Halloween Special: The Pendle Witch Trials and the Flannan Isles Mystery

Two mysteries, one restless question: how far will fear carry a story? We mark Halloween by walking two grim paths, through the Pendle witch trials of 1612 and out to the storm-beaten Flannan Isles, where three lighthouse keepers vanished without a trace. Along the way, we unpack how belief, law, and isolation turn everyday details into legends that refuse to fade.

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Transcript

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Welcome to Blue Trail, the path through history's darkest crimes and strangest mysteries. Today, we've got something special because it's Halloween. So we're not following one trail, but two. From the moors of Lancashire to the cliffs of Scotland. This is the Clue Trail Halloween special. For our first story, we go back to 1612, to the hills of Lancashire, where life was hard and superstition was part of everyday life. Beneath Pendle Hill, families worked the land and tried to make ends meet in a time when fear and fate went hand in hand. Before we get into what happened there, it helps to understand the world they lived in. King James I was ruling England then, and he had a deep fascination with witchcraft. He didn't just believe in it, he studied it. In 1597, he published a book called Demonology, which set out his views on witchcraft and how to identify witches. In it, he described witches as servants of the devil and warned that their powers were real and dangerous. To King James, witchcraft wasn't only a religious concern, it was also a crime against the Crown. So when Parliament passed the Witchcraft Act of 1604, making it a capital offense to speak with evil spirits or use charms for harm, the country was ready to see witchcraft everywhere. And in Lancashire, that fear soon became real when, in March 1612, a traveling trader named John Law, known then as a peddler, who was someone who sold small household goods, was walking along the road near the village of Corn. There, he met a young woman called Alison DeVice. She asked if she could buy some pins from him. Nothing unusual, since peddlers often carried such things. But strangely enough, he refused to sell her any, which was rather odd. Mere moments later, out of nowhere, John Law suddenly collapsed on the road and lost the use of one side of his body. It was like he was struck by a curse, and word spread quickly that Alison had cursed him for refusing to sell her the pens. In truth, people already saw Alison and her family with suspicion. They were poor and they lived on the edge of the community near Pendle Hill. Her grandmother had a reputation as a healer, so when John Law collapsed, many didn't see it as a coincidence. To them, it confirmed what they already believed: that Alison and her family had dealings in witchcraft. With their fate already decided in the eyes of the neighbors, the news of possible witchcraft traveled quickly. When it reached Roger Nowell, the magistrate of Red Hall, he decided to investigate and Alison was brought in for questioning. Now questioning in those days was very different. There were no lawyers or real protections, and the accused were often questioned directly by magistrates for hours, sometimes with intimidation or threats. Confession was seen as proof of repentance, so many people ended up admitting to things they might never have done. So, in that setting, where confession was seen as a sign of repentance, Alison eventually broke down. She admitted that she had cursed John Law and claimed that the devil had helped her do it. But she didn't stop there. She also accused her own mother, Elizabeth, her grandmother, and members of a rival family who had long-standing disputes with her family. Constables arrested those Alice and Hadden and took them to Lancaster Castle, where they were kept in dark, crowded cells. Before long, rumors began to spread about a meeting at Malkin Tower, the home of the Device family. And people said that on Good Friday, members of the Device family and a few neighbors had gathered there to plan how to free the prisoners and to take revenge on those who had accused them. And as the rumors grew, so did the number of people accused. By the summer of 1612, 12 people were charged with witchcraft and murder. Their trial began on August 18, 1612. It was led by two judges, Sir Edward Bromley and Sir James Alton, both familiar with King James' ideas about witchcraft from his book Demonology. And perhaps unsurprisingly, in that courtroom, superstition and law were closely tied together, and every accusation, no matter how unlikely it seemed, was taken seriously. Thomas Potts, the court clerk, recorded the proceedings in a book, and his notes include some striking and sometimes unbelievable details. The grandma, elderly and almost blind, claimed she had met a spirit in the shape of a boy with one half of his coat black and the other one brown. She also explained that if a witch has one mark, then she has one spirit, but if she has two marks, then she has two spirits. As though witchcraft could be counted and classified. Thomas Potts described how John Law had been left after his collapse, with his eyes and face deformed and his speech not well understood, and that to those listening, it was proof that Alison's curse had worked. One other accused was said to have confessed to using wax pictures, which were small figures marked with an enemy's name. This could be pricked, melted, or buried to cause harm. Such claims were actually common at that time, and to those in court, they sounded entirely believable. But the most damaging testimony came not from the adult, but from a child. That was nine-year-old Janet Device, the daughter and granddaughter of the accused, who was brought to the stand. Thomas Potts wrote that the girl in the stand said her mother is a witch and that