Blog Feed – British Ghosts and Hauntings

The Ancient Ram Inn: A House Steeped in Presence

Thu, 26 Feb 2026 19:26:15 GMT

The Ancient Ram Inn: A House Steeped in Presence

Below a Watercolour of the Witch's Room Above Photo of the Ancient Ram Inn. Copyright Joanne Donaldson

Birmingham Poltergeist Cases

Thu, 26 Feb 2026 16:34:21 GMT

Birmingham Poltergeist Cases

When people talk about British poltergeist cases, the conversation usually turns to Enfield. Birmingham rarely enters that discussion. It does not have one single case that dominated national headlines for months.

What it does have is something quieter.

Across different parts of the city, in different decades, families have reported strange disturbances inside their homes. Not castles. Not manor houses. Terraced streets in Ward End. Council properties in Kingstanding. Family homes in Handsworth and Small Heath.

These were not theatrical hauntings. They were disruptions in everyday life.

And that is what makes them interesting.

Thornton Road, Ward End, 1981

The most documented Birmingham case took place in 1981 on Thornton Road in Ward End.

Residents began reporting that stones were being thrown at their houses. Roof tiles were damaged. Windows were broken. The unsettling part was not simply vandalism, but the apparent absence of anyone responsible.

Police were called. Officers did not brush it aside. Surveillance was carried out. Cameras were installed. At one stage, officers stayed overnight to observe the area directly.

Despite this, no one was immediately caught during the early disturbances.

A practical explanation was suggested. Stones may have been launched using a catapult from some distance away. That theory makes sense. But at the height of the events, residents were left with no visible culprit.

For a short period, the word poltergeist circulated locally.

Then, as suddenly as it began, the activity stopped.

No dramatic conclusion. No official declaration of the supernatural. Just a period of unexplained disturbance that faded into memory.

What makes Thornton Road stand out is not proof of ghosts. It is the fact that authorities took the situation seriously and still could not immediately resolve it.

Handsworth, Mid 1980s

A few years later, in Handsworth, a family reported persistent knocking sounds inside their terraced home.

The knocks were described as loud and deliberate, coming from walls and ceilings. Objects were said to have shifted position. Electrical appliances reportedly switched on and off without explanation.

Neighbours confirmed hearing banging from within the house. That detail matters. It suggests the disturbance was not limited to one person’s imagination.

Paranormal investigators visited the property. Attempts were made to witness events directly. Some accounts claimed that knocking appeared to respond to questions, although no verified recordings are publicly available.

As with many similar cases across Britain, the activity built gradually, reached a peak, and then reduced over time.

Eventually it stopped.

There was no official conclusion. No confirmed hoax exposed. No formal scientific report published. The family maintained that something unusual had taken place inside their home.

Kingstanding Reports

Kingstanding has seen smaller scale reports over the years, mostly passed through local conversation rather than widely documented in press archives.

One account involved a council property where residents described furniture shifting slightly overnight and items falling from shelves without clear cause. Loud knocks were reportedly heard in the early hours.

There were no dramatic claims of objects flying across rooms. The disturbances were subtle but persistent enough to unsettle those living there.

After several weeks, the activity faded.

Without heavy media coverage, these cases rarely become part of wider folklore. They remain local stories, remembered by neighbours and families rather than printed nationally.

Small Heath Disturbances

In Small Heath, a family reported unexplained bangs and displaced kitchen items during the late twentieth century.

Visitors to the house reportedly heard noises themselves. There was suspicion among some neighbours that someone in the household may have been responsible. That suspicion is common in poltergeist cases across the country.

No firm proof was ever presented either way.

Again, the disturbances were temporary.

They arrived, unsettled the household, and then stopped.

Shared Patterns

Looking at Birmingham’s cases side by side, a few patterns become clear.

They occur in ordinary residential housing. They centre on physical disturbance rather than repeated full apparitions. They involve multiple witnesses, sometimes including neighbours or police. And they do not last indefinitely.

Activity tends to build, intensify, and then fade.

This mirrors poltergeist reports across the wider United Kingdom. Birmingham is not unique in that sense. It fits into a broader national pattern of short lived domestic disturbance.

The Human Element

What stands out most in Birmingham’s cases is the human response.

Families described confusion more than drama. They spoke of frustration, embarrassment and sometimes fear. Police officers stood outside in cold streets trying to identify practical causes. Neighbours compared what they had heard and seen.

These were not grand ghost stories designed for attention. They were disruptions to everyday routines.

That grounded setting gives the reports weight.

It is easier to dismiss strange claims attached to medieval ruins. It is harder to dismiss events that take place in kitchens and front rooms where people live ordinary lives.

