Wild Edric
I first came across the legend of Wild Edric in Malcolm Saville’s Mystery at Witchend, one of my favourite childhood books. The Morton family are entertained on the train from Shrewsbury to Church Stretton by Bill Ward, a sailor on leave from the Second World War. As well as other Shropshire legends, he tells them the story of Wild Edric, who haunts the Long Mynd as a great black dog. In the second book in Saville’s Lone Pine series, Seven White Gates, we hear another telling of the same legend, only this time Wild Edric is very much a man, roaming the hills with his beautiful wife, Godda, and the Wild Hunt.
Now that I live in the heart of the hills, I’ve been able to dig further into the many legends of Wild Edric and the real Saxon nobleman who led a rebellion against William the Conqueror in 1067 and inspired the myths.
The Fairy Bride (The Legend of Lady Godda)
The most romantic of the myths – that told in Saville’s Seven White Gates – is of Edric and Godda, recorded by the 12th-century chronicler Walter Map. Whilst hunting in the Forest of Clun, Edric discovered a remote house filled with beautiful dancing women. He was instantly smitten with one named Godda and snatched her away, only to be attacked by her sisters, who turned into monsters (harpies or birds, depending on the version). Edric escaped with Godda, who agreed to marry him, on the condition that he never reproached her for her origins or her sisters. For years, they lived happily and had a son, Alnoth; however, one day, in a fit of temper when Godda was late, Edric snapped, ‘I suppose you have been off with your sisters!’ Godda immediately disappeared, and Edric spent the rest of his life searching for her before dying of a broken heart.
The Sleeping Hero (The Lead Mines of the Stiperstones)
In this version, Edric is a King in the Mountain figure, much like King Arthur or Frederick Barbarossa. When Edric at last surrendered to William the Conqueror, his people felt betrayed and imprisoned him inside the lead mines of the Stiperstones along with his wife and his army. (How they managed this is not clear, but presumably some magic was involved, and in most versions he became cursed.) He and his army remain within the Stiperstones mines to this day and cannot die until England is once more restored to its pre-Norman state. Local lead miners traditionally claimed they could hear Edric and his men knocking on the inside of the rock faces, but weren’t scared; the miners believed the knocking guided them toward the richest veins of ore.
The Harbinger of War (The Wild Hunt)
This version connects Edric to the pan-European myth of the Wild Hunt, found in many local folklores. Whenever England is threatened by a major war, Edric and Lady Godda lead a spectral host across the Shropshire hills. (This legend is also mentioned in Saville’s Seven White Gates when young Jenny Harman claims to have seen the hunt on the eve of the Second World War.) Sightings of a green-clad Edric on a white horse have been reported before several significant conflicts:
- 1854: Before the Crimean War (witnessed by a young girl and her father near Rorrington).
- 1914: Before the First World War.
- 1939: Before the Second World War.
Legend says if you see the hunt, you must remain silent and look away. Seeing them ride toward the enemy's country is a sign that the coming war will be serious.
The Monster Fish of Bomere Pool
This strange version of the legend is one that I had never heard before moving to the area, connecting Edric to a giant fish in Bomere Pool near Shrewsbury. It is said that a monster fish lives in the pool and is girded with Wild Edric’s sword. (This immediately raised questions for me, e.g. how does a fish become encircled by a sword, which is a straight piece of metal – magic again, presumably.) Whenever fishermen try to catch the fish with nets, the fish uses the sword to cut through the mesh and escape. The fish will only be caught, and the sword returned, when the rightful heir of Edric the Wild returns to the land. Surely this creates a great opportunity for anyone standing for local office to claim direct descendancy from Edric.
The Real Eadric the Wild
The real Eadric the Wild (or Eadric Silvaticus) was a Saxon landowner who held 56 manors in Shropshire before the Norman Conquest and is listed in the Domesday Book. Contrary to the folktales, he was no hunted outlaw in the immediate aftermath of the Conquest, as he was not involved in the Battle of Hastings and may instead have been part of the naval blockade that attempted to keep William away from England’s shores.
Rather than being sparked by a fairy bride, his rebellion was in fact ignited by a Norman neighbour, Richard FitzScrob, who began seizing Eadric’s lands in 1067, while William was away in Normandy. While the myth implies he was a wild man of the woods, historians believe the nickname Silvaticus (meaning of the woods) actually referred to a specific class of English resistance fighters who lived in tents and forests to avoid submitting to Norman housing laws (shades of Robin Hood, anyone?).
