Murderers of Morridge Moor

” Where the traveller goes a cold wind blows,” a line from a Chris de Burgh song seems quite apt when one considers where this story takes place.

It was an overcast evening in the autumn of 1780 when a man called John Warltyre was travelling by horseback from Derbyshire to Leek across the Morridge Moors, he became caught in a thunderstorm and sought shelter at a village alehouse among the hills.

Morridge Moor in the Staffordshire Moorlands. Photo by Gary Tacagni.

An old frightening woman opened the door to him and she offered him a room for the night, after stableing his horse and having something to eat he requested that she show him his room so that he could retire for the night. As he followed her through the back kitchen towards the back bedroom he saw two of the most ferocious and wicked looking men he had ever seen huddled around the embers of a dying fire. With his half burnt candle he retired to bed feeling very nervous and vulnerable.

While looking around his room he noticed some wainscoting near the fireplace, and trying each panel he came across a concealed door, upon opening it he found to his horror a corpse with its throat cut and its skull stoved in, he concluded it was a traveller like himself. He went to the window hoping to slip away undetected but found strong bars on the window blocking his escape route, he then threw himself on his bed, but the back of his head sank deeply into a pool of gore upon his pillow matting his hair into a bloody mess. Getting up once more he decided to place a large chest against the door to try to stop anyone entering, he then broke an arm off one of the chairs to use as a weapon.

He once more explored the room more carefully, and discovered there was some sort of trapdoor beneath the bed that would enable the whole bed to tilt downwards, he slid the bed off the trapdoor, it was while he was doing this that he saw someone trying the door to his bedroom.

He called out to them demanding to know their business, and a mans deep voice came back saying another traveller had arrived and needed the blanket off his bed, he replied that he needed the blanket himself, thus avoiding having to open the door, with this the man outside could be heard going back downstairs. John then placed his candle, which by this time had nearly burnt down, next to the trapdoor so that he could detect anyone trying to enter his room this way. With the storm raging outside he could see in the remaining light the trapdoor descend slowly and silently a few feet, then he saw it come back up just before his candle expired. The attack that he expected from this direction never came, though during the night his bedroom door was tried again, so he shouted out he would fire both pistols through the door, and on hearing this they left him alone (even though he had no weapons).

As morning was drawing near he crept downstairs and found them to be asleep around the fire, he quietly went and got his horse, saddled it up, and just as he was riding away they woke up and rushed out of the house, but by this time it was to late and he was able to make his escape, unlike many others who were not so lucky!

Another view of Morridge Moor. Photo by Gary Tacagni.