn women not to trust strange men, the soldiers that came and went from the town throughout the Middle Ages. Mary Way is remembered because as a society, we cannot forget crimes like this.
But it goes further than this, for Mary’s story is so relevant to our lives today. when I first came across Mary Way’s story- Sarah Everard’s murder littered the news. It wasn’t long before it hit me that both stories mirrored each other, and represented the collective experience of womanhood- stretching back through the centuries. A story of ill-treatment, brutality, and murder. Mary Way’s ghost is as relevant today as she was all those years ago.
I want to discuss another ghost now- known only as Martha, who is said to haunt Dawley Parish Church Graveyard. If you walked down Dawley high street today, you probably wouldn’t think much, I suppose it looks quite a bit like any old place, however the parish itself is a very old one- having first been recorded in the domesday book. By the advent of the industrial revolution, it played a pivotal part in the growth of industrialisation in Shropshire with its rich seams of coal, iron, and clay. Dawley can be seen as a microcosm of the Country at the advent of the industrial revolution- the agrarian meeting industry and representing the challenges this union faced. This is the world in which a young woman known only as Martha grew up and ultimately met her end.
Similar to Mary Way, our information about Martha is limited to what folklore can tell us. However, I don’t believe this invalidates her story. As you shall soon see, her plight is representative of the experiences of many young women. We are given a description of a girl who was pretty, cheerful, intelligent, and honest with a lovely smile. Even this breathes life back into her, and it’s hard not to try and imagine her warm disposition and kindness. The story suggests that Martha had started working for a local squire when she was relatively young and was a very hardworking and valued member of the household. However, around the age of 19, her world was about to be turned upside down. Martha found out she was pregnant.
The implications of such news are hard to fathom now in a world which is kinder to unmarried women. Martha was terrified and didn’t know what to do, so she turned to a man she trusted- The squire. It is unclear if he was the father of the child, though entanglements such as these weren’t uncommon. My own grandfather was the product of such, and had to be raised believing his grandparents were his parents to ‘save the family name’. Such relationships, if you can call them that, had an intrinsic imbalance of power, with coercion and pressure being the tools of seduction, leaving the women worse off, and in a precarious position. Life unfortunately is unlike the fairy tales, where Cinderella marries the handsome prince, it was a different world for the unmarried mother. Littering the pages of history are examples of naïve young women, who were used, and then cast into a world that didn’t want them, unfortunately, this is Martha’s fate. She went to speak to the squire and told him her news. I suppose she hoped to gain solace, some kindness or guidance at what to do next. However, this was not to be. The squire struck her and cast her out from her workplace (which was also her home) refusing to support her or give her charity. She begged with him, telling him she could still work, but he wouldn’t listen. Perhaps he didn’t want a reminder of his indiscretions around the house- we will never know, But Martha was cast out of the life she knew, and the future was uncertain.
Martha couldn’t rely on family for support, they were just as outraged as her employer and disowned her. Attitudes to unmarried pregnant women were appalling during this period and they were often blamed for the situation, even in cases of rape or coercion. Having a child out of wedlock was seen as ruining the life of a respectable girl, blighting any chance of a good marriage, and portraying them as fallen women, paragons of sexual sin. There was little help or guidance for such women- a lack of any real effective methods of contraception and what choices they did have seemed to project them further into the mire of perceived immorality. Unmarried women found themselves cut off from the life they once knew and ostracised from communities. This was a social, moral, and economic issue to the Victorians, and often, it seemed like there was little hope.
In the years preceding Martha’s story, life for unmarried women grew even more strained- with a number of harsh laws enacted to condemn women morally, spiritually and punish them socially and Materially. Sadly, there was an increase in infanticide due to The 'bastardy clause' of the 1834 Poor Law Amendment Act. This had made all illegitimate children the sole responsibility of their mothers until they were 16 years old, which would have made it very difficult to provide for the child economically. The putative father therefore became free of any legal responsibility for his illegitimate offspring. I’ve read of a few cases of possible infanticide in Victorian shropshire, where bodies were found in remote places- such as on the Sundorne estate near Shrewsbury in June 1873, where poachers found the partially eaten remains of a small child. This is obviously a horrific image- but it’s a reminder of the sort of world Martha would now have to navigate. And the choices she had to make.
Martha was homeless, pregnant and without the means to really support herself. She would have been well aware of the attitudes of the community, so understandably- her mind turned to dark thoughts. The folklore states that she wanted nothing more than to raise her child, but she knew what was against her. Thus -She began to think she should take her own life. By the end of the 19th century- attitudes to suicide were starting to shift. Indeed, people were beginning to understand Suicide wasn’t always a result of an illness but was rather a symptom- a response to the challenges of living in this modern world, and I think this is how Martha’s choice should be seen. Martha found herself drawn to her local church- craving the sanctuary to contemplate her lot. So, She went to Dawley church and sat in the empty building, mulling over what she planned to do. One cannot imagine the fear of this young woman, the desperation she faced. Like many, she turned to her faith to console her- and she began to rationalise that if she had a reason to live- god would give her a sign. So, she sat, and she prayed and wept, thinking of all her life had been until the outside world grew as dark as her thoughts.
