In which the cat reviews Hallowed Ground: The Folklore of Churches & Churchyards by Mark Norman — a new title published by Crossed Crow Books, an emerging Chicago-based publisher specialising in witchcraft, esotericism and other magical arts.

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Introduction

Every folklorist worth their salt has heard of Mark Norman, the mind behind The Folklore Podcast and curator of The Folklore Library and Archive. He is also a prolific author, with titles including: Zoinks! Spooky Folklore Behind Scooby Doo (Oak Tree Books, 2024), Dark Folklore (The History Press, 2024), The Folklore of Wales: Ghosts, co-authored with Dr Delyth Badder (Calon, 2024), The Folklore of Devon (University of Exeter Press, 2024), Telling The Bees: The Folklore of Rural Crafts (The History Press, 2020), as well as Black Dog Folklore (Troy Books, 2016). That’s a lot of releases, especially in 2024. Norman certainly keeps busy, which is no surprise given his active voice in the folklore community.

Published in June 2025 by the up-and-coming esoteric publisher Crossed Crow Books, Norman’s seventh work, titled Hallowed Ground: The Folklore of Churches & Churchyards now examines the “traditions, customs, superstitions, and secular imagery found in Christian churches and churchyards”. As someone born in Portugal and raised in a heavily Roman Catholic setting, my interest was therefore officially piqued. Sadly, mentions of Mediterranean countries proved scarce throughout the book, but that was likely a fault of my own expectations, as the blurb does say there is a “particular emphasis on the traditional rural protestant church”!

Still, Mark Norman is such a familiar fixture in British folklore. I’ve fond memories of volunteering both for The Folklore Podcast and The Folklore Library and Archive, and Superstition Sam was even once a part of his Folklore Network. So he takes his rightful place among my Folklore Favourites: Literary Lore Edition — if for no other reason than the promise he once made to include in this book the deliciously eerie tradition of walking around a church at midnight to divine who you’ll marry—or who will die—the following year. Yes, not creepy at all to conflate those two things. But what can you do? It’s folklore.

Image Description: The cover of Hallowed Ground – The Folklore of Churches and Churchyards, depicting a small rural church surrounded by gravestones and bare trees. An ornate frame adorns the top of the title, accompanied by a skull with wings — a symbol typically associated with mortality and the passing of the soul into the afterlife. Image Credit: Crossed Crow Books & Mark Norman.

Religion and Folklore: A Fine Line

Hallowed Ground starts from the ground up with its opening chapter precisely on the construction of churches and their role within communities, highlighting just how faint the line between the two can be. As Norman writes in the Introduction: “Folklore is concerned with how people’s beliefs and experiences give them a sense of place and identity in the world, and what the shared beliefs of a folk group mean for that group and others who interact with them.” And also in Chapter One: “Folklore is all about community. We are all members of folk groups—gathering places where people can enjoy shared interests. The church is somewhat similar—it has a role as a spiritual centre and a place for worship and devotion, but it also acts as a focal point for the community—a social space.”

I was genuinely pleased to read these reflections so early on in the book. Norman really hits the nail on the head here, introducing folklore not as something divorced from spiritual or community life, but as part of the same human impulse to find connection and belonging. Indeed, it’s curious to think how both folklore and religion can act as frameworks to interpret the world and share meaning — while, regrettably, both also tending to marginalise anything that falls outside their perceived norms. As Norman points out, the history of religion is also littered by rejected beliefs often dismissed as “foolish” or more commonly labelled “superstition”— a word loaded with classism and assumptions about education or status. “[The] legacy of employing such terminology,” he writes, “still introduces bias in folklore material to this day.”

Where folklore and religion might differ, however, is in infrastructure. As Norman notes, churches have the benefit of offering communities with a tangible meeting place; be that for celebration, guidance or sanctuary. It’s sad to think we don’t have something like that for folklore. To be sure, there are a few examples like the East Anglian Folklore Centre, The Folklore Centre in Todmorden or the Folk Preservation Society in Teignmouth. Yet, look closely and these working-class spaces are barely surviving — operating under a constant ‘use it or lose it’ threat wholly dependent on public funding, if one is not lucky enough to have a wealthy sponsor. (And no, social media doesn’t count as a “meeting place”, because we all know how that’s going.)

