Rural areas are steeped in myth and legend - dark woods, strange topographies, curious rock formations all give shape and form to ancient stories, which are in turn moulded and forged by invading forces over the centuries bringing their own superstitions and beliefs. Herefordshire is no exception: ancient sheep droving routes, a long border with Wales and no vast over-trafficked conurbations keep this county alive with folklore. The famous Kilpeck Church dating from 1140 shows Celtic, Roman, Scandinavian and pagan influences in its extraordinary carvings: basilisks and dragons compete with Welsh warriors, trees of life twine around angels and ancient fertility symbols, and the Green Man looks on. Nearby Croft Castle boasts not just the Black Dog of Hergest (purportedly the inspiration for the Hound of the Baskervilles)but also sightings of Owain Glyndwyr (the last Welsh prince of Wales). Pictish crosses, standing stones transported by the Devil - the list goes on, but perhaps most touching is the legend of the Dragon of Mordiford, whose heart belonged to a young girl called Maud, the only person capable of soothing and calming him.
History doesn’t relate what happened to Maud or her dragon, which is a shame, as it might have been helpful when I found a dragon in our house. There had been no hunt for a mythical beast. On the contrary, I had just returned home after the exeat school run. Quite late, a little weary after a long drive and too much caffeine, I dashed into the house and made a beeline for the loo - quite a large cloakroom, as they go - and so it was that when washing my hands I caught a flicker of motion out of the corner of my eye. There was a large black newt, on the floor, padding speedily towards the radiator. Determined and purposeful, unlike me. Genuinely dumbstruck. Truly one of those moments in life when you pinch yourself and think you might be seeing things. And I did actually close my eyes and open them again. No, the newt was still there, and looking, if I’m honest, a little hacked off now. Stone flag floors and copper radiator pipes were clearly not what he was seeking when he arrived. When he arrived......At which point the next blindingly obvious but to me as yet unconsidered question - where on earth had he come from? I had just unlocked the very firmly closed front door, and the downstairs loo has no external windows. A lightening succession of absurd thoughts - Sam had found it and left in here to prank me when I got home - one of the many Dubai geckos had somehow materialised in Herefordshire (....and grown 10cms, walked downstairs from my suitcase, and turned black...?). These spiralling and increasingly nonsensical thoughts were interrupted by the awareness that whether he had broken and entered, or been deposited there by some ancient magic, he would clearly far rather be somewhere else.
Five minutes later, I pick up my new amphibian friend and deposit him lovingly in a bowl lined with damp kitchen roll and what I considered under the circumstances to be some artfully arranged damp watercress. This delicate operation gave me chance to admire his fabulous fire flecked belly, and even his feet had that fiery orange and yellow underneath. He was jet black otherwise - a very fine Great Crested Newt, cherished throughout this country as one of our rarest amphibians - and he had paid us a visit. His Latin name, Triturus cristatus, comes from the Greek god Triton, son of Poseidon and his Tritons, the satyrs of the sea. I have seen many common newts, in this garden and elsewhere, but never the near legendary great crested. Beyond exciting, if still profoundly baffling.
Messages to beloved younger child elicited the responses that a) no Mum, don’t be ridiculous, I did not leave him there to prank you, swiftly followed by b) Can we keep him? Some rapid online research revealed that these newts will forage for food in late winter/early spring, that they are largely land-based, and that it is at breeding time that they move to their preferred ponds, weedy and undisturbed, where baby newts (or efts) feast on frogspawn. Large, undisturbed, weedy pond - yes - large amounts of frogspawn - yes - large amounts of frogspawn that disappeared - yes. Nature red in tooth and claw, indeed. Meanwhile, my new friend was getting restless. Underwhelmed by his watercress arbour, and presumably exhausted by who knows how many laps of our cloakroom prior to my return, we needed a solution. But the temperature was due to dip to close to freezing that night: not ideal for a newt who perhaps did not have the best navigational sense. My alternative was going foraging for earthworms and slugs and beetles for him at 11pm in the pitch dark. Trusting the large amounts of leaf mould I have built up on the flower beds near the house to offer shelter and sustenance, I walked outside with him and set him down in a sheltered corner of crumbly leafy soil. His movement in his natural habitat - an effortless rolling swim/stride motion - was so different to the stressed paddling against his temporary Tupperware home, that I felt relieved and reassured. Our dragon would be safe.
*Although commonly used for years to suggest mystery or danger, there is little recorded usage of “here be dragons”. The Hunt Lenox Globe of c 1503 had “Hic Sunt Dracones” inscribed in an area near Indonesia, echoed in an ostrich shell globe of a similar period, presumably as a result of encounters with Komodo dragons.
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