Ann Widdecombe, the British Shadow Home Secretary, drew political fire and brimstone at the recent Conservative Party Conference by advocating a zero-tolerance approach to drugs. More interesting from a meteorological viewpoint, however, is her unusual surname; it suggests that some distant forebear may have hailed from the Devon village of Widecombe-on-the-Moor, on the southern flank of Dartmoor. There was fire and brimstone there, too, 362 years ago today.
October 21st, 1638, fell on a Sunday. A storm raged over the moor that morning, and the local vicar, the Rev George Hyde, competed against it for the attention of his congregation. It was dark inside the church, and many present were apprehensive.
Suddenly there was a flash, and a ball of fire moved through the church and "burst with thunderous noise". It "so much affrighted the whole congregation that the most part of them fell down into their seats, some on their faces and some upon one another, and with a great cry of burning and scalding they all gave themselves up for dead". The chaos was compounded by falling stones and the cries of the injured as part of the church roof fell in, littering the interior with rubble and filling the air with "a loathsome smell like that of brimstone". The church had been reduced to ruins, and an estimated 60 people were dead or injured.
Damage that day was not confined to Widecombe church, although that was worst affected. A neighbouring house was also demolished by the storm, spectacular thunder and lightning occurred all over south-west England, and a great hailshower occurred some miles away in Plymouth - with stones "the size of turkeys' eggs".
The accepted meteorological explanation for the Widecombe calamity is that the church was simply unlucky enough to experience the combined ravages of severe lightning and a shortlived tornado. But there was little doubt in the minds of the local people about the real reasons for the tragedy.
The landlady of a nearby inn testified that the devil himself had passed through Widecombe that day. She knew it was the devil because he had called for ale, and the drink had sizzled and steamed as it passed down his throat. The devil, the theory went, was seeking a Widecombe man for some misdemeanour, and had hitched his horse to a pinnacle of the church while he threw his victim from the tower. And it was as he untied his horse that the damage to the church took place.