But she wasn’t alone. The verger of the church had seen Martha enter and was happy leaving her to her own devices. However, as darkness grew- he needed to lock up the church. Single minded in his task, he approached Martha and asked her to leave, informing her that parishioners were not allowed in the church overnight. He wasn’t a cruel man, just unwavering to the rules. She explained she had nowhere to go, but he insisted the girl must leave. Martha wasn’t one to argue- the vergers’ words were enough. Martha believed that god had given her the sign that she’d prayed for. So, as she wandered through the graveyard- she pulled out a razor that she’d stolen from her old employer- and in the last rays of the days dying light- Martha slit her own throat.
The verger was still standing on the church steps, so saw her act and quickly rushed to her aid, calling her, but Martha had made up her mind. She rushed over to the low-lying perimeter wall, jumped over it, and made for the well. She was a bloodstained tumult, unable to scream due to the self-inflicted wounds- she would have made a terrible sound as she jumped straight into the path of a man walking home from work. He shrieked- believing he had witnessed a demon, or some unholy wretch covered in blood- and ran straight back to his workplace. The verger was an elderly man, so he knew he couldn’t make the wall, he realised the best he could do was go back to the vicarage- to rouse help for Martha.
When the verger and the vicar returned- Martha was nowhere to be seen. They searched the area, then shone a light into the well, where poor Martha was face down in the waters below. One cannot imagine what she felt in her last moments- or the distress the vicar and verger felt upon finding her body. They reached out to the community to try and identify her, to no avail. It seemed as if no one was willing to say they knew her, which adds a further tragedy to this tale.
Though there is no specific biblical warrant condemning and prohibiting suicide, depictions in the bible of those who died by suicide are negative, and within most Christian denominations suicide is objectively a sin which violates the commandment "Thou shalt not kill". Theologians such as Thomas Aquinas influenced the ideas surrounding suicide well into the 19th century. he postulated several ideas that became part of popular religious lexicon. Killing oneself violated divine order- God gives life and takes it away- thus to kill oneself was to take that decision out of God’s hands. Suicide was also deemed a crime against society- every person belongs to a community and killing yourself harms the community. Finally, It was postulated that the act of suicide upends the natural law, the natural tendency of living things is to preserve one’s own life, not lose it. This all contributed to religious and social attitudes to suicide, and in the eyes of the law it became ‘felo de se' – literally crime against oneself. Traditionally, to die by suicide meant to be denied a Christian burial in consecrated ground. Rather their body would be buried somewhere away from God’s presence, often at a crossroad – in hope it may confuse the ghost of the deceased.
However, the two men were sympathetic, and did the best they could for Martha, giving her a Christian funeral. They knew that they couldn’t bury her in consecrated ground- but they chose to bury her as close as possible to the churchyard- in the meadow behind the church.
As with many tragedies, Martha’s story doesn’t end with her burial. Her blood covered spirit is said to continue to haunt the area, often enacting Martha’s final journey, or wandering round the churchyard, as well as jumping over the wall, heading to the long gone well. Her sobs are heard frequently, and her ghost seems to have been reported periodically since her purported death. It’s not uncommon for those who die by suicide to enter into ghostlore. Perhaps Shropshire’s most famous ghost ‘The white lady of Longnor’ died by suicide. Her apparition appears clothed in her long white wedding dress, on the road bridge near the village of Longnor. She is believed to have thrown herself off of the bridge after being deserted at the altar. Nevertheless, Martha’s story seems particularly poignant and definitely more grounded in reality than this wistful bride. Martha’s plight is a familiar one, and she represents the cruelty and disconnect of a world bound by rigid morality. Her ghost story feels like a social commentary- an insight into the realities of life for those who came before us- and I think that’s why it doesn’t really matter if Martha’s story is just a story. Hers is a common history, shared by women throughout the Victorian era. Though I believe this story to be grounded in truth, it’s important to note that there have been many Martha’s throughout Shropshire’s history- women who were ill-treated and used - lost to a world merciless to them. I wonder what my great grandmother would have thought of this story after her own experiences, I think maybe she would have understood. Martha’s story has prevailed because it reminds us of the power of kindness- and how important it is to help those in need. I think that a simple act of kindness can be a beacon in a person’s darkness, and I wish Martha had been given that in life. I feel deeply for Martha, and I hope that if you ever happen to be near Dawley Parish Church- you will take a moment and spare a thought for her and all of those like her, after all- ghosts are never just ghosts, they are people- just like you and me.
The Ghost soldier of Weston Rhyn is a spirit I think of often, despite having never been to the village. Weston Rhyn has been a site of human habitation since at least the Domesday book. It is the home to several spirits, including the following, tragic story. The roads into the village are haunted by a restless unnamed young soldier. Sadly, it is not known who the man was in life, for history has claimed that secret- however it is established that he was a young man from the village, who had served in the army during World War 1. Whilst serving on the Western front, he had experienced a gas attack, which gravely wounded him, burning his lungs and leaving him with great difficulty breathing. Understandably, after this attack he was deemed unfit for service, and sent home to recuperate (after having medical attention). Like so many young men, ill equipped for the horrors of war, he found his return hard to adjust to mentally, and still suffered with difficulty breathing. Alas, a mere two months later, he succumbed to his injuries.
