Black fur, white paw, no mercy; and a boss you look up to

25 September 2025

Welcome to issue 7 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!

Hello fellow wanderers of the Chase!

Welcome back to another week of Tales from the Chase, where we uncover the odd, the unexpected, and the delightfully quirky corners of Cranborne Chase. From hidden histories to curious creatures, strange stories to secret spots, there’s always something to surprise even the most seasoned explorer. This week, the Chase has a few surprises waiting for us (as usual)…

Featured this week:

• some great events lined up over the next seven days, see what's catching our eye below
• black fur, white paw, no mercy. Shade the cat has been exposing secrets longer than you’ve been alive. Read all about him in our new feature, Lore of the Chase: Field notes from the folklorist's notebook, by Isla Cobb
• Hubert's guide to Bishopstone, a parish of many parts
• a range of other quirks, curios, and charmingly strange goings-on.

From now on, our features will rotate: Lore of the Chase, Forgotten Footpath Society, Beasts of the Chase, and Chasing the Past. Next week: the FFS. Then another beast, a dip into history, and back to Lore. Stay tuned!

And to celebrate the inititaion of Lore of the Chase this week, we have teamed up with Isla to produce a special 'Tales from the Chase' issue of her leaflet "How to apologise to a river without making it weird". You can download it here now river leaflet TFTC version.pdf! Just in case you inadvertently offend a river or need to make amends for some other transgression. It happens. Be prepared. Get the leaflet.

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27 September 2025

• Shaftesbury Carnival – Market stalls, food stalls, games and entertainment on the High Street.– Children’s Procession.– Marching Bands Parade.– Evening Illuminated Procession.– Fun fair on Barton Hill Recreation Ground. From 10.00 a.m.

28 September 2025

• Salisbury Cathedral Choral Evensong 800th Anniversary of the Dedication of the East End. The original dedication fell on the Eve of Michaelmas (the Feast of St Michael and All Angels), which is the same day as we will be marking it at Evensong. The day after, the Cathedral welcomed Archbishop Stephen Langton, and just three days later King Henry III visited. Starts at 16.30 p.m.

tales from the folklorist's notebook

by Isla Cobb

Shade the Cat

In the Chalke Valley, there is a black cat whose reputation precedes him. He has one white paw, and an expression that gives nothing away. Unreadable, indifferent, yet somehow knowing. Locals call him Shade.

He does not purr. He does not meow. He does not purr. He simply appears, slipping from nowhere into the heart of gatherings, weddings, wakes, parties; anywhere people are pressed together, emotions perhaps running high.

If you have a secret tucked away, Shade knows it, and he will make sure it becomes your problem. Yes, he knows about the thing in the cupboard. Don't act innocent.

According to those who have seen him, Shade always knows who is hiding something. First, he appears at the edge of the gathering. Just sitting there, quiet, watching. Like a tiny, furry surveillance camera. Then, when he is certain of his chosen mark, he makes his move. He saunters across to his unsuspecting target, and sits, eyes fixed on the face of his mark. They feel the weight of his gaze, and the lie they had thought buried prickles on their skin. His white paw, like a judge’s glove, shines. He's already delivered a guilty verdict. The white paw is always clean. Perhaps a sign that he deals in truth.

He stares whilst his mark gets increasingly uncomfortable and wrestles with their guilt. Sometimes for several minutes, sometimes, if there’s music, just until the song has ended. And then, when the observer has felt the full weight of his judgment, he saunters off and disappears through an open door, or into the hedge. Sometimes it seems like he simply vanishes at the edge of the gathering as though the shadows themselves have swallowed him.

Sometimes people feign ignorance, deny they have done anything to deserve the attention, but no-one believes this. Shade has spoken, and Shade is always right. The truth will come out, perhaps later, perhaps less publicly. But sometimes, the weight is too much and they confess on the spot.

Longevity and supernatural reputation

Older residents of the valley claim Shade has been sighted for decades. A record from the 1920s places him at a wedding in Ebbesbourne Wake; most recently he’s been seen at a gathering in Bowerchalke this year. Local scholars call him a spectral truth-bringer, a moral compass with fur and claws.

He punishes with attention. Sitting at the guilty party’s feet with that patient, unreadable stare and white paw is both symbol and warning. The message is clear: the truth cannot hide when Shade is present. Yes, you are hiding something. Yes, he knows. And yes, you will confess.

