A wintry legend, a snowdrop festival, and a nice cup of tea

5 February 2026

Welcome to issue 24 of Tales from the Chase, a weekly newsletter for Cranborne Chase. Local events. Odd tales. Mildly strange goings-on. All delivered by email, free, and occasionally unhinged (in a charming way). Was this email forwarded to you? You can sign up for free by clicking below!

welcome, DAmp companions

This week in the Chase

The logs have been moved safely above the waterline, and here at Tales from the Chase Cottage we now have a small lake of crystal-clear spring water on the lower lawns and driveway, flowing gently onto the lane and away. Perhaps we should bottle it at source. Tales from the Chase Spring Water has a certain ring to it. Very exclusive, extremely local, and available only during periods of high water table and mild inconvenience.

This week, we paddle serenely across the water to meet the spirit of the Chase and uncover a snowdrop origin story, while Hubert hunts for meaning in Codford in the far off northern borders of the Chase.

As winter draws towards its end the Chase shows its first signs of change. February is often the coldest month on the downs. Frost lingers in the coombes. Yet just when winter still seems firmly in control, the snowdrops (Galanthus nivalis) appear in their thousands, spreading in dense drifts in favoured locations across the Chase.

The name Galanthus comes from the Greek gala (milk) and anthos (flower). While they appear delicate, snowdrops are adapted to cold, able to push through frozen soil while most other plants remain dormant. Their leaves have a hardened tip that can pierce frozen soil and light snow. They also contain special proteins that inhibit ice crystals from forming inside their cells, allowing them to withstand sub-zero temperatures.

To see them is to witness a shift in the balance of the seasons. The sun is still low in the sky, and winter has not yet loosened its grip, but the presence of these small white flowers signals that something has begun to move, and spring is not far off now.

Of death shrouds and Candlemas Bells

Because they often grow in churchyards and look like a white shroud, they were once considered bad luck to bring inside the house. To do so was to "bring a death into the family."

Conversely, they are associated with the Feast of Candlemas (February 2nd), symbolising purity and the "white light" of the returning sun, giving them an alternative name of "Candlemas Bells".

I wondered if Rufus Penn, a local ecologist here in the Chase, might have some further stories, native to the Chase. He's generally a fount of knowledge on these things. Here's what he told me.

The Frozen Tears

The air was decidedly moist as I met Rufus at the edge of a woodland deep in the Chase. There was a drift of snowdrops beneath the trees, white bells in groups and clusters merging into a broad wash of pale light across the woodland floor.

"People see a pretty flower," Rufus said, "But these aren't just plants, and they're here for a reason."

"Experts say they're not native; that they were first brought over from Europe in the 15th or 16th century, maybe even later."

He nodded toward the pale light on the floor of the wood, falling away towards the south. "But the locals used to say the first snowdrops in the Chase were older than that, and weren't planted by human hands at all. They were born of tears. And it started here."

Then he told the Tale of the Frozen Tears, transcribed in full below.

the tale of the frozen tears

Long ago in the Winter of the Iron Sky the Frost King walked openly, cloaked in rime and bitter wind, pinning the Chase beneath a hard white mantle that he refused to lift. The sun still rose, but its light was thin, its warmth blunted.

The deer fled. Hares grew hollow-flanked, their ribs stark. Trees groaned beneath ice that would not melt. Birds forgot their songs, and the Chase grew quiet as death.

The spirit of the Chase also walked the land in those far off days, wearing a woman’s shape. She was tall and spare, with the stillness of old trees about her, and she was known by many names. The Lady of the Chase she was to some, to others the Pale Walker, and again to others simply Aelwyn of the mists.

Her hair fell long and dark as winter skies, threaded with frost and fallen leaves, and when she moved it stirred like mist lifting from the downs. Her skin was pale as chalk, her eyes grey-green as the hills at dusk.

One day the Frost King found her standing at the edge of a wood. Frost thickened where he walked, and the bitter wind blew from him and stirred her hair, lifting it like smoke from a fire long extinguished.

She turned and looked upon him and her eyes held neither fear nor defiance. She had watched seas retreat from this chalk. She had seen forests rise, fall, and rise again. Frost was not new to her. Winter had always come, and always passed.

But this was different. The Frost King was trying to bring eternal winter and if it held, the Chase would sleep forever and never wake.

She knew then that the earth would not awaken without something to pierce the ice and break the spell. And she knew what that something must be.

And so she wept.

At the moment the first tear fell, a narrow blade of sunlight slipped through the high, thin cloud. The tears froze in the air, bright and clear, and struck the stone-hard frosty ground as glassy shards of ice. But each tear had caught the light of that blade of sun and held it fast, as though the sun itself now lived in each.

The Frost King laughed. He mistook her weeping for defeat and the shining shards for ice alone, a symbol of his power. Content, he turned his back on her and walked away, certain the Chase was his forever.

