Hunt for the Devil Dog

Saturday, February 7, 2004

Padding along the clifftop between Cromer and Overstrand, or rushing across the wide sandy beaches at Yarmouth, tales of Black Shuck abound in East Anglia. Many say a sighting of the devil dog is an omen, a precursor of death. Surely no one would ever go out of his or her way to find such a beast? Reporter Edward Foss and photographer Sam Robbins thought differently.

Meet his glance and you or a member of your family will be dead and buried before a year is out.

Given that, it might come as something of a surprise that Edward Foss and Sam Robbins decided to try to track down the legendary Norfolk-loving devil hound Black Shuck.

They both knew that pleas of ‘nice doggie’ would be futile in the unlikely event of success.

Two things. Firstly, nights spent outside with no form of lighting have never held any fear for me. The dark is not one of the things that particularly worry me. Snakes, heights, Radio 1 and enclosed spaces are unpleasant. Darkness is not.

Secondly, the North Norfolk coast is a beautiful place, wondrous in its variety of habitat, full of quiet corners, cosy pubs and long walks.

But put these two together, add a dollop of myth and a pinch of legend, and I’m scared. In that cold, shivery, useless, frozen-to-the-spot, oh-my-God-I’m-going-to-die type way.

A few weeks ago, Sam and I had this idea that tracking down Black Shuck, the dog that will reportedly bring death to you or your family within a year, just by meeting your glance, would be clever.

An interesting concept and one intended to throw up some striking images and, hopefully, some interesting words. All for our readers’ entertainment.

So a plan was hatched.

Find a favourite haunt. And spend time there. Night time, day time, cold weather, warmer weather, rain, snow, clear skies, busy, quiet. Stormy nights have been touted as the best time to run into Shuck.

The chosen location was between Runton and Overstrand, the supposed path of what has been dubbed Shuck’s Lane.

The first trip, starting with a walk from the centre of Cromer to the town’s lighthouse, on a relatively warm, late December afternoon, led to a slight feeling of foolishness.

What was this actually all about? After all, there wasn’t actually any chance of stumbling across the subject of this legend, was there? Black Shuck is something seen only by the drunk and the simple.

But, of course, that isn’t the only point.

Walking towards Overstrand, thoughts of foolishness dissipated, as it dawned that this experience was as much about bringing a touch of reality to the words read in books and poems about Black Shuck, as it was about finding the beast, or evidence of it.

Of course, there are people who genuinely believe in such legends, and it isn’t that uncommon to come across these individuals.

John Harries, writing in his late-1960s tome the Ghost Hunters Road Book, says that the A149 between Hunstanton and Cromer is a favourite haunt of Shuck’s, especially where paths run along the clifftops.

And for those daft enough to hazard a meeting with the four-legged chap, Mr Harries advocates the very path we are currently on.

A cynic such as I should never admit this, but on this first trip, one of around half a dozen, there was a point a mile or so short of Overstrand where a cold feeling came over me, unrelated to the chilly westerly blowing across from Sheringham.

There was nothing to see and not much to hear, although the fading light was hardly helping. But still, one had to wonder whether the shadows were all they seemed.

It was immediately after this short-lived moment that one of the classic Shuck tales drifted into my mind.

The 16th century writer and dramatist Christopher Marlowe is known for many things, not least the creation of Dr Faustus and his alleged contributions to some of Shakespeare’s works.

Working on hearsay of a Shuck attack at a particular location between Wells and Stiffkey, Marlowe decided to venture forth to check the tale.

Courtesy of a lack of concern for himself with which I should well be able to sympathise given our current position and intentions, Marlowe purposely sat in wait at the location of the reported incident.

Sure enough, eventually a chase ensued in which the writer narrowly escaped the clutches of the savage dog.

Honestly, silly chap!

I met an elderly man in a pub a year or so ago, and it was he who introduced me to the subject of Black Shuck. He was, going by many readily given opinions, a textbook Norfolkman. Slow to start, but with a couple of pints and a large rum inside him, alongside an adequate demonstration of interest in his conversation, difficult to stop.

