The monster of Ellimore Hill

By David Moreton

I remember well a particular film ‘Dead of Night’ by the famous Ealing Studios. It must have been about 1945 or so, and I had walked down to Lustleigh in the early evening to catch the train for Bovey Tracey. The town hall there often held film shows, and this was a great treat. Being a young lad, I was suitably shaken by the film which contained some quite nasty bits, but it was the overall concept of the film which caused a not inconsiderable amount of unease.

When I left the hall it was quite dark, (I don’t remember any street lights) but I had my torch with me. The welcoming lights of the train hove into the station, and I scrambled aboard, not thinking it would be a good idea to get into a compartment with others in it. (The carriages were not the corridor type we have now.) By the time I had reached Lustleigh my mind had been working overtime, and I didn’t fancy the long walk home in the dark. A couple of others got off the train and scurried off into the dark, and then I dropped my torch. The lamp filament broke and I was now without light. I made my way from the station into the middle of Lustleigh, mainly guided by the light from the odd cottage and a little from a scudding moon. I was not very happy, to say the least.

As the last of the cottage lights faded behind me, I began the long walk up to Hammerslake cottages, where I lived. The cloud would cover the faint light from the moon every now and again, and I then had to stop. The silence was total, except for the occasional cry of a fox, and that is not a sound you want to hear when alone in the dark and far from home. The long trudge up Ellimore hill began, thick woods on one side and a hedge on the other, so there was even less light. At the top of the hill there is a high bank on the left side.

As I reached it there was a hissing sound, and looking up I could see long thin arms waving about above my head. Roger Bannister (The first one minute miler) would have been proud of me as I streaked down the lane towards the farm from which we got our milk each day. Not a light in sight! I didn’t dare stop, for it would take too long for anyone to get up and come down stairs to my aid, so I ran on up the hill, my chest aching and heaving as I gasped for breath.

At long last I got home and almost fell into the living room. Gran looked surprised, and when I told her what had happened, she found it difficult to hide a little grin.

‘I think you’ll find it’s your imagination running wild. There are no monsters on Ellimore hill or we would have heard about them long ago. When you get the milk tomorrow, take a look at the place where you had your fright and see what could have caused it.’ She was usually right, and I calmed down a bit. Sleep was a long time coming that night, although I was dog tired.

Next day when I collected the milk, I made the mistake of telling the farmer’s wife what had happened the night before. She did her best not to laugh, and failed miserably. And then the farmer, Mr. Chudley came in. The story was then retold.

‘You silly b***er,’ he said, laughing, ‘come with me, I’ll show you your monster.’

We went up the lane a little and through a gate into the field which ran alongside the lane I had come up the night before. In the far corner of the field, I could see a tree had fallen down, the top most branches dangling over the lane, just above head height.

We walked over to the tree, and the farmer pointed out some greasy marks and bits of hair clinging to some of the branches.

‘The cows were in this field last night, and must have been scratching themselves on the tree. When they do that they huff and that was the sound you heard, and the scratching would have made the branches wave about.’

It was a very long time before that tale was forgotten, they made sure of that! The film is sometimes shown on TV, and although it might appear a little dated and the acting a trifle wooden, the content still packs a punch.

While I am recalling films, The Outlaw, staring Jane Russell was also shown at the Town Hall. As a young lad whose loins were beginning to stir, so to speak, I left the hall that night with my hormones raging and a sense of extreme confusion. Many years later the film was shown in Salisbury, and I told my friends at the dance club about it. ‘You must see this!’ We did, and were most disappointed. After making a few enquiries I found out that the local Watch Committee vetted any film which was considered a bit ‘iffy’, and the ‘best’ bits cut out. All those years ago I had seen the uncut version!