Explanations and Uncertainty

It would be unrealistic not to consider natural explanations.

Older terraced housing can produce loud knocks due to water pressure changes in pipes. Timber beams expand and contract. Vibrations travel easily between adjoining properties. Stones striking roofs strongly suggest human involvement in at least one case.

But even when sensible explanations are available, they do not always satisfy those who experienced the events at the time.

There remains a space between explanation and experience.

That space is where these stories continue to exist.

A Practical City with Quiet Mysteries

Birmingham is known for industry, resilience and straight talking communities. It is not a city built on gothic tourism.

Perhaps that is why its poltergeist cases feel different.

They are not wrapped in legend. They are not embellished with dramatic imagery. They are short lived, matter of fact disturbances in familiar streets.

And maybe that makes them more compelling.

Because they happened in places where life carried on the next morning. Where children went to school. Where people caught buses to work. Where dinner was cooked and televisions were switched on as normal.

Something unsettled the routine for a time.

Then the routine returned.

The Kingstanding House: A First Hand Account

I briefly stayed in a house in Kingstanding where several incidents took place that I still cannot properly explain.

The first was physical.

I was sitting on a sofa in the living room. The floor was carpeted and the sofa did not have wheels. It was solid and heavy. My sister was sitting nearby in an armchair.

Without warning, the sofa shifted across the floor by around a foot. It was not a slow slide. It moved suddenly, with a sharp jolt. I had not pushed off the ground or changed position. There was no vibration from outside and no one else in the room.

My sister saw it happen at the same moment.

Afterwards, the room went completely still. Nothing else moved. But the sofa had clearly changed position.

That was not the only thing that happened in that house.

On several occasions, when we were upstairs in our bedrooms, we heard what sounded like breaking glass coming from downstairs. The sound was clear and sharp. It was not faint or distant. It was the sort of noise that makes you react immediately.

Each time, one of us went down to check. Nothing was broken. No smashed glasses.

No fallen ornaments. No fragments anywhere. Everything exactly as it had been left.

We also heard loud banging coming from the kitchen. It was not a creak or a settling noise. It sounded as though something was being struck against the cooker, almost as if it were being hit with a spatula. The sound was forceful and deliberate.

When we went to look, the kitchen was empty.

There were also repeated occasions when we heard the door at the bottom of the stairs. The handle would press down and the latch would move, as though someone was opening it. Sometimes it sounded as if the door shifted slightly in its frame.

We would wait, expecting someone to come up the stairs. No one did.

When we checked, the door would be closed as normal.

Another incident stands out clearly in my mind.

One evening I was sitting in the living room facing towards the kitchen. It was dark outside and the kitchen light was on. From where I was seated, I could see the kitchen window clearly.

In the reflection, I saw a small older woman standing near the cooker, which sits adjacent to the window. She appeared to be wearing a pink cardigan. She was not a vague shape or a shadow. She looked distinct.

I watched as she walked away from the cooker and out of sight.

There was no one else in that part of the house. No door had opened. No footsteps. When I checked the kitchen, it was empty.

I have never seen anything like that before or since.

None of these incidents happened daily. They were spaced out. But they happened enough that the atmosphere in that house never felt completely settled.

There was always at least one other person present when something occurred.

Nothing was visibly damaged. Nothing dramatic happened in front of a crowd. But there were enough moments of movement and sound that did not behave as expected.

I do not claim to know what it was.

I only know what happened while I was there.

Final Thoughts

Birmingham’s poltergeist cases may not have become national folklore, but they remain part of the city’s quieter history.

Ward End in 1981. Handsworth in the 1980s. Smaller disturbances in Kingstanding and Small Heath.

No confirmed supernatural proof. No fully documented scientific resolution either.

Just moments when something did not behave as expected inside ordinary homes.

Whether those moments were caused by natural forces, human interference or something still unexplained, they were real to the people involved.

And in a city built on practicality, perhaps it says something that these stories were not turned into spectacle. They were discussed, worried over, investigated, and then absorbed back into everyday life.

That feels very Birmingham.

Because even if something strange does happen in the middle of the night, most people here will still put the kettle on in the morning and get on with it.

And maybe that quiet resilience is what makes the stories linger.

St Peter’s Churchyard, Harborne: A Late Night Encounter

Wed, 25 Feb 2026 21:19:17 GMT

St Peter’s Churchyard, Harborne: A Late Night Encounter

St Peter’s Church in Harborne has stood quietly for centuries. During the day it feels calm and familiar. People walk past with shopping bags, children cut through the churchyard on their way home, and the noise from the High Street never feels too far away.

Late at night, though, it becomes something else.

