The Headless Steeds of Calverley Woods

Approaching ten of the clock on a brilliantly moon-lit night, a sturdy villager crossed the Aire by the stepping-stones at Apperley, and turned along the boulder-strewn path, through Calverley Woods to the village. The companionable murmuring of the river, and a gentle soughing in the trees alone broke the silence of the night.

The pedestrian was a stolid fellow whose mind was pleasurably anticipating a foaming tankard at the village ale-house. The beauty of the woods by night had no appeal, and the old-wives’ tales of fearsome apparitions were far from his thoughts.

Suddenly the clatter and jingle of horses broke upon his ear. He paused a moment to listen. The noise was no imagination. Instantly the stories of the phantom horsemen rushed into his brain, and, despite himself, his cheek blanched. From the heart of the woods, ahead and a little to the right-hand, came the sound of a madly riding cavalcade.

Nearer it came, and nearer. There was the ringing of iron-shod hoofs and the jingle and slap of leathern horse-gear; and, ever and anon, there burst forth cries and demoniacal laughter, which caused the echoes to resound far and wide.

Terrified, the lonely villager crouched behind a friendly rock. He peered in the direction from which came the unearthly sounds, and there, along one of the brightly illuminated glades, he saw the dim shapes of four horsemen sweeping towards him.

Galloping wildly onward, they approached the terror-stricken watcher, who perceived that the distant trees could be clearly discerned through the ghostly bodies of the horses and their riders. Suddenly he saw that all four horses were headless.

Clutching a dripping dagger high in his right hand, the foremost horseman rode straight for the rock behind which the villager crouched. His headless steed cleared the stone with a mighty bound, and, crying “A pun more weight, lig on, lig on!” he galloped out of sight. His companions, uttering shrieks of mirth, followed, and quickly all were swallowed up in the fastnesses of the woods.

The terrified man, without a glance behind, ran as though for his life, and eventually fell, fainting, in the parlour of the inn.

In the Parish Register of the pretty village of Calverley, under the date 1605, is the entry of a double burial. It reads:

April: William and Walter, sonnes of Walter Calverley, Esqre. On the xxiiii daye.

And thereby hangs a tale. Walter Calverley, Lord of the Manor, foully murdered his two young sons in that year, and, as punishment for his dastardly crime, suffered death “by pressing” at York.

This method of execution was horrible in the extreme. The criminal was laid naked on the floor, with a small sharp-edged stone beneath his back. A wooden platform was then placed upon him, and on this platform enormous stones were piled slowly, until at last, after excruciating torture, the victim’s ribs burst and he died.

It is recorded that so terrible were Calverley’s sufferings that in order to hasten death he continually cried to his executioners to pile on more weight- “A pun more weight – lig on; lig on!”