Image Credit: A photo of a vault ceiling at Exeter Cathedral, ornamented with golden bosses and painted in blue, celestial motifs of moons and stars. Image Credit: Superstition Sam.

As mentioned earlier, in terms of downvotes, I was a little disappointed to find Hallowed Ground focuses almost entirely on Western Christianity — namely the UK, US, and Germanic or Scandinavian countries, as folklore studies so often do. For their proximity, Mediterranean regions rarely get a look-in, let alone anywhere further afield in the globe. That said, Crossed Crow Books is an American publisher, so I can understand the focus on its primary readership. Likewise, a lot of the material also draws from Devon, where the author resides — which feels a tad redundant, considering that Norman already has an entire book devoted to Devon folklore.

Be that as it may, I always enjoy the story of Brentor Church, said to have been founded in 1130 by local landowner Robert Giffard, in yet another classic case of “if I survive this shipwreck, I’ll build a church!” Awkwardly for Giffard however, the storm he had found himself in wasn’t just your ordinary bad weather. The Devil himself, living in nearby Dartmoor, had whipped up the high waves, in order to harvest a few tasty souls. Alas, swooping in to save the day came devil-fighting sword-wielding Saint Michael, who got the boat safely to shore. But, lo! The Devil was not quite done. As when Giffard starts building the church, the Devil keeps hurling the stones down the hill at night, to sabotage the construction. But then, in a final act of divine mic-drop, St Michael returns and lobs a massive boulder at the retreating Devil. Thus, the church is finally completed — and Brentor still stands today.

Image Description: A photo of the stained glass window at Brentor Church, depicting St Michael as a winged angel holding a golden sword. In front of this window is the altar table, topped with a smooth blue cloth, a cross and two flower vases. Image credit: Superstition Sam.

Loosely introducing other key motifs that will appear throughout the book, Chapter One closes by delving into the folklore of spires and bells, gargoyles and grotesques, and of course, your average unfortunate monk who falls from a ladder onto a trampoline. Presumably? Then, in Chapter Two, we turn towards another one of Norman’s long-standing specialties: black dogs. Meaning that, for those already familiar with his work, this chapter too can feel a little repetitive — though I can appreciate how it also serves as an accessible introduction for new readers. Gotta cross-sell those books, after all!

Nonetheless, Norman does expand beyond black dogs to include other spectral figures found in churchyards. Another highlight? The thoroughly demonic Richard Cabell — and yes, you guessed it. He’s from Devon. From his privileged view of the spine-chilling ruins of Holy Trinity Church, Cabell is said to haunt his five-star “penthouse-tomb” — one of very few in the UK that are square in shape with a pointed roof. His is a story of another vicious rich man that gets his comeuppance in the afterlife, like Jan Tregeagle in my review of Cornish Folk Tales of Place, by Anna Chorlton. Though, to our chagrin, Cabell’s punishment for being a plutocrat snob doesn’t seem that bad in comparison, other than having his grave co-haunted by Old Scratch. Who will apparently come out and bite off your finger, but only if you dare to walk around the tomb a “certain (and variable) number of times” and then stick your finger in the keyhole of the tomb door. You know, standard evil behaviour.

Image Description: A photo of the old lych gate at Mawnan Church, Cornwall — a stone structure which used to feature the following phrase in Cornish “Da thym ythyn nesse the Thu”, meaning “It is good for me to draw nigh unto God”. The gate, dating back to 1881, had been removed in 2022 for repairs, only for it to be shattered by a collapsing tree two years later, in the aftermath of Storm Darragh. Should we start a folklore story that says they should have left it as it was in the first place? In this Historic England link, you can see how the gate looks like today. Image Credit: Superstition Sam.