Harborne was once a separate village before becoming part of Birmingham in 1891. St Peter’s has medieval origins, and although much of the building you see today dates from later centuries, the ground around it has held burials for hundreds of years. Generations of local families are buried there. When you stand in the churchyard, especially when it is quiet, you can feel that sense of time.

There have always been small stories linked to the place. Nothing dramatic or widely reported. Just the sort of things people mention in passing. A figure seen near the older graves. The sound of gravel shifting when no one is there. A feeling that you are not quite alone.

One account shared with me stands out because of how normal it began.

It was late one night when someone I knew was sitting on a bench near the church. It was properly quiet. No traffic passing. No other people about. Just the soft stillness you sometimes get in the early hours.

After a short while, an elderly man approached and sat down beside him. There was nothing unusual in his appearance. He looked like any older local gentleman. Neatly dressed, quiet, calm. They started talking in the way strangers sometimes do when they find themselves sharing a bench. Simple conversation about everyday things.

There was nothing strange in the man’s voice or behaviour. He seemed completely solid, completely present.

At one point, my friend offered him a cigarette. He placed it between the old man’s fingers and leaned forward to light it. The flame briefly lit both their faces. The man thanked him. They carried on talking for a few more minutes, the glow of the cigarette visible in the dark.

Eventually, my friend said he needed to head off. He stood up, thanked the old man for the company and said goodnight. It had been an ordinary, almost comforting exchange.

He walked a few steps away from the bench towards the path that leads out of the churchyard. Then, for reasons he still cannot explain, he turned back.

The bench was empty.

There was no elderly man walking away. No movement between the gravestones. No sound of footsteps on gravel. The churchyard was open and visible from where he stood. There were no corners or hiding places nearby.

All that remained was the cigarette, still lit, resting on the bench.

It had only been seconds.

He stood there for a moment, trying to process what he was seeing. The cigarette was burning down naturally. The smoke rising into the night air. There was no sign that anyone had been there except for that small glowing reminder.

He did not run. He did not panic. He described feeling unsettled rather than frightened. It was the normal flow of events that troubled him. One moment there was a man sitting beside him. The next there was not.

There was no obvious explanation.

St Peter’s Churchyard does not have a famous headline haunting attached to it. There are no official investigations or dramatic stories recorded in national papers. But moments like this stay with people.

The churchyard remains what it has always been. A quiet piece of old Harborne. A place where centuries of local lives are remembered.

Late at night, when the air is still and the streets are empty, it does not feel impossible that someone might sit down beside you.

And if they do, you might think twice before looking away.

St Peter's Church Photograph Copyright : Stuart Morris.

The Ghost of Raynham Hall: The Truth Behind the Brown Lady

Sun, 15 Feb 2026 19:09:28 GMT

The Ghost of Raynham Hall

Some ghost stories fade away with time. Others refuse to disappear. The story of the Brown Lady of Raynham Hall is one that has lingered for nearly a century, not because of dramatic storytelling, but because of a single photograph.

Raynham Hall itself is a striking country house in Norfolk. Built in the early seventeenth century, it has been home to the Townshend family for generations. It is not a public attraction in the way some stately homes are, which perhaps adds to the intrigue. There is something about a private estate with centuries of history that naturally fuels curiosity.

The figure most closely linked to the haunting is Lady Dorothy Walpole. She was the sister of Sir Robert Walpole, widely regarded as Britain’s first Prime Minister. In 1713, she married Charles Townshend, later the 2nd Viscount Townshend. By most historical accounts, it was not a happy marriage. Townshend was known for his temper and jealousy, and rumours circulated at the time that Lady Dorothy had been unfaithful.

According to the traditional version of the story, she was confined to Raynham Hall by her husband and kept away from society. Some later retellings claim she was locked in a room for years. However, when you look at the historical records, the more dramatic elements become less certain. Parish documents confirm that Lady Dorothy died in 1726, and while the marriage may well have been strained, there is no solid evidence proving she was imprisoned in the way the legend suggests. As so often happens, the story appears to have grown darker over time.

Sightings of a female figure in brown clothing at Raynham Hall were reported long before any photograph was taken. During the nineteenth century, members of the Townshend family and guests claimed to have seen a woman drifting along corridors or descending the main staircase. Descriptions were fairly consistent. She was said to be dressed in brown silk, her face pale, her eyes hollow. These accounts were recorded in letters and memoirs, but they remain personal testimonies rather than verifiable evidence.

Everything changed in 1936.

That autumn, photographers Captain Hubert C. Provand and Indre Shira visited Raynham Hall to take interior photographs for Country Life magazine. While preparing a shot of the main staircase, Shira reportedly noticed what he thought was a figure moving down towards them. He called out to Provand, who quickly removed the lens cap and took the photograph.

