The Headless Ladies of Hartland

In the wild and wind-scoured reaches of North Devon, where mist curls like memory through the hedgerows and sea-spray whispers secrets to the cliffs, there stands a quiet bridge with a chilling legacy. Bow Bridge, near the village of Hartland, is more than a weathered path over a brook—it is a threshold between the living and the lost. For centuries, villagers have spoken in hushed tones of two spectral figures who haunt its stones: headless ladies in silken gowns, gliding through the twilight with the sorrow of a murder never atoned for. Their story, veiled in blood, beauty, and betrayal, begins in the time of Queen Elizabeth I and endures still, stitched into the fabric of Hartland’s haunted past. Those who dare to cross the bridge after dark sometimes hear it—the soft, mournful rustle of silk, as if the past itself walks again.