After a tale from Scotland involving a similarly cruel landowner (Farquhar Shaw), Norman then circles back to (surprise!) Devon with two more examples of tormented ghosts, before shifting his focus to fauna and flora in the churchyard in Chapter Three. And of course, this miscellany of botany wouldn’t be complete without a mention of a few yew trees. Here, I really appreciated Norman’s effort to draw comparisons with similar trees used elsewhere in the same context, such as red cedar in the United States, or cypresses in southern Europe, including Portugal.

Likewise, Norman makes a good point that “much has been written of the yew, but not all of its history and meaning that has been widely published is necessarily accurate.” For instance, while yews are often linked to ancient Druidic practice or associated with the Otherworld, death, and resurrection, it’s far more likely that they were planted in churchyards for practical reasons. As the bark, leaves, and berries are highly toxic — useful for keeping grazing animals out of graveyards and away from damaging church structures. Still, some wonderfully evocative folklore has ‘grown’ out of the yew’s reputation. My favourite? The belief that the roots can grow into the mouths of corpses, and help siphon their souls into the underworld, like some juicy bubble tea. Hmm, bubble tea.

Image Description: A photo of a long corridor of yew trees, at St Gluvias Chapel of Rest in Penryn, Cornwall. Image Credit: Superstition Sam.

In the same spirit, Chapter Four continues to explore pagan symbols in churches, with Norman covering a myriad of topics including apotropaic markings such as the Marian mark, the daisy wheel or taper burns. He also discusses the Triskelion, which has been identified in (again?) a Dartmoor church as three hares, where it is often called the “Tinner’s Rabbits”. The term itself has nothing to do with miners or rabbits for that matter, but because an earlier folklorist once made the association, it seems we’re now stuck with it. After all, if you’re an academic or you’re famous, everything you say becomes fact. (Looking at you, Cecil Williamson.)

Case in point: the term ‘Green Man’, which Norman points out was first employed by Lady Raglan in her paper The Green Man in Church Architecture, published in the Folklore journal in 1939. Here, Norman unpacks the reasons why this interpretation, although largely discredited, has since become embedded in the collective consciousness. For my part, I think the Green Man provides one of those perfect discussions on authenticity or pure invention — and whether any of it even matters once the public adopts these symbols as tools for creativity, community or well-being (a topic I explored in a previous blog post here).

“Folklore is concerned with how people’s beliefs and experiences give them a sense of place and identity in the world, and what the shared beliefs of a folk group mean for that group and others who interact with them. […] Folklore is [also] about community. We are all members of folk groups—gathering places where people can enjoy shared interests. The church is somewhat similar—it has a role as a spiritual centre and a place for worship and devotion, but it also acts as a focal point for the community—a social space. It is both a place of celebration and a place to seek sanctuary, guidance or help in times of tragedy or loss. The church is many things to many people.”

– Mark Norman, Hallowed Ground (2025)

Segueing into Chapter Five, Norman continues this pagan streak by turning to magic and witchcraft in the churchyard. Though, in contrast with other chapters, some of the evidence here appears to be more anecdotal, as the author reveals to have based retellings on “comments posted on social media or overheard in conversation.” Namely, about magic practitioners “popping to the graveyard at midnight to restock [their] dirt.” According to folklore, graveyard dirt is said to be a common ingredient in spell casting, and Norman’s suggestion is that he knows those who actually use it. Well, I’m not in a coven or anything, but this feels a bit exaggerated for comic effect… and slightly concerning about the kind of company Norman keeps. (Joking. Mostly.)

In Chapter Six, we then pivot to the ever-present figure of the Devil once more, but not just as your stereotypical antagonist — as a deeper symbolic force, which is quite an interesting view. After all, rather than being a clear-cut villain, the Devil often represents free will and choice — particularly the wrong choice. The one that’s always there, lurking just out of sight, like those pesky hooves he refuses to put shoes on! (Seriously, isn’t he supposed to be smart?) Thus, in this sense, Norman highlights that the Devil is nought more that a metaphor for the human condition: the constant temptation to choose what we know we shouldn’t, and the hard-earned wisdom that comes from learning to resist it.

Image Description: A photo of the churchyard at St Eustacius in Tavistock, Devon. Amidst the bluebells, multiple fading gravestones withstand the test of time, resting under the shade of a crepe myrtle tree. Image Credit: Superstition Sam.