When the image was developed, it appeared to show a mist-like figure on the staircase. The shape resembled a woman in flowing clothing, her upper body more defined than her lower half. The photograph was published in Country Life in December 1936 and quickly gained national attention.

The image became known as the Brown Lady photograph and is still regularly described as one of the most famous ghost photographs ever taken. Both photographers maintained that it was genuine and that no trickery was involved. They stated that no one else was present on the staircase at the time and that the photographic plate had not been double exposed.

Of course, sceptics have offered possible explanations over the years. Some suggest it could have been a double exposure, even if unintentional. Others argue that the long exposure times common in 1930s photography could have created a blurred effect if someone briefly stepped onto the staircase. There have also been suggestions of light reflections or developing errors. None of these explanations has ever been proven beyond doubt, but neither has the image been conclusively verified as paranormal.

What makes this case so enduring is the combination of real history and unresolved imagery. Lady Dorothy was a real person. Raynham Hall is a real place. The photograph was genuinely taken and published. The mystery lies in what exactly the camera captured.

It is easy to see why the story has survived. The image feels unsettling but not theatrical. There is no dramatic pose or exaggerated effect. Just a faint shape on a staircase in an otherwise ordinary country house. That subtlety makes it harder to dismiss outright.

Nearly ninety years later, the photograph still appears in books, documentaries and online discussions. Some people see it as compelling evidence of something unexplained. Others view it as an interesting example of early twentieth-century photography and the public’s fascination with ghosts.

What cannot be denied is the cultural impact of the Brown Lady. Before that photograph, ghost stories largely depended on word of mouth. With this case, there was something visual to examine. People could look at the image themselves and decide what they believed.

Raynham Hall remains privately owned, and the staircase where the photograph was taken is not open for casual viewing. That sense of distance keeps the story slightly out of reach, which perhaps adds to its power.

Whether you believe the Brown Lady is the restless spirit of Lady Dorothy or simply a quirk of old photography, the case stands as one of Britain’s most talked about hauntings. It sits somewhere between documented history and enduring mystery, and perhaps that is exactly why it refuses to fade away.

Newman Brothers Coffin Works

Sun, 15 Feb 2026 16:26:25 GMT

Newman Brothers Coffin Works

If you’ve ever stepped inside Newman Brothers Coffin Works, you’ll know it feels different from most museums. It’s not polished and modern. It doesn’t feel staged. Instead, it feels as though the workers have just stepped out for a break and might return at any moment.

To understand why the building feels so atmospheric, you first have to understand its story.

Newman Brothers was founded in the late 19th century, during a time when Birmingham was known as the “City of a Thousand Trades.” The Jewellery Quarter was filled with small workshops where skilled workers made everything from jewellery and buttons to precision metal parts. It was an area built on craftsmanship and pride in detail.

In 1894, the company moved into its purpose-built factory on Fleet Street. Rather than making coffins themselves, Newman Brothers specialised in coffin furniture. This included brass handles, decorative ornaments, breastplates and engraved nameplates that were attached to coffins before burial. In Victorian and Edwardian Britain, funerals were formal occasions and detail mattered. The quality of coffin fittings reflected respect for the person who had died.

Inside the factory, work was organised across several floors. Heavy presses stamped out metal shapes. Skilled engravers carefully etched names and dates onto plates. Workers polished and assembled fittings before packaging them for funeral directors across the country. Much of the machinery was belt-driven and traditional, and even as newer technology became available, the factory retained older working methods well into the twentieth century.

The business survived major national events, including both World Wars. Like many Birmingham manufacturers, it adapted during wartime and continued trading afterward. Over the decades, funeral traditions changed and became simpler, but Newman Brothers maintained a reputation for quality. The company supplied fittings for high-profile funerals, including that of Sir Winston Churchill in 1965, reinforcing its standing within the industry.

By the late twentieth century, however, traditional manufacturing in Birmingham was in decline. Cheaper imports and changes within the funeral trade made it increasingly difficult for specialist factories to compete. In 1998, after more than a century on Fleet Street, the factory closed.

What makes the Coffin Works so unusual today is what happened next.

Unlike many industrial buildings that are cleared out quickly, much of the factory was left almost exactly as it was. Machinery remained in place. Order books stayed in drawers. Stock sat on shelves. For years, the building stood quiet and largely untouched.

Eventually, it was saved and restored by the Birmingham Conservation Trust and reopened as a museum in 2014. Rather than transforming it into a modern display space, the decision was made to preserve its authentic working environment. When you walk through today, you see original desks, tools, presses and paperwork. It feels real because it is real.

And this is where the stories begin.

