Thanks to Mr A for drawing our attention to this tale.
Flagg Hall is a 17th century manor house situated near to Buxton. We have based our retelling on the version printed in Westwood and Simpson’s Lore of the Land. The story was told by local historian Patricia Salisbury in 1970, and the brisk man in the story below is our imaginary figure, representing her uncle, who lived there in about 1900. We have chosen to view the events through the eyes of the (arguably) main character….
The Horse Before the Cart
Backed comfortably into his home stable, Rowan munched sweet hay while he observed his world. Humans came and went, on farm business. Animals and tools clinked and clopped by. Afternoon currents flowed; airs drifted gently. An ordinary day. The Brisk human was approaching, carrying a small bag. Rowan understood there to be two kinds of human. There were humans who knew how farm business worked, and humans who did not. Brisk human knew how things worked. Rowan watched him striding across the yard, trailed by one of the other humans. Guessing it might be time for work, Rowan waited calmly. He had never had reason to fear Brisk.
Brisk paused and the other human reached out to grab his elbow. He turned to face her. Her voice was not usually heard in the yard. ‘You can’t,’ she declared. Rowan picked up fragments of a tense exchange between the two humans. ‘I can and I will… filthy thing…’ ‘No, it …stay here.’ ‘Superstition… decent burial…Oi! John! Over here! The trap, please, quick as you like.’
Rowan submitted to John’s direction. He accepted straps, heard wheels rattle, sensed familiar wooden structures balancing around and behind him. All the while, the argument in the yard continued. Rowan was aware that the stable boy, hiding in the stall, was wildly demonstrating his amusement by impersonating the smaller human, and that John would soon march in there and slap him. Farm business.
Brisk swung up on to the trap, and Rowan felt him take charge. Then the weight changed. Smaller human was standing on the footplate. ‘Don’t do it, George! You’re taking our luck.’ ‘Nonsense. Get down Martha. My mind’s made up. Hoi, forward!’
Horse, trap, man and bag set off towards the gate, leaving her alone in the yard. Rowan pulled along as he had done all his adult life. He pulled smoothly out of the yard, steadily clip-clopping in the sunshine, straight and easy towards the road.
And stopped. Nothing; no persuasion, no shouting, not even a touch of the whip, and no John. Nothing could induce Rowan to take one more step. He waited patiently until they gave up. Brisk snatched the bag from the trap, stamped back into the house and put the skull back into its glass case. Currents flowed once more. All was safe again. So Rowan turned around and calmly returned the trap to the yard.
Sometimes, you have to understand house business, as well as farm business.
Skulls and Homes
There are a few variations on the Flagg Hall story. Sometimes a servant throws the skull out of the window, it lands on a cart full of manure and the horse does not move. Sometimes, a carriage takes the skull towards a cemetery, then the horses rear up in panic and have to be turned around. Some sources print an explanation that the skull once belonged to a surgeon named Finney; that it had been part of an illicitly traded cadaver, dug up by resurrection men for medical research.
Many places have tales about skulls belonging to houses. There is another well- known example in Derbyshire at Tunstead Manor. They are usually called ‘screaming skulls’ and moving them brings bad luck or frightening paranormal activity (although actual screaming is not at all common). The skull is a kind of talisman. Keeping it in its special place ensures the occupants of the house will prosper. Moving it leads to punishment. It is a symbol of owning the house and land, implying continuity, responsibility and connection. It may be that humanity has a psychological need to validate occupation and ownership: in his fascinating book called ‘Demons and Spirits of the Land’, Claude Lecouteux examines how some folk tales may be echoes of prehistoric rituals performed to establish the right to settle in a place. Lecouteux cites examples of settlers promising to build their homes wherever a special arrow landed, or wherever some special wood washed up on to the shore. The settlers believed that choosing sites in this way would ensure the spirits would accept their claim to the land. Maybe the skulls are an unconscious expression of a similar deep-seated urge for spiritual connection, for an arrangement with genus loci.
Andy Roberts and David Clarke made a study of the skull legends and found 27 of them. In his ‘Supernatural Peak District’, Clarke makes a link to a wider range of beliefs connected to heads and skulls. There have been traditions of rituals using skulls, and some long-ago tribes are thought to have been head-hunters. There are tales and images of headless figures. Carved stone heads may have been seen as powerful objects, and were placed on buildings, probably as protection.
Screaming skulls are part of a folklore tradition in which human beliefs and needs from long ago are expressed through stories. Local legends fit into a complex jigsaw of history, psychology and creativity. That is why, even in today’s secular, rational world, they still have importance and resonance. Or, on the other hand, it could all be true.
Have you got a story for this website? We'd love to hear from you. Mail [email protected].
