Haunted Plymouth

19/02/2026

Childe was a wealthy landed lord and a keen hunter; his vast estate was at Plymstock a small village to the south of the moors. Childe was happiest riding the moor alone, come rain or shine he would roam the wastes in search of game. One bleak winters day he had been hunting on the southern moors when suddenly the sky turned as grey as a goose, the air was cold and still and silence fell all around. The first flakes of snow lazily floated down from the laden heavens and the wind gathered in strength. Before long, the hunter was caught in a bitter blizzard, the wind sweeping across the bare tussocks blasting the snow horizontally before it. Childe could hardly see any further that his horses head and the cold was tearing through his clothing. Gradually as each hoof print was obliterated by the snow he realised it was useless the struggle against the storm. He decided to take shelter until the tempest had blown over and so he pulled his horse to the frozen ground and huddled against it for warmth. Time ticked by but still the relentless snow howled across the wastes, the hunter became colder and colder, and he knew he would surely perish unless his did something. After a few moments considering his options it was with a sad heart that he decided that the only means of salvation was to slay his faithful horse. Childe drew his dagger and quickly slit its throat, as he did so his rolling tears froze to his face like miniature glaciers. Once the poor animal was dead the hunter slit its belly and dragged out the steaming innards then he clambered inside the bloody cavernous skeleton for shelter.
A few weeks later a travelling moorman found a frozen heap amongst the snowy tussocks. It was the remains of the hunter and his horse, apparently the fresh blood inside the animals had frozen solid, encapsulating Childe in a bloody ice tomb for eternity. News soon reached Plymstock that the lord had perished in a blizzard high on Dartmoor. It did not take long for his will and testament to become common knowledge, in it Childe had stated that wheresoever he was buried, the local church would be granted his estates.
The monks of Tavistock Abbey were delighted, as the man had died on their lands then it was only fitting that he be interred at their monastery. However, the people of Plymstock had other ideas. Surely he was from Plymstock so therefore his estates belonged to them, or at least that was their belief. Both parties saw the urgency in recovering the mortal remains of Childe the Hunter and men were sent from both Tavistock Abbey and Plymstock. Now the distance from Tavistock to where the body of Childe lay was about nine miles, but it was thirteen from Plymstock so there is no guessing as to who would arrive first. The men from Plymstock also realised this and decided it was futile to run an un-winnable race therefore they would waylay the Tavistock party on their way back to the Abbey. An ambush was set up beside a crossing place on the River Tavy and the Plymstock men concealed themselves from view.
Somehow the party of Tavistock monks got to hear of the trap that was awaiting and so returned by a less obvious route. The dilemma that now faced them was that there was only one crossing on that particular reach of the Tavy. The waters were too deep and fast to even think about wading across and so the monks constructed a temporary bridge over the river, and so by guile they had foiled the Plymstock ambush and safely got Childe’s remains back to the abbey. Here they were buried and the monks of Tavistock inherited all the rich estates of Plymstock. The spot where the temporary bridge was placed has always been known as Guile Bridge and a mighty tomb was erected at the spot where the body of Childe the Hunter perished. It was said that on the tomb the following words were inscribe “They fyrste that fyndes and bringes mee to my grave, The priorie of Plymstoke they shall have.”

19/02/2026

Exciting Update from Haunted Plymouth! 👻

New dates for our thrilling Ghost Walks are coming soon! We’re introducing a new pre-payment and booking system to make your experience even smoother.

🗓️ Stay tuned for more details!

Don’t miss your opportunity to uncover the chilling mysteries that haunt the ancient port of Plymouth!

18/01/2026

1890s. This is the site of what was the Westward TV television/ Television South West Studios before they would be demolished; just across the road from “The Crescent.” In earlier times this area had been used as a graveyard and that history gives rise to the numerous ghost stories of strange occurrences in the basement of the former TV studios. 