Although there is no documented history of violence or tragedy inside the building, some visitors describe unusual experiences. A sudden chill in certain rooms. The sense of being watched. The sound of footsteps echoing through empty spaces.

Old buildings naturally creak and shift. Wood expands and contracts. Pipes make unexpected noises. In a quiet, dimly lit factory filled with objects linked to death and mourning, it’s easy for the mind to become more alert to every small sound.

But there is also something deeper at play.

Every single nameplate made here represented a real person. Over more than a hundred years, thousands of funeral fittings passed through these rooms. The factory played a part in countless final goodbyes. Even though no coffins or bodies were stored there, the connection to grief and remembrance is strong.

That emotional weight can make the space feel heavy. Reflective. Almost sacred in its stillness.

Whether or not you believe in ghosts, the atmosphere inside Newman Brothers Coffin Works is undeniable. It is not the kind of place that frightens you in a dramatic way. Instead, it encourages you to slow down and think about the lives connected to it.

Perhaps what some people describe as haunting is simply history that feels close enough to touch.

And sometimes, that is powerful enough on its own.

My Haunted Home

Wed, 27 Aug 2025 12:59:50 GMT

Even now, in the digitally connected world of 2025, people lower their voices to whispers when discussing their brushes with the unexplained, their eyes darting nervously to gauge reactions, afraid of the smirks and raised eyebrows that so often follow.

These self-proclaimed “experts” clutch their electromagnetic meters and infrared cameras like shields, yet most have never felt the icy breath of something unseen against the back of their neck at 3 AM. How can anyone claim expertise in shadows that defy physical laws or whispers that emerge from empty rooms?

The time has come to unveil the full tapestry of what happened within those Victorian walls - not just to my family, but to me. Perhaps my words will embolden others whose hands still tremble when recounting what science cannot explain. Before you judge the impossible things I’m about to describe, remember that terror leaves unique fingerprints on each witness it touches.

Our story begins in 1970s Harborne, where Victorian facades marked it as one of Birmingham’s more genteel and affluent neighbourhoods. My childhood unfolded within a terraced house that seemed to stretch endlessly upward. Four floors of creaking floorboards, ornate mouldings, and windows that caught the afternoon light. Five bedrooms accommodated our bustling family of eight, with enough nooks and crannies left over for hide-and-seek tournaments that could last for hours. Life flowed peacefully through those high ceilinged rooms until the day my father, armed with enthusiasm and a sledgehammer, decided our home needed “improving.”

The Invitation

The prying bar in Dad’s hand froze mid-leverage against the skirting board when something fluttered to the floor, a small card, yellowed with age. It was an invitation to a boys’ school function from the Edwardian era, its elegant script faded but still legible. Birmingham’s Art Gallery and Museum would later add it to their collection.

I’ve often wondered: was finding that card a catalyst to this haunting, or had Dad’s hammering and prying already awakened them from their eternal slumber? Something stirred within its walls, and just like a ‘Pandora’s Box’ once opened, chaos ensued.

A heaviness settled over the house. Mom and my sisters noticed it first, a prickling awareness that made them glance over their shoulders when alone. My eldest sister initially found comfort in it, believing Granddad’s spirit had come to watch over us. That illusion shattered when her boyfriend Luke visited on army leave.

Sitting together in the front parlour one evening, my sister whispered that she could feel Granddad nearby. Luke went pale. “That’s not your grandfather,” he said, his eyes fixed on the corner where an elderly woman stood watching them, her gaze unnervingly steady. After that night, my sister couldn’t shake the feeling of being observed by unfamiliar eyes. And soon enough, we learned our uninvited guest wasn’t alone.

Escalating Phenomena

Ghostly voices and shadows began appearing frequently, accompanied by the eerie sounds of footsteps and shuffling feet. A wastepaper bin inexplicably caught fire in the front parlour, and the strong scent of roses often filled the air, even though there were no flowers in the house. Our once - beautiful home took on an ominous and intimidating presence, growing more unbearable as time went on.

One day, Mom was upstairs in the small front bedroom where my two brothers slept. She was on a step ladder scraping old wallpaper when she suddenly heard footsteps rustling through the discarded paper on the floor. Terrified, she froze and continued scraping, calling out to my sister Cora for help. When Cora arrived, she asked what Mom needed, but before Mom could answer, Cora heard the same shuffling footsteps approaching her. Frozen in place, she turned toward the sound and demanded, “Who are you? What do you want?” There was no reply, only silence. Realizing they needed to leave, Cora quickly helped Mom down, and they hurried out of the room and down the stairs.

