“The Conjuring Parsons & Cunning Clergy:
Just as the perceived boundaries between witches’ and 'cunning-folk' are decidedly blurred in West Country tradition, so too, surprisingly perhaps for some, were t distinctions between folk-magicians and Christian clergy.
Churches themselves, as homes to rituals of divine communion, union, blessing, exorcism and the passage of the dead, are places of useful power and magic. Its water, made holy by its blessing within church rites, was highly sought after for use within acts of popular magic; most often for the purposes of protection and curative magic. Church holy water was so routinely taken for such unauthorised magical uses, that fonts were fitted with lockable covers from the Middle Ages. The Eucharist and the chrism, also being blessed and holy substances, were similarly of use to magical practitioners, and so these, like the holy water, were also ordered to be kept under lock and key.
The Christian saints had in many ways taken on roles akin to elder gods; being often heavily associated with the land and magical loci such as holy wells. The lives of the saints abound with tales of miraculous acts bonded to certain loci, and they were widely petitioned for aid in various acts of magic and divinatory practices. Saintly relics became most sought after as potent magical objects, and even their statues might be scraped to produce powders for use in magical curatives.
It makes sense then that the men who mediated the power of God and the saints, and who administered the rites of the Church would be seen by some to be magicians themselves. Indeed, there were many clergymen who actively practiced in ways that made them virtually indistinguishable from 'cunning men', and in Devon these were known as the conjuring parsons.
Some practiced as astrologers; a service which, despite the disapproval the Church held for such things, they saw as an extension of their normal duty towards their parishioners. One Devonian example of an 'astrologising parson' was the north Devon clergyman known as Parson Joc. His personal notebook, preserved after his death, revealed details of the horary calculations he would draw up for the people of his parish. Those clergymen who possessed a more overt reputation for magic often held extensive libraries of books which were rumoured to contain numerous occult volumes and grimoires. These books of power, and the trouble that could arise if they were pried into by the 'uninitiated', feature in a number of popular stories surrounding the conjuring parsons.
One such story is associated with the Reverend William Cunningham, a 19th century incumbent of Bratton. The story tells that while he was absent from his home, his maid, out of curiosity, summoned the bravery to peruse one of the reverend's occult tomes. Inadvertently it seems she had managed to summon two spirits; for a pair of strange creatures like chickens’ materialised in the kitchen, and she was forced to confess to the reverend what she had done in order that he would then banish them.
The Reverend Franke Parker, known as 'Old Parson Parker' served the parish of Luffincott in the far west of Devon in the 1830s. Like the Reverend William Cunningham, he too possessed a library of magical books, but also possessed, by some mysterious means, the ability to know when someone was prying into his collection. It is said that whilst delivering a sermon, he suddenly stopped and ran from the church back to the rectory much to the surprise of his flock, for he had sensed that his maid was reading one of his occult books. He rushed into his library just in time to stop her before any magical mishap might have occurred.
Some of the magical powers and inclinations attributed to old Parson Parker would appear to paint him more in the hue of a traditional witch rather than that of your average 'cunning man', for he was said to posses the ability to 'shape shift' into animal form. Indeed, the local policeman is said to have discovered the parson sitting on his chair and barking like a dog. Perhaps incriminating, and certainly difficult to explain, is more the situation another visitor to the rectory found him in: laying in his bed surrounded by the bodies of dead toads.
Shortly before his death, Parker is said to have declared that he would return from the world of spirit in the form of an animal, such as that of a dog, a rat or a white rabbit. When he died aged eighty in 1883, so serious was the concern that he would make his promised bestial reappearances, that his body was interred in a grave dug to a depth of seventeen feet as a preventative measure.
Perhaps one of Devon's most famous conjuring parsons is the Reverend Harris, or Parson Harris of Hennock; a small village on the south-eastern flank of Dartmoor with beautiful views over the Teign Valley. Parson Harris was regarded as a 'wizard, and was consulted by the people of his parish for his skills in conjuring, particularly it seems in order to identify thieves and retrieve stolen property.
In one case at least however, it was psychology rather than conjuring that he employed to identify a thief, yet it was his reputation as a conjuror that secured the efficacy of the exercise. A farmer named Tuckett went to see the parson one day; seeking his aid regarding three geese which had been stolen from his farm. The parson reassured the farmer, telling him that the man who had taken his geese shall soon be 'put to open shame’.
On the following Sunday morning, the parson climbed into his pulpit and proclaimed loudly before the seated congregation; ‘I give you all to know that Farmer Tuckett has had three geese stolen. I have consulted my books and drawn my figures, and I have so conjured it that three feathers of thickey geese shall now, my this very instant, stick to the nose of the thief! Of course, the guilty party instinctively raised their hand to their nose and the parson, watching for this very reaction, immediately pointed his finger and boomed out across the church 'there is the man who stole the geese!’
On another occasion, Farmer Loveys called on Parson Harris for help as his fine gander had been stolen from his farm the previous night. The parson set about consulting his occult tomes before drawing a magic circle in which he uttered a strange incantation. He then walked over to his library window and opened it just as the missing gander was flung through to land at his feet, all plucked, trussed, and on the spit ready for roasting.
Another tale, perhaps a different version of the previous one, tells of the parson being consulted about a missing cockerel, which its owner was sure must have been stolen. Parson Harris told the man not to worry, for not only would he conjure the bird to be returned to him, he would cause the thief to reveal himself as well. When the man returned to his home, he was followed by his neighbour who came running through the door carrying the half roasted bird.
A particularly interesting story concerning the Parson hints at a dichotomy between his magical artes and his position as a cleric.
He couldn't help but notice one Saturday that his maid, Polly, was caught in a deep melancholy; sobbing to herself now and then. When Harris asked the girl what was the matter, she explained that she was missing her boyfriend terribly; as he had left for Exeter to enter into service.
Feeling sorry for the girl, and of course not wanting an interminably miserable maid about the house, he promised to conjure the young man back home to her. However, the Sunday rolled by and there was no sign of the return of her lover; leaving the maid completely inconsolable, and much shaken in her faith in her master's powers. She went to bed and sobbed herself to sleep.
As Dawn approached however, she was awoken by someone desperately banging on the door outside; it was her lover John, exhausted and drenched with perspiration. The parson's conjuration had not worked upon him until at nightfall when he removed his coat; for in one of its pockets was his Bible. As soon as he took off his coat, he had been compelled to run all the way from Exeter to the parson's home. The young man's Bible had acted as a protective charm against the parson's 'unholy' spell.”
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Silent as the Trees:
Devonshire Witchcract, Folklore & Magic
by Gemma Gary