Or a huge, mysterious, unseen, baronet-murdering dog that is said to glow like phosphorous is howling into the midnight air.Īt least now the moors of Devon, England, are a comedy location, too. Or the ghosts of young lovers are meeting to lament their failure to find happiness in life.
And some wrongly accused man is running in terror for his life. Whenever they appear in literature, film or the theater, it seems, it is always nighttime, frighteningly dark and at least potentially stormy. The moors - by which we mean the open wastelands, not Othello and Emperor Macrinus - really need a P.R.