Unseen hands often touched my siblings - one sister was slapped across the face while sleeping, and others got pinched on their bottoms in the galley kitchen. At first, they blamed each other, but their fear and vulnerability soon revealed the truth. Laughter disappeared, and everything became serious as the activity escalated daily. The spirits were now actively interacting with us in a very real and personal way. We’d often have the unsettling feeling of being watched while getting undressed for bed. It became more pronounced as time went on and we felt so threatened and helpless in its presence. It felt perverse and sexual with its intent.

Apparitions and Witnesses

Fortunately, visitors to our home began experiencing phenomena that validated our own encounters.

Our house had only one bathroom, located downstairs at the back of the property. The walk to reach it was long enough on its own, but it felt even longer when you had the unnerving sense that you were not alone.

One night, my brother Henry needed to use the bathroom, so he hurried downstairs. To his horror, in the corner of the room, he saw a dark shadow, a silhouette of a man dressed in a long cloak and a hat. Terrified, he abandoned his mission and ran straight back upstairs. My mother referred to this faceless spectre as the “Sandeman,” as he bore a striking resemblance to the figure on old bottles of port. Only now do I realise that this visitor might have been the infamous “Hat Man,” whose sightings have been reported worldwide.

Occasionally, two of my sisters would wake up in the morning with unexplained scratches on their faces, despite neither of them having long nails. My mother often saw an elderly woman passing by the fireplace in the master bedroom. This woman, described as having grey hair tied back into a bun and wearing a long brown sackcloth dress, never acknowledged my mother but simply carried on with her activities.

One particularly chilling incident occurred while my mother was recuperating in bed with laryngitis. She heard the bedroom door open and footsteps entering the room. Assuming it was my father checking on her, she waited to hear his voice, but there was only silence. Suddenly, she felt someone sit down on the bottom of the bed. Pulling the covers up around her face, she cautiously sat up to see who was there. It was not my father. Instead, it was the same man my brother Henry had seen - the figure in the hat and cape. He stared directly at her and, in a commanding tone, said, “Talk, you can talk, now talk!” before vanishing into thin air. My mother was left shaken and utterly horrified.

Poltergeist Activity

A vivid memory I have is standing in the doorway of the kitchen, watching my mom at the sink washing some spotted plastic beakers that my younger brother Jack and I had used earlier. She placed my beaker on the draining board to dry, and suddenly, it rose several inches, hovered briefly, and then plummeted to the floor. Mom looked at me with a worried expression but said nothing, even though she had seen it too. I suppose she didn’t want to frighten me, as I was young and thought it was some kind of magic trick, if only that had been true.

Things began to move on their own. Items would vanish and reappear in strange places. The sugar bowl disappeared several times, only to later be found full of sugar on the attic landing. Mom always blamed our dog Elsa, claiming she went into the kitchen, picked up the sugar bowl, and carried it up two flights of stairs without spilling a single grain, quite the feat, right? While Elsa was an intelligent dog, she certainly wasn’t capable of that! It became evident that we were dealing with poltergeist activity.

One day, we left the house, leaving Elsa, our German Shepherd, alone. When we returned, we were horrified to see her standing on a small ledge outside one of the front bedroom windows. She had climbed out, but why? She had never done anything like that before. We assumed something had frightened her. After that, she refused to stay downstairs alone at night. Instead, she would escape from the back lounge and run up two flights of stairs to sleep in my sister’s room - clearly, the dog was distressed.

Certain areas of the house felt worse than others, but the ominous atmosphere permeated every room, including the dark, damp cellar. The sensation was indescribably dreadful, and the house seemed perpetually dim, even on sunny days. The disturbances continued, and one night it was agreed that an informal investigation or vigil should take place in a desperate effort to understand what was happening within our home.

Night of the Vigil

It was decided that the most effective way to conduct the vigil would be for everyone to split into pairs and explore all floors, regrouping in the back room on the ground floor every fifteen minutes or so to share their experiences, and the night certainly did not disappoint!

On the attic landing, there was a loose floorboard that made a distinct “clunk” sound whenever it was stepped on. During the vigil, my nan decided to head to the upper floor, but as she began climbing the wooden stairs to the attic, she and those below heard the unmistakable “clunk” of the floorboard - yet no one was on that floor at the time.

My sister Cora, who stayed in the back lounge, suddenly heard footsteps approaching from the stairs leading to the room where she sat alone. Startled, she panicked and screamed for help. My cousin, who reached her first, noticed a strange light hovering above her head. The light then moved quickly toward him, causing him to shake uncontrollably, almost as if afflicted by Parkinson’s disease - something that would later prove significant.