Finally, we transition into superstition in Chapter Seven — my favourite topic of all. And in line with the previous chapter, here Norman explains that several “satanic-panic” events can simply be explained as outright vandalism, reminding us once again that it’s all about the wrong choice. Most interestingly, Norman also introduces a discussion on the term ‘ostension’, a key concept in folklore that refers to acting out a story in the real world — or engaging with it in the hopes of experiencing something magical or meaningful.

Throughout the book, Norman has shown us how this might happen: by saying that yew trees are associated with death and rebirth, until the idea takes root in your imagination; by walking around a churchyard at midnight, to catch a glimpse of your future lover (or grave-robber); by seeking the magic in the mundane through symbols, ritual and creativity, and use those to find kindred others. Even something as seemingly harmless as touching the statue of Greyfriars Bobby in Scotland (a faithful pet said to have spent his final days mourning at his master’s graveside), can be seen as a form of ostension — a quiet act of communion.

And that is where this review must end, as all enjoyable stories should, with the doggo. Meaning that, from now onwards, consider this my official refusal to review any book that doesn’t mention a good boy by the final chapter. (Joking, again. Mostly.)

Image Description: A photo of the “Greyfriars Bobby” statue in Edinburgh, Scotland, depicting a little bronze Skye Terrier sitting atop a granite plinth. Image Credit: ‘Greyfriars Bobby’ by William Brodie, (attributed to) David Cousin and Thomas Stuart Burnett (1873). Available via ArtUK.

Conclusion

Mark Norman is a popular fixture in the folklore sector, as his growing bibliography makes clear. He’s also something of a colourful character — after all, what self-respecting, tenured folklorist would dare to publish a book on the folklore behind Scooby Doo? His writing style and podcast reflect this wry sense of humour, but underneath the curated levity lies a genuine and thoughtful understanding of folklore, particularly its power to build and sustain communities. This shines through in the best parts of Hallowed Ground — especially in his observations on superstition, symbolism and the social role of the church.

For the inattentive reader, however, some of that richness may be obscured by the sheer volume of references to Devon and Black Dogs. At times it felt like I was reading The Folklore of Devon: Church Edition. Norman has his areas of expertise and rarely strays far from them — which isn’t necessarily a flaw, but it does make the book feel more regional than its title suggests. In that sense, it works well as an accessible introduction to a specific facet of folklore… and perhaps also as an introduction to Norman’s broader research interests.

Personally, I still enjoyed the book because it touches on topics I care about deeply. But I do wonder whether the heavy Devon-centric focus might feel alienating to readers hoping to see their own communities reflected. (I say this fully aware that I probably sound just as relentless when I go on about Cornwall or Portugal!) Though to be fair, Norman does acknowledge this limitation in the Introduction — where he notes that the book focuses mostly on traditions in the UK and US, and concedes that meaningful portrayals of other cultures rightly deserve their own books.

Which makes me hopeful that Crossed Crow Books — as well as other emerging folklore publishers — will continue expanding their catalogues to include more diverse authors, not just familiar names commenting on “other” traditions in passing. From now on, let’s hear directly from voices seldom heard; from places often overlooked. Because without them, our world grows small. Our communities scatter. And our social spaces become ruins. Haven’t you noticed?

This review was written in exchange for a digital copy of Hallowed Ground: The Folklore of Churches & Churchyards. Many thanks to Blake Malliway from Crossed Crow Books for getting in touch!

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References and Recommended Reading:

Badder, Delyth and Norman, Mark (2024) The Folklore of Wales: Ghosts. Cardiff: Calon.
Norman, Mark (2016) Black Dog Folklore. Bodmin: Troy Books.
Norman, Mark (2020) Telling The Bees: The Folklore of Rural Crafts. Cheltenham: The History Press.
Norman, Mark (2024a) Dark Folklore. Cheltenham: The History Press.
Norman, Mark (2024b) The Folklore of Devon. Exeter: University of Exeter Press.
Norman, Mark (2024c) Zoinks! Spooky Folklore Behind Scooby Doo. London: Oak Tree Books.