Unfortunately, this wasn’t the end of the poor man’s suffering- for he has not been able to rest easy. He haunts the roads into the village and the village itself, a tragic- lost soul. He can be heard and seen gasping for air and walking slowly as if with some unknown purpose. He isn’t a frequent apparition but when he is seen he is still in uniform and has terribly unhappy eyes. He is accompanied by a deep feeling of melancholy and an overwhelming sense of darkness. I find everything about this story incredibly sad, and often wonder how many other villages are haunted by similar spectres, who wander still, without purpose, men who were swallowed by the unstoppable tides of war.
I want to finish our sojourn into Shropshire on a lighter note, By discussing another of my favourite stories, The Burley fighting Monks of Easthope. Though comical, this ghost story is still as relevant as others we’ve discussed and can provide us with an insight into the attitudes of a community towards the established religious institutions of the medieval period. Stories like these can be seen as a precursor to the Reformation, and I think that is brilliant.
All is not quiet in the churchyard of St Peters- Easthope. Frequently, there are reports of shouting, and the sounds of a struggle, as well as a pair of apparitions who are at the centre of a very unique haunting. Easthope is a beautiful place, albeit a little small. Perched upon the slopes of Wenlock edge, the whole area feels as if it’s a secret place, (after all, local belief stipulates that Wenlock Edge belongs to the fae) and the village itself is the perfect setting for an afternoon meander. Though small, the area has a long history of human habitation. Indeed, there have even been stone axes found just south of the village, which suggests some level of consistent human activity in the area. By the 1900’s, the village’s population had hit around 100 people, and it’s probably much the same now. However, this figure isn’t counting a number of hauntings within the area. The most bizarre of these, is the Burley Fighting Monks. These monks enact their final moments not too far from their burial site, but have also been witnessed in the church, and around the village. They have been described as wearing brown robes, complete with tonsure and as being ‘Burley in appearance’ (I adore this fact, it provides such an evocative image, think ‘World strongest man’ but with cassocks)
In life the two men were far from holy, and their poor character was evident as soon as they left the monastery. The two resided at Much Wenlock priory, and frequently visited the area to collect rent, as the abbey owned land within the village borders. Though on official duties, the two spent much of the time indulging themselves in the many carnal delights that life outside a religious institution had to offer. Far from brotherly, the two seemed to exist in a state of perpetual dislike and would frequently quarrel- though they trusted each other enough to know they wouldn’t confess such sins on return to the monastery. So, they had quite a good system going, as long as neither of them bothered the other fellow too much. They would travel the local area collecting money from the peasants (often making up their own figures and pocketing the extra) Then they would head to the hostelry to rest. This is when the real fun would begin. They would drink, eat, and gamble freely, without fearing God- or the abbot’s watchful eye. As the alcohol flowed though, often did the arguments, which would frequently break out into violence.
One evening, the two men returned to the hostelry, and began their routine of drinking and gambling away any extra money they’d collected. Usually at this point, the two men would stop, but something took over them that night, and they continued to drink and gamble with the taxation money. Soon enough they began to argue, shouting at each other about who deserved the cash. With both tempers and voices raised, the argument soon escalated into violence. One of the monks threw a punch, and the other monk soon followed suit. Soon enough fists were flying with reckless abandon. These were accompanied by kicks and even biting- it was a ferocious affair, with curses thrown backwards and forwards. So intense was the violence that the witnesses feared to split the two up in case they got caught in the crossfire. The struggle ensued, and quite suddenly the two men fell- in tandem, down a flight of stone stairs. As they tumbled, they still fought, each one eager to get the last punch in, before hitting their heads on the steps and dying from impact.
Not wanting to draw attention to the village, fearing the wrath of the abbot, the villagers buried the men within the churchyard in a grave marked by two stone slabs, both carved with a simple cross. You can still visit the grave today and spare a thought for these Burley fighting men. Though they were buried, they certainly do not rest easily. For the two are frequently seen wrestling, punching, and kicking each other with the same ferocity that killed them, as if they are desperate to one up the other and inflict the most damage.
This is a unique story; however, it contains familiar motifs which would have been understood at the time of the story’s conception. The burley fighting monks of Easthope is a tale of clerical greed, excess and divergence from the ways of the true church. As the institution of the church grew more powerful throughout the middle ages, the conversation often turned to their excess of wealth and power. The Burley fighting monks of Easthope contain real criticisms of monastic communities and highlight the extremes of behaviour that purported ‘men of God’ were exhibiting in the period prior to the dissolution of the monasteries. Thus, through this story we are served a window into the past, and the real concerns individual’s felt, and I think this is brilliant.
We have now come to the end of our time in Shropshire, though I hope these stories have inspired you to journey on and explore more of our stories. I want to conclude with the same point I made at the start, that ghosts are important. They are more than that which goes bump in the night. They were people once, just like us, and by remembering them, we are being reminded what it means to be human.
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