Aelwyn watched him go, then gathered the tear-shards while they still glimmered, each one holding a sliver of the sun moving like a captive spark.

Then the cloud thickened, and snow began to fall, sent by the Frost King to seal his rule.

She breathed upon it and bound it with one of her frozen tears and its hidden fragment of sun. She caught another, and another, until every tear was joined with a flake, each holding a secret warmth.

She laid them carefully upon the ice-bound earth, and the snow fell thicker, burying the shards beneath a soft, white blanket. Then, without a backward glance, she moved into the swirling snowfall, vanishing deeper into the wood.

By morning, slender green stems had pushed through the snow, their white petals bowed down like small bells. The first snowdrops of Cranborne Chase had appeared. Their hidden warmth, from the captured sun itself, seeped into the frozen earth, softening the frost, spreading slowly across the Chase, stirring roots, and breaking the spell of winter.

Far away the Frost King soon felt the change. The ground beneath his feet softened. The skies cleared, the sun grew stronger, little by little. Rivers began to move where none had flowed. Sap stirred in ancient trunks. The first stirrings of Spring had awoken at last.

He knew his end had come then, and he could not challenge this old magic born of the ancient spirit of the Chase herself. It was a power older than winter, and his own snow had already surrendered to it.

But he did not flee all at once. He lingered longest on north-facing slopes and shaded hollows, where the sun was weakest. But at last, he withdrew, vowing to return.

And so it is that the Frost King returns each year, as he always has.

But once the snowdrops arrive, he knows his time is short, his grip loosens, and all the Chase knows that he soon will be gone again.

Returning home from my meeting with Rufus, I reached my door having waded through pools of groundwater welling up in the lawn and looked at the pale glow of the snowdrops under the old garden hedge. I thought of the Frost King, and Aelwyn of the mists; the ancient spirit of the Chase walking unseen in the woods, on the hills, and in the hollows.

I thought to myself, February has just begun, with rising water rather than frost, but winter may yet have some teeth. We shall see.

snowdrop events

February 2026 is the prime month for "Galanthophiles" (aka snowdrop lovers) in and around the Chase. Whether you want a festive atmosphere or a quiet, guided walk through the candlemass bells, here are the key events happening this month:

The Shaftesbury Snowdrop Festival

Dates: 14th – 22nd February

Highlights include:

Walk the Snowdrop Trail which takes you through scenic spots around the town, planted with snowdrops. To date, over 200,000 snowdrops have been planted. Maps available at many locations in town including Shaftesbury library, the tourist desk in Morrisons, the Grosvenor Arms, FOLDE bookshop and King Alfred’s Kitchen.

The Snowdrop Lantern Parade on Saturday, 21st February. It’s a magical evening procession (leaving Trinity Churchyard at 18.00) that mirrors the myths of bringing "light" back to the winter. Also this year: a Snowdrop Dragon Play, outside the Abbey ruins on Park Walk, at the end of the parade.

See https://www.shaftesburysnowdrops.org/ for more info.

Snowdrops at the Springhead Trust (Fontmell Magna)

Dates: 11th, 12th, 13th, 14th, 15th, and 21st February

Located in the Chase south of Shaftesbury, these lakeside gardens are a hidden gem.

They are opening specifically for the snowdrop season from 10:00 to 16:00 on the dates above. It's a tranquil spot and there'll be a pop-up café as well as plenty of snowdrops.

Snowdrops at Kingston Lacy

This National Trust property is home to over 40 different varieties of snowdrop in the grounds. Open throughout February from 09.30 until 16.00 every day. No booking needed! If you're not a National Trust member, the usual entrance fees apply.

If you're keen, there are volunteer-led early morning walks (8:40 am – 9:40 am) daily until 13th February. This is the best time to see the flowers before the crowds arrive, often with the frost still on the petals. Booking (and a walk fee of £10) is required (even if you are a National Trust member).

A parish by parish tour of the Chase

codford

Codford lies in the Wylye valley at the extreme northern edge of the Chase, with Salisbury Plain not far beyond. The parish extends from the river north onto chalk downs. Strictly speaking there are two villages in the parish, Codford St Peter and Codford St Mary, but they are effectively joined as one village and generally known simply as Codford.

Codford village is close to the A36 trunk road, which previously ran along the whole length of the High Street, but a bypass was built in the 1990s and removed the through traffic. With a population of about 870 it is one of the Chase's larger villages.

Not all of the parish is in the Chase; the northern part, on the downs above the village, lies outside.

For more, see Hubert’s guide to Codford below. All opinions are his own, and may not be shared by Tales from the Chase, or anyone of sound mind.

CODFORD

Ah, Codford. I arrived expecting nothing. I was still disappointed.