Another eerie encounter happened to my other sister, in the same back room. While the others were exploring different parts of the house, Denise sat facing the open staircase. She suddenly saw an apparition of an arm gripping the handrail and descending the stairs. Strangely, there was nothing else attached to it, no body, nothing! The arm dissolved into thin air as it neared the bottom step.

Later that evening, my uncle arrived to pick up my aunt, who was part of the investigative group. A calm, rational, no-nonsense man, he was asked to go to the attic rooms alone to see if anything unusual would happen to him. Confidently, he accepted the challenge, convinced we were all being ridiculous. But as he reached the attic, we suddenly heard a commotion, followed by urgent, panicked thumping. Moments later, he came racing down to the lower floor where everyone had gathered, looking shaken and exclaiming, “don’t ever ask me to go up there again!” With that, he stormed off and stood across the road from the house, where his car was parked.

My aunt followed him out, and they both stood there, staring back at the house. He asked if she was ready to leave with him, but she refused. Looking at the house, she said she needed to stay. My uncle never revealed what had frightened him so deeply that night, causing him to act so out of character.

To this day, I cannot say what it was. However, in all those years, he never spoke of the incident again and never once stepped foot back into that house.

The vigil stretched on through the night, marked by numerous unexplainable occurrences. At one point, disembodied voices filled the air - talking, laughing, as though at a lively party. The chatter lasted several minutes and was heard by multiple people, yet no one could determine where the voices were coming from.

The night was fraught with tension, as these ghosts were anything but shy. They seemed to revel in having an audience to “play” with. It was unnerving, and everyone involved felt a constant knot of sickness in their stomachs. At times, the house would fall eerily silent, only to erupt with activity again for no discernible reason. The vigil had lasted for hours, and soon dawn was approaching. During the daylight, we typically felt less vulnerable, but that sense of security would soon vanish.

Everywhere we went, the sensation of being watched loomed over us, a horrifying feeling of something unseen lurking just behind, its breath almost tangible. The air felt oppressive, as though it sought to suffocate and consume us entirely. One of my siblings described it as if something clung to her back; she dreaded descending the stairs, fearing it might push her down. The fear was palpable and relentless, growing stronger with each passing moment, until it felt as though it had completely seized control.

The Mystery of the Ring and Catherine

Due to the house’s large size, my parents decided to rent out the front room to a lodger. Initially, he was very pleased with his new accommodation, but his happiness was short-lived when he encountered something unsettling. He never disclosed what he had seen, only that he could no longer stay there, leaving the matter shrouded in mystery.

For her twelfth birthday, Cora received a gold and onyx signet ring from my parents, engraved with her initial, the letter C. She cherished the ring and always kept it safe when not wearing it. By this time, she had owned the ring for six years. One day, however, she discovered the ring was missing. Despite searching thoroughly, she could not find it. Our parents asked if any of us had seen it, but we all denied any knowledge of its whereabouts. Months went by, and the ring remained lost. Eventually, we gave up hope of finding it, assuming it was gone forever.

Then, in an unexpected turn of events, the ring reappeared. One morning, Cora entered the bathroom and noticed something shiny in the middle of the floor. Upon closer inspection, she realized it was her missing signet ring, the same one that had been gone for months. Strangely, the letter C on the ring would later be associated with one of the apparitions.

The peculiar occurrences in the house only escalated, creating an atmosphere of pervasive negativity. The situation became so dire that my mother sought assistance from the church, but they refused to get involved, leaving us to face the strange phenomena on our own. Eventually, my mother consulted a nearby neighbour. She described the woman she had seen roaming the landings and the master bedroom, detailing her facial features, hair, and clothing. The neighbour identified the woman as Catherine, a former resident who had lived in the house for many years and had once rented out the rooms to others. Catherine had suffered with Parkinson’s disease and had passed away in the house many years earlier.

A Malicious Turn

It seemed as though every day brought a new unexplained event. I recall one instance when my father retrieved a box from the cellar to sort through its contents. Among the items, he found an old starter handle for a car. Deciding to keep it, he tossed it up the stairs to the first-floor landing for storage.

However, as the handle reached the landing, it inexplicably reversed direction like a boomerang, narrowly missing my father before continuing its path. It then veered under the staircase toward a small sideboard where a figurine of a man was displayed. The handle struck the ornament with precision, decapitating its head. While it could have been a bizarre coincidence, given the peculiar nature of the house, it felt deliberate, almost like a warning.

One evening, my sister Cora was in bed, not yet sleepy, and decided to read a book.

As she read, she suddenly heard a whispering voice from the landing. The voice called her name, “Cora, Cora,” twice. Believing it to be our mother speaking softly to avoid waking the other children, she replied, “Yes, what is it?” But there was no response, only an unsettling silence. Thinking perhaps our mother hadn’t heard her, she got out of bed and opened the door, only to find no one there. In fact, everyone else was sound asleep. Something had called her by name, but how could that be?