she knows this to be true. And that was the moment that sealed the fate of nearly everyone accused that day. Her words carried enormous weight, not only because she was young, but because in that deeply religious society, a child was often seen as pure and incapable of lying. So the judges accepted her statement as the truth. Over the two days of hearings, ten out of the twelve accused were found guilty of witchcraft and murder. One of the accused died in prison before the trial began, and another was found not guilty. Those condemned were taken to Gallows Hill near Lancaster and on a summer's day in August 1612 were hanged before a crowd that had gathered to watch. Their bodies were left hanging for some time as a warning to others who might be tempted by witchcraft. The Pendle Witch Trials became famous in English history, largely because it was so well documented. Thomas Potts' book recorded every accusation, confession, and word of the trial. And that was a rare level of detail for that time. As for John Law, the peddler whose collapse began it all, modern writers consider a medical cause, such as a stroke, consistent with the accounts that he lost the use of one side. Though nothing can be proven now. But in a world where every misfortune demanded an explanation, witchcraft was the easiest one to believe. Today, Bendle Hill still attracts visitors and ghost hunters alike. Candles are left to the ruins said to be Malkin Tower, and each Halloween, people still whisper the names of those who lost their lives to a superstition. To the turn of the 20th century, and to the far northwest of Scotland in the sea around the outer Hebrides. Of this coast lie the Flannan Isles, seven small rocky islands rising from the Atlantic where storms come fast and the sea never truly rests. It was on one of these islands that the Northern Lighthouse Board built a new light in 1899. This was a 75-foot tower whose beam could be seen for 24 miles across the sea. And in this remote place lived the three men who kept the light burning: James Ducat, Thomas Marshall, and Donald MacArthur. They lived in near total isolation. Their only connection to the outside world was a small boat that came in when the weather allowed. The sea around the Hebrides was restless and grey with heavy swells rolling in from the Atlantic. For days, gales had swept across the coast, cutting the islands from the mainland. The men inside the lighthouse would have heard the wind battering against the walls and waves crashing below. When the relief vessel Hesperus finally reached the lighthouse on December 26th, the crew noticed something immediately. The lighthouse stood dark. There was no beam and no signal. Climbing the steep rail to the top of the cliff, they found the gate unlocked and the door closed, but unlatched. Inside, the beds were made, but the clock had stopped and a meal sat untouched on the table. One chair was overturned as if someone had stood up in a hurry. Also, two sets of heavy coats were reported missing, while the third still hung neatly on its back. And the men? They were gone. There was no sign of them anywhere. The investigation began immediately with Superintendent Robert Merhead of the Northern Lighthouse Board leading the inspection himself. After all, three men disappearing from a lighthouse in a remote island was not an easy mystery to explain. His report described the West Landing as badly damaged, with turf ripped away, iron railings bent in a manner difficult to believe unless actually seen, and stones weighing close to a ton shifted from their place. It was strange because there have been no reports of a storm powerful enough to cause such destruction. Later retellings claimed the lighthouse log recorded lines like, prayers, all men afraid, and on the 15th, storm ended. God is all over. With nothing else to go on and no sign of the man anywhere, the official verdict was death by misadventure. It was believed that a large wave had struck the island and swept them away as they tried to secure equipment on the landing. But although the investigation ended, that didn't mean the theories and speculations stopped. They only grew over time. There are three main explanations often discussed. The first theory is the most practical. It suggests that one of the men went down to the West Landing to secure equipment during rough seas, was caught by a sudden wave, and the others rushed to help, ending in all three being swept away in the process. Considering the missing codes and the routine of their duties, it seems likely. It's the explanation the Lighthouse Board accepted at the time, and the one most historians still believe to be the most likely. The second theory focuses on a fight between the men. Life on the island was harsh, and with weeks of isolation, constant wind, and the weight of responsibility for keeping the light burning, some believe an argument may have broken out, turning physical at the wrong moment. One could have fallen or been injured, and in the confusion that followed, the others were lost to the sea. The third theory leans into folklore. The islands have long been surrounded by superstition with many stories of sea spirits, ghosts, and the little men of Flanan, which are said to be small otherworldly beings that guard the rocks from intruders. Over time, some began to believe that the keepers met a fate not of this world. There is no evidence for that, of course, but it's an idea that still lingers in local imagination, especially on nights when the waves rise high and the wind sounds almost like voices. The mystery of the Flannan Isles remains unsolved, and more than a century later, the story still drifts between fact and folklore. And on stormy nights, some say the light in the tower still flickers as if the keepers never really left. You can find extra content on Patreon. Thank you for listening and for walking these trails with me.