Some recorded appearances

A young farmer from Fifield Bavant admitted he had been secretly courting his neighbour’s wife for months, exchanging love notes hidden in turnips. Shade visited him at a christening party. He bluffed it out at the time, but confessed some days later when pressed on the matter at a local pub. Just as the neighbour walked in. The resulting brawl is now a local legend. Round September time, suspicious root vegetables appear on his doorstep, sometimes concealing notes. Example: "Warning: use of root vegetables for romance may result in public ridicule".

At a wedding reception in a marquee in Broad Chalke, Shade’s stare caused the bride’s cousin to confess he had been switching the seating cards to place people who didn’t like each other next to one another, hoping to sow chaos. He ended the evening hiding under the cake table. At every family wedding since, his place card has read simply “Trouble.”

The Ebbesbourne Wake Wedding (1920s memory): A maid confessed she had been secretly slipping the bride’s love letters into the fire and replacing them with forged ones, causing weeks of flirtatious confusion and duelling suitors. She had failed in her attempt to stop the wedding, and wept as Shade stared, expression unreadable. Dismissed from service, she found work in another village.

The Bishopstone Fete (1970s): A man admitted that he had been bribing the choir to sing falsified verses of the hymns during weddings, causing laughter, blushes, and scandal. Banned from choir practice, he left the village soon after and never returned.

Theories about Shade

Over the years, local scholars, folklorists, and witnesses have offered several theories about his nature:

1. He is a supernatural agent of truth, punishing through observation.
2. He is a liminal creature, tied to thresholds; physical, social, and moral. Gatherings such as feasts, wakes, and weddings are occasions of social negotiation; perhaps he monitors fairness, honour, and etiquette.
3. He is an echo of the past: he carries the memories of wronged souls.
4. Symbolically, he embodies the collective conscience of the community. His stare compels self-reflection; his presence makes lies and hidden misdeeds impossible to ignore.
5. He’s a trickster. Shade may simply thrive on human discomfort, watching and compelling confessions, regardless of whether the secret matters.
6. Some say the white paw is symbolic: a touch of light in the darkness. Others think it’s just a fancy mitten. Either way, it’s terrifying.

I thought I saw him once, up the track in Church Bottom, heading towards me. He paused, white paw raised, as if to say, “We need to talk,” then vanished.

Shade: part moral compass, part feline mischief, entirely terrifying. And if you think you’re safe… well, he probably already knows your secret.

A parish by parish tour of the Chase

And so it continues. Our parish-by-parish pilgrimage through the Chase’s 108 parishes. Alphabetical order, of course; Hubert's in charge and he likes methodical.

This week, the Chalke Valley parish that is Bishopstone.

bishopstone

The parish of Bishopstone spans the Chalke Valley, spreading up and over the valley sides north and south of the Ebble. Roughly 700 residents call it home, in a scatter of small settlements including Croucheston, Faulston, Netton, Flamstone, Throope and Bishopstone.

Interestingly, the dropbox where Hubert leaves his weekly contributions for me to collect is located in this parish. I wonder if he might live nearby? Bishopstone is also the very place where Isla once said she met Ebble (known then as “Mary”), during that brief spell in the 1990s when the goddess took the form of a country-music-loving woman living in a riverside cottage. It only just occurred to me that perhaps Ebble, in her Mary guise, may have crossed paths with Hubert back then…

Anyway, Hubert's guide is below. All views expressed are Hubert's own, and not necessarily shared by Tales from the Chase.

BISHOPSTONE

Ah, Bishopstone. Seemingly assembled by throwing darts at a medieval map then building a few houses at each point. Bits of it are spread out along the Ebble as if dropped by a passing giant with a hole in his bag of houses. The hamlets of Croucheston, Faulston, Netton, Flamstone, Throope... they sound like a cast of obscure characters from the Harry Potter books.

Notable for: the river Ebble.

Far more than a chalk stream, the river is the lifeblood of the parish, a silver thread stitching fields, settlement, and history together. It nurtures and sustains life both seen and unseen.

It is a river of extraordinary beauty that inspires contemplation and encourages reflection. It invites the imagination to drift: perhaps the spirits of ancestors linger there, perhaps the river itself remembers things the world has long forgotten.

In short, the Ebble is an understated jewel. It is not grand, not ostentatious, but it is profoundly beautiful, quietly luminous. A river that knows its own value, that deserves respect.