The Guerrilla War vs. The Wild Hunt
Between 1067 and 1070, Eadric led a very real and brutal campaign. He allied with Welsh Princes Bleddyn and Rhiwallon ap Cynfyn to sack Hereford and burn the town of Shrewsbury. He was never truly defeated in his own territory. Instead, he retreated into the hills whenever the King's main army approached. The Wild Hunt legend likely grew from these hit-and-run tactics. Since Eadric and his men would vanish into the Shropshire hills and forests only to reappear suddenly for a raid, they gained a reputation as spectral or untouchable warriors.
The Surrender: A Disappointing Ending?
In 1070, Eadric made a pragmatic choice that the legends struggle to reconcile: he submitted to William the Conqueror. He even joined William’s army in 1072 to fight in Scotland and Maine.
Folk tradition seems to have found this peaceful ending too anticlimactic. In the Sleeping Hero version, the story claims his own people were so disgusted by his surrender that they cursed him and imprisoned him in the Stiperstones mines. In the Fairy Bride version, his surrender is framed as a truce William offered just so the King could see Edric's beautiful, supernatural wife.
The Fate of the Sword
Eadric disappeared from the historical record around 1075. One 15th-century chronicle suggests he was eventually captured by the Norman Ralph de Mortimer and died in a dungeon. Because there was no recorded grave or grand final battle, the myth of the Monster Fish at Bomere Pool provided a more magical ending for his weaponry, suggesting that his power didn't die, but was merely hidden underwater until a rightful heir should return.
There are shades here of King Arthur and Excalibur being cast into the lake to be reclaimed once the true king returned, although Mallory’s Morte d’Arthur wasn’t written until the mid-fifteenth century, with a probable completion date of 1470. It was first published by William Caxton in 1485, who also named it the Morte d’Arthur.
Modern Day Links
Today, the legend of Wild Edric is not just a dusty historical record; it is a living part of Shropshire's landscape and local culture. His story is preserved through physical trails, public art, and traditional storytelling. Here is how the specific locations associated with the legend celebrate and maintain the story today:
1. The Stiperstones (familiar to readers of Death at the Devil’s Chair)
This dramatic quartzite ridge is arguably the most atmospheric location linked to Edric.
The Devil’s Chair: Local folklore says the Devil sits here to hold audiences with witches, and it is also where Edric is said to be imprisoned in the lead mines below.
Modern Folklore Sightings: Even in the 20th century, locals (such as a woman from nearby Minsterley in 1939) reported hearing the "thundering of hooves" and seeing a green-clad Edric before major wars.
Walking & Tourism: The Bishop’s Castle Walking Festival (often held in May) and local guides frequently lead legend walks that explore the Stiperstones, telling the tale of Edric’s imprisonment and his spectral Wild Hunt that supposedly warns of national danger.
2. Wild Edric’s Way (The Long Distance Trail)
The most prominent modern tribute is a 50-mile (80km) long-distance footpath named in his honour. The trail begins in Church Stretton, crosses the Long Mynd (where he is sometimes seen as a giant black dog), passes the Stiperstones, and winds through Bishop’s Castle and Clun before ending at Ludlow. The path is marked with distinct discs featuring a sword design, representing the sword he supposedly entrusted to the fish of Bomere Pool. It allows hikers to walk the terrain of his 11th-century guerrilla war.
3. Bomere Pool (The "Monster Fish" Waters)
This kettle hole mere (a deep glacial pool) remains shrouded in mystery, though access is more limited today.
Private Legend: The pool is now privately owned by a water skiing club, but the legend of the "Monster Fish" with Edric’s sword remains a staple of Shropshire folklore.
Literary Fame: The location inspired Mary Webb’s famous novel Precious Bane (where it is called Sarn Mere), which helped keep the local myths alive in the public consciousness.
4. Shrewsbury (Public Art and History)
As the site where the real Edric once led a siege against the Normans, Shrewsbury integrates his myth into the town's identity.
The Wild Edric and Lady Godda Mural: In Shrewsbury town centre, a large mural depicts the Broken Promise story of Edric and his fairy bride. It serves as a permanent public reminder of the legend's romantic side.
Shrewsbury Museum & Art Gallery: The museum frequently holds events and workshops on Anglo-Saxon history and local folklore. While the exhibits change, they often use Edric as the primary "hero" figure to explain the transition from Saxon to Norman rule in the region.
5. David Austin Roses
In a quintessentially British tribute, the world-famous Shropshire-based rose breeder David Austin named a specific variety of shrub rose after him. The Wild Edric rose is described as having deep-pink-purple blooms with a strong fragrance—a nod to the wild, vibrant nature of the legend.