Whilst we have only half a parish to deal with, it seems from a glance at the OS map that we do have two villages: Codford St Peter and Codford St Mary. But what this really means is two churches, half a mile apart, with a straggle of houses connecting the two. So it’s really one village then. Of course it is.

Notable for:

Things lost but not forgotten. The names of some of the houses along the village's High Street are instructive of the decline of rural facilities; The Old School House*, The Old Bakery, The Old Butchers, The Old Chippy, the Old Telephone Exchange, the Old Saddlery...walking it is less a stroll and more an inventory of failure.

Each “The Old” is like an apology, or a gravestone for rural life as it used to be, when places like Codford had local services.

The names perform the role of a remembrance of things past. They are evocative of a search for lost time. But there is no madeleine dipped in tisane here, no sudden rush of sweetness or recovery of childhood joy. Just house names that starkly announce what has gone.

There is a tea room, though. Fittingly it's located in the former pub/hotel; but no it's not called "The Old Pub", it's the Codford Tea Rooms. It's not just for tea and cake, it's also a licensed cafe. You can get lunch, and a beer.

Maybe madeleines and lime-flower tea could be added to the menu, for when customers are inevitably overcome with Proustian ennui after walking up the High Street.

Also notable:

The ANZAC War Cemetery. The Commonwealth War Graves Commission plot near St Mary’s contains the graves of 97 ANZAC soldiers (66 New Zealanders, 31 Australians) from WWI. All here because Codford once hosted transit and training camps for troops heading to and from the Western Front, and a hospital for the wounded. It's the second‑largest New Zealand war graves cemetery in the UK. Fancy that.

The Rising Sun / Anzac Badge on Lamb Down near the village. It's a giant chalk carving of an Australian Army badge originally cut in around 1917 by soldiers stationed here. It was originally embedded with green, brown and clear beer bottles to make it shine. The soldiers called the steep slope "Misery Hill” because maintaining the badge was used as a punishment. Today only the chalk outline remains. A few locals and army types tidy it up from time to time.

Locals insist it “comes alive” after rain. I dread to think what that means, but I assure you it does not.

A 9th‑century Saxon cross shaft in St Peter’s church. An enigmatic piece of stone that’s quite prettily carved and well-preserved. I touched it. Nothing happened. No curse, no prophecy, no teleportation. Just stone. Worth seeing though.

St Mary’s Church has bits dating back to at least the 13th century. There's also a Norman font, and a jumbled 17th‑century tomb that looks like a toddler knocked it over.

Woolstore Theatre

Yes, Codford has a theatre. A theatre. The Woolstore Theatre has been doing its thing since 1928 in a former wool store converted to a cinema that once entertained Australian troops in WWI. Now it seats about 107 people for local plays that the local audience loves far more than I ever will.

The River Wylye drifts along the southern edge of the parish, historically powering mills for the local weaving and wool trade (hence that woolstore). Now it carries reflections and various fish with nowhere urgent to be.

Codford Circle & Ancient Earthworks sits up on Codford Hill and is neolithic. I'm sure once it looked vaguely impressive and important. You can't actually see much of it from the nearest public right of way (some 250 metres away to the west) so if you want to see more you'll have to trespass. Or "get lost". Is it worth the sense of guilt? You decide.

Weirdly, the Chase boundary cuts across the middle. What for, who knows. Maybe the northern part is not deemed to have the elevated scenic qualities required to be included. Seems unlikely. Or maybe someone messed up. No-one cares.

Apparently there are also a couple of bowl barrows near Lamb Down, but these are located nowhere near any public paths. I didn't bother looking for them. My capacity for further disappointment and guilt was exhausted.

Ghosts. Yes ghosts. Its rumoured soldiers haunt the former military sites. I saw nothing. Maybe a night time visit would help. Over to you.

A “mysterious seasonal path”. Locals talk about it. I did not see it. It's like the local equivalent of the Loch Ness Monster in that regard. One for the fools over at the Forgotten Footpath Society to investigate.

Conclusion

I left Codford feeling that the universe would have preferred I had never visited. I mostly agree with the universe.

You may think this is harsh, but that's just me enjoying myself. So visit for yourself and see what you think. The tea room is actually very good and worth a stop if you're passing on the A36.

NEXT WEEK: COMPTON ABBAS

Prepare to be utterly underwhelmed.

*Note that the village does have a new primary school that replaced two former schools, so there is still a school in the village. Not all is lost...

So Hubert got a Proustian vibe in Codford, and we learnt how Aelwyn of the mists saved the Chase from eternal winter by inventing snowdrops. What a ride.

Next week, Hubert's off to Compton Abbas, and Isla will tell a tale of mystery and imagination. A time of wonder awaits.

Until then, keep your wellies close, and wade carefully through the weeds and slimy water.

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