15/01/2026

09/01/2026

When travelling along the A386 between Okehampton and Tavistock you pass under the huge dome of a hill which over time has witnessed both scenes of celebration and of tribulation. On most maps the hill is known as Gibbet Hill but it has also gone under the name of Gallows Hill. In days of yore the A386 was a busy route carrying coaches, wagons, riders and pedestrians and was the supposed haunt of several highwaymen such as Captain Jack and Dick Rawley It was said that he and several other criminals ended up on the gibbet which gave this hill it’s various names. History has it that Dick Rawley was the last highwayman to be hung on the gibbet on Gibbet Hill. Apparently he was finally captured when found hiding in one of the old mining pits at the old Wheal Betsy mine. In England, the Murder Act of 1751 gave judges the power to sentence criminals to the gibbet and this was especially handed out to murderers, sheep stealers and highwaymen. In some cases the gibbet consisted of a metal cage into which the prisoner was left to die of starvation and hunger. In other forms they would consist of a simple upright post from which an arm extended at ninety degrees on which the criminal’s dead body would be left to decompose. The idea of such things was to act as a reminder to folk exactly what the penalty for committing such crimes would be, so they were often located at prominent points in the landscape such as at crossroads or beside public highways. In this light Gibbet Hill was the ideal site to locate such a feature as it would have been in full view of the travellers along the busy road below. There is some confusion as to exactly what the ‘gibbet’ consisted of and to whether or not it was a cage into which the criminals were pit or a simple post from which their corpses were dangled. There are two possible locations where a gate known as the ‘Iron Catch Gate’ was located and in one sense these could allude to being a gate through which a route led to the ‘Iron Cage’? However, there is a local tradition that the cage was actually located at the site of the gate and the criminals were held here before being taken up to the gibbet on the top of the hill?
There are a few stories associated with Gibbet Hill, William Crossing tells how; “Tales are related in the neighbourhood of unfortunate wretches being confined there in an iron cage and left to die, as a punishment for their crimes on the highway. It is told of one that existed for a considerable time in the cage, the country people supplying him with food, and that he was sometimes so ravenous that he had been known to devour candles, when the market folk going homeward had nothing better to offer him.” Another one being that years ago a criminal was put in the cage to await his end and after many days began to starve. It is said that to get some much-needed nourishment he ate the flesh of his arms. Another equally gruesome tale was that a local criminal was put in the cage and in order to stop him dying of thirst his mother breast fed him through the bars of the cage which seems a bit farfetched. Whilst on the subject of Gibbet Hill Crossing also mentions that this was where the evil Lady Howard was burned.
Today all vestiges of gibbets, cages and mortal dead bodies swinging in the wind have long since disappeared and all that can be found on the summit of the hill is a trig pillar. However, that is not to say that at times the ghostly sound of rusty chains clanking gently in the breeze can be heard. This along with the sudden appearance of a spectral highwayman said to be Captain Jack

04/01/2026

During the Napoleonic wars when the prison ships used to be docked at Plymouth it was general practice to march the French prisoners up across the moor to Princetown. All of these prison details were accompanied by a military es**rt to ensure nobody escaped. In wintertime this trek could be arduous especially in the snow and ice.
It so happens that exactly this happened to one such party and history has it that they were somewhere near the Devil’s Elbow when such a storm struck. Within minutes the snow blanketed the moor and the white-out brought the visibility down to a few feet. The party knew they were somewhere near to what was then the small village of Princetown and its formidable prison but exactly where it was impossible to say. By now the prisoners in their flimsy clothes were beginning to freeze and so the soldiers led them to the shelter of a small gully which afforded some shelter from the winter onslaught. It soon become clear that this was no passing storm and the blizzard had well and truly set in. So those soldiers on horseback were sent to try and find the prison and return with a rescue party. In order for any rescue party to find the stranded travellers, a little drummer boy was told to remain in the gully and to keep drumming a tattoo so the sound of the drum would lead the rescuers back to the refuge. That being decided the mounted soldiers set out, by now even the horses were having a problem wading through the rolling snowdrifts and it didn’t take long for the swirling flakes to envelop the troopers.
As night approached the French prisoners and the few remaining guards began to despair, the relentless snows swirled around the gully, but the brave little drummer boy continued to beat out his call for rescue. It soon became obvious that for whatever reason the rescue party was not going to come in time, two prisoners had already frozen to death and the rest were near to exhaustion. The remaining soldiers decided that as the prisoners were in such a weak condition they were not going to try to escape which meant they too could try to reach Princetown and summon help. Once again the little drummer boy was ordered to remain with the Frenchmen and continue beating out his call. By now his little fingers were blue with cold but bravely he continued with his rhythmic drumming. The last thing the soldiers heard as the curtain of snow swallowed them up was the steady rat-a-tat-tat of the brave drummer’s drumbeats.
When the snowstorm eventually abated a rescue party was finally dispatched from the prison to find the young boy and his French charges. Eventually the gully was found, and the rescuers were faced with the pitiful sight of a huddled bunch of frozen French corpses, just to one side was the pathetic remains of the brave little drummer boy, his body stiff and icy. The poor lad still held his drumsticks in his tiny , ice-blue hands as if he had bravely drummed right up to the final seconds of life – above and beyond the normal call of duty.
The legacy of this sad tale is that today, when the heavy snows come to Princetown there are those that say any storm is always heralded by the slow, steady sound of a military drumbeat. Diehard moor farmers, prison warders, and locals alike all have reported hearing the ghostly rat-a-tat-tat beating out from the gully where the little drummer boy perished. And then, without fail, the snows will begin to fall, blanketing the moor in a white shroud of silence.

31/12/2025

I would like to wish everyone a very Happy and Healthy New Year 👻 www.hauntedplymouth.com

27/12/2025

Original photograph of Plymouth Barbican that features on the front cover of the book Haunted Plymouth.