Summary of Locations to Visit
| Location |
Legend Theme |
What to See |
| The Stiperstones | The "King in the Mountain" | The Devil's Chair & lead mine ruins |
| Church Stretton | The start of his rebellion | The Long Mynd & Wild Edric's Way trailheads |
| Clun Forest | The meeting with Lady Godda | Clun Castle ruins & ancient forest tracks |
| Shrewsbury | The Siege of 1069 | The folklore mural & Shropshire Museum |
| Bomere Pool | The Sword of Edric | A Site of Special Scientific Interest (visible from public footpaths) |
The Miracle on the Mynd: How Reverend Carr Survived 22 Hours in a Shropshire Blizzard
The true story of one of Shropshire's most enduring folklore tales — and the myths that grew around it.
On the evening of 29 January 1865, a clergyman was crawling on his hands and knees through twenty-foot snowdrifts on the Long Mynd, blind, bootless, and given up for dead. The Reverend Edmund Donald Carr's twenty-two-hour ordeal in one of Shropshire's worst-ever blizzards would become one of the county's most enduring legends — and he would live to write it down himself.
As with many of the Shropshire myths and legends, I first came across the story of Reverend Carr as a child, in Wings Over Witchend, the ninth book in Malcolm Saville's Lone Pine series. Saville's descriptions of the wildness of the Mynd in the snow were brought home to me the other week when, with no snow settled on the ground in the lowland areas, we were forced to turn back on the road between the Long Mynd and the Devil's Chair with snow so deep that it had become impassable.
The Mission (January 29, 1865)
The Reverend Edmund Donald Carr was the Rector of Woolstaston (spelled "Wolstaston" in Carr's day), a small parish on the eastern slopes of the Long Mynd. In 1856, he had also assumed responsibility for the parish of Ratlinghope on the west side of the Mynd.
The official route for a horse and cart involved a twelve-mile journey around the north-west side of the hill, and he developed a habit of walking his own direct four-mile route over the top, enabling him to deliver a morning and evening Sunday service in his own parish with an afternoon service in Ratlinghope. By the time of his great ordeal, he had made the crossing some 2,500 times.
The week before the 29th of January brought unprecedented snowfall, closing many of the county's more remote lanes. On that Sunday, however, despite one of the worst winter storms in Shropshire's history, Reverend Carr determined to carry on as usual.
After the morning service in Woolstaston, he had only time for a few mouthfuls of soup before setting off for Ratlinghope. The only comfort he carried was a flask containing three ounces of brandy, which he had never done before.
Carr set out on horseback with a servant; however, the snow was so deep — apparently reaching the horse's neck in the lanes — that it was impossible for the animal to continue and he sent horse and servant back, continuing alone on foot.
Even by this time, some drifts were more than a foot deep and, at times, he crawled on his hands and knees. Up on the plateau of the Mynd, the going was easier and for a time it was dry and bright, allowing him to follow his usual route. The descent to Ratlinghope was treacherous, but he arrived in the village at a quarter past three, ready to deliver his sermon.
The Ordeal on the Long Mynd
By the time Carr had finished, a gale had blown up and visibility was near zero. His faith, it seems, overcame whatever misgivings he must have felt, because he began his return journey to Woolstaston at four o'clock — with barely an hour of daylight remaining.
Lost in the Storm
Blinded by driving snow and sleet, Carr lost his way. Coming across the skeleton of a pony he had noticed that morning, he was reassured that he was on the right track and stopped for a nip of brandy.
His next landmark was a frozen pool, possibly that near the site of the old Pole Cottage. He never reached the fir trees that marked the following point on his route, however. As conditions worsened, he fell into a series of ravines, at one point plummeting headfirst down a steep slope. He saved himself by using his boots like ice axes, digging the toes into the snow to slow his descent.
Stripped by the Mynd
As the night progressed, Carr lost his hat, his gloves, and eventually both his boots. According to his own account, he had no choice but to continue in his stockings through drifts that were twenty feet deep in places.
His brandy finished, he ate snow to keep himself going, his hair and beard becoming solid lumps of ice. He even broke chunks of ice from his eyebrows and behind his knees.
Blind at Dawn
Somehow Carr kept moving throughout the night. By dawn the following day, he had developed snow blindness — blurred vision and difficulty perceiving colours — which made it even harder to find his way.
At last, he heard running water and followed the sound, knowing it would lead him to a valley and a possible route off the hill. It was then that he tumbled over the upper drop of the Light Spout waterfall. Knowing that if he fell over the lower part he would surely die, he began to climb again.
The Rescue and Aftermath
After twenty-two hours in the elements, with temperatures below zero, Carr heard children's voices but, though he called out to them, they faded away.