Although he had never seen Shuck himself, he claimed that his father had known two men who had, the sightings taking place in the 1930s and the 1950s respectively.

My new friend, admittedly a little brave with the drink by now, continued his story. I’ll call him John, which isn’t his name, but I dare not give his identity away for the sake of personal health.

“My father told me that both of those men suffered tragedy soon after their meetings with Shuck, one dying about six months on, the other losing a young son within a few weeks,” said John.

“Do I believe it all? Well of course I do. But it doesn’t have to be explained in the way we find reasons every day. Why bother looking for an answer when it would be better spending time doing other things?

“The way I see it, whether you call it Black Shuck or something else, you aren’t going to stop it, so don’t worry about it and certainly don’t be scared. It’s just what people call ‘fate’, but in disguise.”

Stories such as John’s demonstrate one very important point about Black Shuck, and that is everyone has a different outlook on the tale.

Some think the creature is always headless, others that he has red eyes as opposed to yellow or orange.

There are also some who believe Shuck isn’t the evil force he is supposed to be, that in some forms he will not bring death.

But of all that I have read and heard, surely the most attractive theory about Shuck goes along these lines. It should be appreciated both on a supernatural and natural level.

When East Anglia was repeatedly invaded by the likes of the Saxons and the Vikings, they brought with them large dogs, which accompanied them on many of their vicious raids.

Now it’s not difficult to go from this fact to an assumption that the arrival of a big black dog isn’t exactly a good sign.

So, on a natural level, the presence of Shuck stories could simply be a combined cultural memory, a passing down of tales to keep the young ones out of trouble.

After all, if you tell a six-year-old not to venture on to the beach or the dangerous clifftop because he might have a fateful encounter with a devil hound, it’s fairly likely you will know where your children are most of the time.

And on a supernatural level, the explanation is almost more straightforward, if requiring a slightly more open mind.

There has been plenty of tragedy along the coasts of East Anglia, with shipwrecks, murders and drownings regular occurrences over the centuries.

Alleged to be seen on North Norfolk’s beaches and clifftops during stormy weather, the apparition of a huge, shaggy hound, with glowing eyes, is said to be a portent of doom.

These have not just involved men and women, but also animals, with dogs undoubtedly common victims.

For those who believe in ghosts in the form of humans, there can be no difficulty in considering canine spectres a real possibility.

There is also another credible explanation, one which I view with particularly interest.

Many parts of the Norfolk coast, along with many other parts of the neighbouring coast, were for many years popular with smugglers and pirates.

The last thing a smuggler wants is some nosy member of the public stumbling across his underhand business dealings, many of which would have been carried out either on the beach, on top of the cliff or in nearby shelter.

What better way to discourage such inquisitiveness than to put about dark stories about how dangerous those exact same places are?

With all of these ideas running through the mind in a wild and unkempt order, it is now midnight on the third or fourth of our walks along Shuck’s Lane.

It is now a stormy January evening, about an hour after dusk, but with a decent amount of moonlight providing a little illumination.
There has been nothing like that cold feeling experienced on the first trip.

All of a sudden, I’m overcome by what one might refer to as the ‘I don’t want to know’ theory.

Imagine if the Loch Ness monster mystery was solved, whichever way. Oh dear, all the fun goes out of it all.

So let’s not try too hard to solve what we don’t understand, let’s instead get on with what we know about and what we can comprehend.

Of course, if you ever do bump into Black Shuck, please let me know.

• FROM BARGUEST TO YETH
  Different parts of the country have different names for what is commonly called Black Shuck in Norfolk and other parts of East Anglia.
  
  The beast goes by the handle of Barguest, Yeth and Old Snarleyow, among others.
  
  And, unsurprisingly perhaps, physical descriptions are also subject to change.
  
  Normally black, the creature can be the size of a particularly large dog or as big as a small calf.
  
  The two eyes can be red, yellow or orange, sometimes ‘burning like hot coals’.
  
  Some versions of Shuck are headless, some have just the one eye.

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