Somewhere about the start of the 1700’s there were a motley group of lads in Wem in search of fun, but definitely not innocent fun. Anything with a thrill and a few pints of beer attached. The lads had ranged Shropshire causing upsets wherever they went and found not one door was open to them. So it was Friday night and they were in their local in New Street, looking for something apart from booze to fill their time. They tried skittles, dominoes and cards, but nothing lifted their ennui. Then one bright spark came up with an idea. “Let’s conjure up the devil”.
Not everyone knows how to make the Old Man appear. But that lad had got a friend who’d read a witchcraft book and he’d jotted down the recipe. It all seemed quite simple too. They needed a great chalk circle on the floor leaving enough room to move around between it and the walls and to give them easy access to the bar. Then it was only a matter of chanting the magic words as they walked around the circle three times. No I’m not going to tell you what words they were – you might try it too. This is definitely a ‘don’t try this at home’ folks; you’ll ruin your lovely decor.
The third time around when their feet touched the point where they had begun, there was a blinding flash. The room filled with smoke, the floor cracked open and snapped shut and there on the quarry tiled floor was a big, black bull with an evil look in his eye and a bellow coming from deep in his throat. You’ve guessed it, it was old Jack Beelzebub, his snorting breath smelling of Old Man’s Baccy and his horns glinting in the failing light.
It didn’t take more than a blink of the eye and a screech from the barmaid before those lads regretted what they’d done. With Old Nick pawing at the chalk circle with his great big hoof, there was no time to waste, he’d escape that circle if they didn’t get rid of him soon.
They tried chanting the magic words backwards, while walking widdershins (that’s anti-clockwise for the uninitiated) three times around the circle. It was no mean feat, especially after a drink or two, but it was all to no avail. The Devil, now he was there, albeit in the shape of a bull, was fixing to stay.
This needed the Devil’s adversaries on the case, and luckily Wem is a holy place so there was no shortage of vicars, priests and preachers ready roll up their sleeves and do battle. One after another they came with bell, book and candle but as they tried to read the words from the good book up came that devilish bull with a snort and put their candles out. Good men they might have been, but they couldn’t read in the dark, so things were getting desperate. Those lads had recruited every holy man in town.
They set off to Shrewsbury. There was an Abbey there, and a Cathedral too. On their way they came upon a fancy church, so fine it could have been a model for a wedding cake. It was called ‘Battlefield’ and there was a battle to fight now. So they decided to give the vicar a try.
A fine man was the Rev. Leonard Hotchkiss. He listened carefully to their pleas and a smile came to his face.
“I’ve just bought one of those ever-burn candles with a hundred-hour guarantee. A miracle of modern science, that’s was they are”.
It wasn’t long before they reached the New Street pub and off went the Rev. Hotchkiss round the circle intoning the good book’s words, as the big black bull got to work huffing and puffing to put his candle out. Third time around that bull look pasty and pale and all blown out, which the candle flame was definitely not. Another blinding flash, again the room filled with smoke and that same quarry tiled floor cracked open and snapped shut. Then, as the smoke cleared, there it was for all to see, or not to see; because there was nothing. That big black devil bull had disappeared.
Hotchkiss was a hero, although he shunned fame or reward, his story lingered on. He got his prize some years later when the Shrewsbury School Headmaster died. The board of governors said, “none of the masters are fit for the job – make Hotchkiss the new Head. If he can deal with the Devil in Wem he can cope with some of the little devils we have in here”.
It was done, delivered, and if you doubt this story’s true just read the role of honour at the School on the hill – ‘Rev. Leonard Hotchkiss, Headmaster 1735’.
