The Lantern Men of Norfolk are spectral lights said to lure the living to their deaths, haunting the misty Broads with eerie vengeance, writes RICHARD CLEMENTS
A sinister light flickers in the misty reaches of the Norfolk Broads, where reeds rustle and the horizon blurs into a fog. These are no mere tricks of marsh gas or fleeting Will-o’-the-Wisps. The Lantern Men are something far darker. Across centuries, Norfolk locals have whispered of these spectral orbs, glowing blue or green, dancing over the fens with a purpose: to hunt the living and drag them into the sodden depths.
The Lantern Men stand apart for a region steeped in tales of Black Shuck and drowned villages, an obscure yet chilling legend that blends folklore with a sinister edge. Step into their glow, and you may not step out.
A Light That Hunts
Unlike the elusive Will-o’-the-Wisp, an archetype of British folklore renowned for misleading generations of travellers, the Lantern Men are predators. They don’t just want to confuse, they wish to seek. Known as the spirits of drowned wherrymen, smugglers or criminals, they carry lanterns of malice.
Norfolk folklore says they’re attracted to sound; whistling, in particular, is said to summon them and the light, glowing in lanterns in the hands of those unfortunate enough to be carrying one. A Wicken Fen fisherman once threw himself into the mud to escape one, its glow hovering inches above him until his silence chased it off. This isn’t passive haunting; it’s an active chase, and the stakes can be deadly.
The Fate of Joseph Bexfield
One of the most chilling stories connected to the Lantern Men is that of a wherryman from Thurlton named Joseph Bexfield. On the evening of 11 August 1809, after a night drinking at the White Horse Inn, Bexfield recalled a parcel on his boat meant for his wife. His mates began to warn him of the fog rolling in and the “dancing lights” on the marsh, a sure-fire sign the Lantern Men were stirring.
Shrugging their fears off as he was known to do, he declared his knowledge of the Broads would protect him. He never returned.
Days later, his body came ashore along the River Yare, drowned at 38, leaving a widow and two children. His gravestone in All Saints Churchyard is carved with a wherry, a silent nod to his trade and ending. His ghost, some say, now stalks the marsh, a Lantern Man, doomed forever to wander into the lights he teased.
Heard: The Lantern Man
A figure emerges from the mists: Heard, a Lantern Man, mentioned in Irstead lore. Heard, a Mrs Lubbock, a washerwoman, recalled, was an 18th-century criminal who drowned in Alderfen Broad, possibly a smuggler or thief, before returning as a vengeful light.
Mrs Lubbock characterized his glow as a curling, bodily flame that loomed from the water to hunt the living. It was also potent: One night, it is said he threw a gentleman off his horse close to Horning.
During an exorcism, a local boy once claimed to bind Heard’s spirit by distracting it with pigeons, a bizarre footnote to an otherwise ordinary rural superstition. Heard’s story implies that the Lantern Men aren’t some random spectres with an agenda; they’re particular souls with scores to settle.
A Marshland’s Dark Legacy
With their maze of waterways and history of danger, the Broads is a hotbed of such legends. Wherrymen plied these routes in the 18th and 19th centuries, hauling goods through fog and flood, like smugglers slipping between the reeds. There were drownings, frequent accidents, murders, or suicides, and the Lantern Men may represent those lost to the mire.
Science supplies a neat explanation: ignited gas, methane or phosphine, over the marshes, producing ‘cold flames’ that flicker at night. But folklore says these are no natural quirks, but the work of the damned, doomed to drown others as they were drowned. The region’s isolation only adds to the dread, in which a single wrong turn could leave you in boggy oblivion.
The Lantern Men of Norfolk are much more than flickering curiosities. They are a grim reminder of the Broads’ cruel beauty. From Joseph Bexfield’s tragic demise to Heard’s vengeance-fuelled blaze, these liminal trackers tell a story of hubris, loss and vengeance.
So, if you find yourself near the Norfolk marshes, watch your lantern and keep your whistle to yourself. The lights may flicker invitingly, but they’re no navigators, merely harbingers of a watery doom, eager to ensnare their next companion in the darkness.
What do you think of the legend of the Lantern Men? Have you ever encountered mysterious lights in the Norfolk marshes? Share your thoughts in the comments!
