The Devil, so the story goes, was annoyed. There was too much God in Gloucestershire — too many churches, too many bells, and that infuriating cathedral at Gloucester gleaming above the Severn. He decided to fix the problem by damming the river and drowning the entire vale, cathedral and all.
He filled an enormous wheelbarrow with rock and earth from the Cotswold escarpment and set off westward. But somewhere near Cam he met a cobbler walking the other way, carrying a sack of worn-out shoes. The Devil asked how far it was to the Severn. The cobbler — no fool — opened his sack and said he had worn out every pair walking from the river. The distance, he implied, was immense. The Devil lost heart, upended his wheelbarrow, and stomped off. The heap of earth became Cam Peak.
The tale belongs to a family of legends found across southern England. Cley Hill in Wiltshire has an almost identical story, as does Silbury Hill. In each case, the Devil is outwitted by a local tradesman and leaves a conical hill behind. The stories likely arose as folk explanations for hills that looked too regular to be natural — and Cam Peak, with its striking cone shape, certainly fits.
“The Devil lost heart, upended his wheelbarrow, and stomped off.”
Geologists offer a less colourful explanation: Cam Peak lost its cap of oolitic limestone to erosion, and the softer sandstone beneath is wearing into a cone. But standing on Cam Long Down and looking across at the Peak's oddly symmetrical profile, you can see why people preferred the Devil.