​

Also notable:

Grim’s Ditch. One of many of the same name (see also: Berwick St Leonard, inter alia). This one straggles along the southern parish boundary, dating back to who-knows-when, and serving who-knows-what purpose. The name promises menace, mystery, perhaps something interesting. Yet what do we find? A slightly raised line of earth. Less a monument, more a chalky, flinty, earthy line of disappointment. We have to resort, again, to imagination to derive anything even faintly worthwhile to say. Possibly created by Odin, possibly by bored Bronze Age farmers, possibly by the devil himself. Whichever, I rate it 2/10 for intimidation. Maybe sightings of a shadowy figure, heard muttering secrets of long forgotten gods, would improve things. Sadly, there are no such rumours. Yet.

Roman Road (course of). Largely invisible as such. Now connects absolutely nowhere to absolutely nothing. But parts align with rights of way that cross the parish so you could conceivably 'walk in the footsteps of the Romans' for a bit. Excellent illustration of how civilizations peak, fall, and leave behind echoes for the mildly curious. But no sign of phantom soldiers marching, their sandals clicking on stones long vanished. No faint horn blasts in the distance. The folklore seems sadly lacking, given the potential.

STaB. Stratford Tony and Bishopstone's monthly newsletter. The acronym makes it sound less like a parish newsletter and more like a zine for a violent street gang. Nothing says warm, local communication quite like naming your magazine after a verb associated with homicide. Sounds like it should come with a free balaclava and witness protection.

The logo depicting the "T" as a cross only serves to highlight that the title is so wildly inappropriate it makes the Domesday Book sound positively jaunty. Somewhere in the hills over by Grim's Ditch, a wolf nods in approval.

The White Hart. Built in 1682, licensed in 1756, rebuilt in the 19th century in its current form. As well as beer and other beverages, serves hearty, wholesome, and thoroughly charming food. Steak Night every Tuesday, ​Fish & Fizz Fridays every Friday, Quiz Night last Thursday of every month. A pub that has outlived the Stuarts and Georgians, only to be known for its Fish & Fizz Fridays. History weeps, and Odin quietly orders a whisky.

St John the Baptist Church. An important and undeniably large village church. Inside, there are fine carvings. Outside, look closely and you’ll find less fine work comprising witch marks, and scratch dials; primitive sundials so wildly inaccurate they only ever confirmed what everyone already knew: that time in Bishopstone moves very, very slowly.

Suggested itinerary

Arrive. Begin at the village’s proud monument to medieval overachievement: the church. A large building, making parishioners feel small for eight centuries. Check out the carvings, the witch marks, the scratch dials; then leave.

Wander over and take a look at the River Ebble. Look out for trout, dragonflies, herons. Let imagination wander. A river with infinite patience; also great fun at parties.

Head up Faulston Drove to find fragments of Roman Road (course of). Go at twilight and see whether you can see a spectral figure or hear vague mutterings or marching feet. Carry on across the A354 to find Grim's Ditch. Menacing in name, disappointing in reality. Perfect for those who enjoy their walks with a side of unease. Reflect how this is still mildly preferable to staying at home with the telly.

Visit the White Hart to sample the comforting ambience. Steak Night every Tuesday, Fish & Fizz Fridays, and Quiz Night the last Thursday of the month. Take your pick, and time your visit accordingly. If visiting outside these highlights, still recommended for beer, sustenance and minor existential reflection.

Pick up a copy of STaB. Check for veiled or coded threats woven cunningly into the report on the village fete or in the parish council news. Consider the possibility that it may be the most subtly menacing publication in southern Wiltshire. Fail to find anything actually nefarious, but feel it's maybe because you don't have the code book.

Leave, imagination stirred, mildly haunted, and vaguely disturbed by what you may have missed between the lines in STaB.

NEXT WEEK: BLANDFORD FORUM

Don't get excited. The town's not even in the Chase. It's only included because a small part of the parish boundary just sneaks over the edge. I'm not going to take it seriously, seems too much like hard work. It'll be brief.

Note the section about the Ebble; a different tone from his previous efforts. Maybe being persistently harassed by a vengeful river goddess is having the desired effect. Very flattering, very respectful. Is he actually trying to apologise, in his own way? And also this comment, "great fun at parties". Hubert, as we now know him, does not seem like a fun or party person, why would he say this about Ebble? Intriguing.

Congratulations, you’ve survived another issue of local drama.

As you leave, do try not to trip over your own imagination. The owls will laugh, and I assure you, they’re merciless.

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