When two people from entirely different parts of your life mention two Sussex witches who lived within a few miles of one another, it begins to feel less like a coincidence and more like an invitation. So recently, I found myself heading into East Sussex to see what I could discover.
Agnes Mowser
The first clue came from a friend who remembered stories from his childhood. His grandparents, he told me, had lived in a cottage in a lane near Fletching now known locally as Witches Lane. Whether the name commemorates a particular woman or simply reflects a wider tradition of attaching witches to local landmarks is impossible to know. Yet it was enough to spark my curiosity. And my search led me to Agnes Mowser of Fletching.
In 1591, Agnes appeared before the Sussex Assizes, probably in Lewes, accused of bewitching a woman named Anne Clemans. The surviving records are frustratingly brief. We know that Anne “languished but did not die”, though precisely what symptoms she suffered, and what Agnes was alleged to have done, has been lost to history.
What is perhaps most surprising is the sentence. Witchcraft was a serious accusation and often carried the possibility of death. Yet Agnes escaped relatively lightly. As this was apparently her first offence, she was sentenced to a year in prison. The punishment included mandatory appearances in the pillory to ensure that Agnes endured a sufficient level of public humiliation and abuse.
Standing in Fletching churchyard more than four centuries later, I found myself wondering what had become of her. Was she feared by her neighbours? Was she an outsider? Was she simply a convenient explanation for an illness nobody understood?
After her appearance in the court records, Agnes seems to disappear from view. I searched the census and birth, marriages and death records for the era, but I could find no Agnes Mowser (even applying different spelling) in Sussex, let alone in Fletching. Did she have to move away?
So, whether or not Witches Lane owes its name to Agnes Mowser, it is tempting to think that somewhere beneath the layers of folklore and local memory, a faint echo of her story still survives.
Nan Tuck
A few miles away, another Sussex witch was waiting for me. I’d been tipped off about this one by a local artist I had met in The Crypt in Seaford. Unlike Agnes Mowser, whose existence is documented in court records, Nan Tuck seems to inhabit the uncertain territory between history and folklore.
The details of her story vary according to who is telling it. Some accounts place the events in the seventeenth century, others in the early nineteenth. Some say she poisoned a local man. Others claim she poisoned her husband. One account describes Mr and Mrs Tuck living quietly on the edge of Buxted until Mr Tuck suddenly dropped dead. Nan herself was said to be old, eccentric and unusual in appearance. In a world where superstition remained close to the surface, it certainly did not take long for suspicion to take hold. Could she be a witch? Rumours spread, fingers were pointed. Nan ran.
Some versions of the story suggest she was trying to reach the sanctuary of Buxted church. At the time, many people believed that reaching a church and touching the altar might provide protection from punishment. Others say she simply sought refuge in the dense woodland surrounding her home. What happened next depends entirely on which version of the story you choose to believe.
In some tellings, she escaped into the woods and was never seen again. In others, a pursuing mob caught up with her and killed her. Either way, Nan disappears from the world of the living and enters the realm of legend.
Searchers found no trace of her. All that remained, they said, was a patch of barren ground where nothing would grow.
And so a ghost story was born. Nan Tuck’s Lane is narrow, quiet and enclosed by woodland. There is a dip in the road where the trees crowd in from either side. “Your blood always runs cold there,” I was told.
Driving down Nan Tuck’s Lane, the lane is narrow, steep in places, and wooded. The trees create a tunnel-like effect in places, shutting out much of the outside world. Whether because of the stories or the landscape itself, it is certainly an atmospheric place. Further along is Tuck’s Corner, another reminder that Nan’s name remains firmly attached to this part of Sussex.
I also visited Buxted church, where she is said to have been heading in search of sanctuary. It is quite some distance from Nan Tuck’s Lane. If the stories are true, she had a long run ahead of her. Nan herself is not buried there, but the churchyard contains something equally remarkable: an ancient yew tree believed to be around 2,000 years old.
Whether Nan Tuck was a witch, a murderer, an innocent widow or simply a victim of gossip, we will probably never know. The facts have long since become tangled with folklore.
What is clear is that although Sussex didnt have as many witch tirals and executions as other areas, the county did not ecape “Witch Fever”. From Agnes Mowser in Fletching to the Witch of Ditchling Common, who as said in local folklore would transform people into hares, tales of witchcraft and the supernatural are still woven into the county’s landscape.
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