When he finally emerged near Carding Mill Valley, he was encrusted in ice and snow. Later, he learned the children had fled, thinking he was a bogey — a ghost or demon. Their parents, though, came to his rescue. Someone recognised him as the rector of Woolstaston and he was taken into a cottage for tea and dry clothes. From there, he went to the Crown Hotel in Church Stretton, arriving at around two pm.
Dead Man Walking
While Carr was struggling to survive, his Woolstaston parishioners had sent out a search party — twenty strong, armed with spades and shovels — before giving up at nightfall and deciding to reconvene the next day.
In the morning, they found the body of another man who had perished in the storm and became convinced that their rector must also be dead. Just as they were sending out formal letters announcing his demise, Carr finally arrived back in Woolstaston, twenty-seven hours after he had left.
A Night in the Snow
Carr had originally told the story as a lecture for the Society for the Promotion of Religious and Useful Knowledge at Bridgnorth, and was repeatedly asked to write it down. The result was his first-hand account, A Night in the Snow; or, A Struggle for Life, published in 1865.
The book sold well and the proceeds were used to pay for new altar rails and a pulpit in his church at Woolstaston. It remains in print today and is available on Amazon, or the full text can be read for free on Project Gutenberg.
Carr served as Rector of Woolstaston for some thirty-five years in total, dying around 1900. His grave lies outside the west window of St Michael & All Angels, Woolstaston — a church mentioned in the Domesday Book, with a Norman font whose lower bowl may have come from Roman Wroxeter.
A Modern Celebration
In 2015, on the 150th anniversary, the National Trust organised a commemorative walk following Carr's route from Ratlinghope to the Carding Mill Valley, with guides dressed in Victorian attire to recount the story. That year there was plenty of snow, making it a fitting tribute. The following year, at the same event, it was mild and sunny, making it hard to truly imagine the Reverend Carr's plight.
Carr's boots — lost that night on the Long Mynd and later rediscovered — have been on display at the National Trust's visitor centre in Carding Mill Valley, a tangible relic of one of Shropshire's most extraordinary survival stories.
The Truth and Nothing but the Truth?
Owing to the primary source of this story being Reverend Carr's own book, A Night in the Snow (1865), the core facts of the narrative are remarkably consistent across almost all accounts. However, there are a few interesting alternative details, local legends, and historical footnotes that add layers to the story.
1. A Toned-Down Truth
One of the most fascinating alternative versions comes from Carr himself in later years. In subsequent editions of his book and in private notes, Carr admitted that he deliberately downplayed the severity of some of his experiences in the first edition, concerned that if he described the conditions exactly as they were, the public would find the story completely unbelievable and accuse him of Victorian melodrama.
Later notes suggest the falls he took were even more frequent and the snowdrifts even deeper than his first modest account let on.
2. The Dead Horse Confusion
You may occasionally find a version of the story — sometimes cited in older snippets or local retellings — that claims Carr survived by sleeping inside or beside his dead horse. This is a classic case of folklore drift: a confusion of the sighting of the pony skeleton with an account of him setting out with his horse, ignoring that he had sent the horse back with his servant.
This myth is persistent enough that it appears even in some modern book summaries and library listings, despite being flatly contradicted by Carr's own text.
3. The Bogey vs. The Angel
In some accounts, there is a slight discrepancy in how the children of Carding Mill Valley perceived Carr when he stumbled out of the snow.
In the usual version, the children see a terrifying, ice-encrusted figure with no boots and wild eyes, and they run away screaming about a bogey or a ghost. In some church-centric retellings, however, the story emphasises the miracle aspect, suggesting the children were actually angels sent to lead him to safety, and plays down their initial terror to make the ending feel more divinely orchestrated.
4. The Second Man (The Tragic Parallel)
While Carr's story is a triumph, the accounts of the other man found dead in the snow that same morning vary. Some accounts say he was a local farmer, while others identify him as a traveller.
The significance of this parallel story is that it serves as a grim reality check for Carr's narrative. While Carr was being celebrated as the man who came back from the dead, another family in the same valley was mourning an actual death — a detail which tempered the local miracle with a dose of tragedy.
Visit the Story
The landscape of Carr's ordeal is still very much there to be explored, and several sites connected to the story can be visited today.
- St Michael & All Angels, Woolstaston — Carr's church and his grave (outside the west window). The church is locked but a key is readily available from Rectory Farm just above.
- Carding Mill Valley, National Trust — Where Carr finally emerged from the snow. The visitor centre has displayed Carr's rediscovered boots.
- Ratlinghope Church — The tiny church where Carr delivered his afternoon sermon before setting out into the storm.
- The Long Mynd — Carr's route across the top can be walked in fine weather, but the Mynd remains an exposed and serious hill in winter. If the Reverend's story teaches us anything, it is to respect this landscape when the weather turns.
