In the buttery of Stourton House (now rebuilt) once hung a ‘monstrous bone’ that had belonged to a giant.

John Aubrey was not a witchfinder, not a demonologist, and not a sceptic; but he was someone who brought to witchcraft the same empirical habits of mind he applied to moles on a downland or frost crystals in a window.

Before conservation had a name, John Aubrey was bearing witness. In my latest blog I explore how he recorded the loss of forests — and the cost to humans and animals that followed.

In my second blog on Ledbury for Herefordshire VCH: the town's forgotten connection to the King James Bible.

John Aubrey's radical vision of earth history, four hundred years on 'a direct path to the right understanding of the primitive world'

In my latest blog on Aubrey's Natural History of Wiltshire I explore his extraordinary network of knowledge — from the saltpetre men to the founders of the Royal Society; from the Moroccan Ambassador and his cure for gout to Mistress Hatchman and her metheglin. From sympathetic magic to indoor beehives.

John Aubrey's minerals chapter contains a remarkable story about a 17th-century cure for urinary stones involving powdered lead ore, a mysterious Frenchman, and a pewterer's improvised prescription. But before you read on: lead is highly toxic. Do not attempt any remedies discussed here. If you have urinary stones, consult a medical practitioner.

In 17th-century Hampshire a beggar woman knew the cure for breast cancer. It involved a cow's footprint, boggy water and a stick. John Aubrey recorded this remedy alongside chemical tests of well water, observations of petrifying springs, and deductions about the location of iron deposits in his chapter on water in his Natural History.

I never met my grandfather, Herbert Ryland, and am not a family historian, but stories of Herbert’s chequered life have been a part of the family story for as long as I can remember and are just too good not to retell.

Are dragons real? The question crossed the mind of John Aubrey. A founding fellow of the Royal Society, he was an exponent of astrology, curious by the supernatural but seemingly sceptical about the existence of wyverns, a two-legged dragon. So in the Natural History he set out to find the truth.

What did it mean in 1685 for a species to be 'lost'? John Aubrey's Dinton shells challenged theological certainties 170 years before Darwin. In my second blog in the run-up to the publication of Aubrey’s Natural History I consider extinction before Darwin.

I have a new contract for the Victoria County History (VCH) in Herefordshire on Ledbury & have decided to write an occasional blog to chronicle our research journey and the work of Herefordshire VCH more broadly.

First in a series of blogs drawn from my forthcoming book on John Aubrey’s Natural History, here I explore Aubrey’s ideas about environmental determinism.

A goose was once (allegedly) put into a medieval tunnel under Bradenstoke priory. It emerged several miles away, featherless.

In about 1671, parson Symonds, who was then serving at All Saints church, Garsdon near Malmesbury, was riding home late when a ghostly spectre leapt up behind him on his horse.

This month, Maidstone Borough Council leader Stuart Jeffery wrote to the Home Secretary asking for the pardon of women executed as witches at Penenden Heath, Maidstone, in 1652 and for all those historically convicted of witchcraft.

On January 30 1577 John James committed suicide at his home in West Dean, Wiltshire. And so, according to a contemporary, 'ended his lyefe with most misterable infamye.'

There was once a conjuror who lived under a hill called Birdlip in Gloucestershire.

John Aubrey believed in magic. The 17th-century Wiltshire antiquary noted down folk remedies and practical magical techniques used by cunning folk. This did not mean that he believed all practitioners of magic were benign or that all magic was always used for good. He suggested that horseshoes and ‘Whitty trees’ (possibly referring to Rowan trees) deterred witches; such a thing was necessary. And, in 1666, he had a bad year ‘under an ill tongue’, probably believing a witch had cursed him.

In the spring of 1564, as Queen Elizabeth I's reign was still finding its footing, a tragedy unfolded in the Wiltshire countryside. A baby died and three women became implicated in his alleged ‘murder’ by supernatural means.