We had a lovely little budgie named Joey, a beautiful bright blue bird kept in a cage in the front room. I never realized how intelligent birds like him could be; he was learning to talk and would occasionally greet us with a cheerful “hello!” whenever we entered the room.

One evening, my sister’s friend, who was staying with us for the weekend, went into the front room and discovered Joey lying motionless at the bottom of his cage. The room was filled with the distinct smell of gas, someone or something had turned the knob on the gas fire without lighting it. Back then, a match was required to ignite the fire, unlike today’s automatic systems.

The Light in the Darkness

During the 1970s, power cuts were a frequent occurrence under the Labour government of the time. We always kept candles stored under the kitchen sink in preparation for these outages.

One night, my sister Jane was in her bedroom, a smaller room located in the attic.

Dad had previously removed an old-fashioned lock from her door, as it had become unreliable. Once removed, it left a large hole in the door that offered a view of the attic landing and hallway. Jane had just got into bed when the electricity went out, plunging her into complete darkness as she lay adjacent to the doorway with its gaping hole. After some time, she noticed a faint light ascending the stairwell, growing brighter as it approached the attic landing and her room. Hoping it was one of our parents coming up with a lit candle to check on the children, Jane called out. However, there was no reply.

The light grew clearer, visible through the hole in the door. Overcome with fear, she jumped out of bed, her heart pounding as adrenaline surged through her trembling body. With her eyes tightly shut, she sprinted down the landing to the bottom of the hallway and into Cora’s bedroom, where the commotion had already alerted her. Jane screamed as she entered the room and dived into her sister’s bed, mumbling and sobbing uncontrollably. Both were now too terrified to move. They lay still all night, blankets pulled tightly up to their faces, waiting anxiously for daylight to arrive.

The next morning, they recounted the incident to our parents. However, neither of them, nor any of our siblings, had been responsible for the light. It could only have been the restless dead, roaming the hallways with their ghostly candle lighting the way. Perhaps it was the “old Edwardian lady” rumoured to haunt the house, retracing the steps she had walked countless times before, her presence now etched into the history of the home as she checked on her own children who had once occupied the attic rooms.

Reaching a Breaking Point

Every day, the house seemed to grow more oppressive and ominous, its weight becoming almost unbearable. The constant sensation of being watched and the overwhelming fear of harm were ever-present. It felt as though the rooms were filled with unseen, malevolent strangers whose presence, though invisible, was palpably threatening.

My mother endured so much, her fear escalating to the point where she could no longer remain inside alone. She would often sit outside on the steps or in the back garden, but never within the house, not anymore. She began witnessing increasingly unexplainable phenomena, and it became too much to bear. She discussed with my father the possibility of selling the house, desperate to escape and ensure her children’s safety.

She tried valiantly to hold herself together for the sake of our family, determined not to alarm us with the terrifying events she now encountered daily. Brave and selfless, she always prioritized her family, but the strain had pushed her to her limit. She could no longer endure living in a home that instilled such relentless fear. With nowhere else to turn, she had even sought help from the church, only to be dismissed by those expected to offer support. Talking about such things invited ridicule - society still struggles to comprehend the supernatural, even today.

Final Chapter

In her desperation, she sought assistance from two local psychics, a married couple. One evening, they came to the house to spend the night, while we stayed at my nan’s house. The next morning, the psychics arrived at my nan’s home to share their findings with my parents. They reassured us that the house had been cleansed of all spirits. They claimed to have guided the restless souls into the light, granting them eternal peace. According to them, the house was now bathed in sunshine, its oppressive atmosphere lifted.

When we returned to the house, we felt a mix of scepticism and hope, cautiously optimistic about their claims. Sadly it was not to be. We ultimately sold the house to a Consultant Cardiologist, a surgeon employed at the nearby Queen Elizabeth Hospital. In their urgency to part with the property, my parents relinquished it at a significant financial loss, resulting in a monetary setback from which our family would never fully recover.

At certain moments, as we pass by the house, I cannot help but be captivated by its vast glass windows. These mirrored panes reflect and replicate the outlines of neighbouring houses, shrouding any mysteries that might lie hidden behind their polished exterior. However, in that fleeting instant, I am gripped by an unsettling and persistent feeling that an invisible presence is silently observing me in return.

26th Aug 2025

Castlerigg Stone Circle

Sun, 17 Sep 2023 15:40:00 GMT

Keswick in Cumbria is home to a druidical set of stones known as the Castlerigg Stone Circle. It dates back to the Neolithic period of around 3000BC. – making it one of the oldest in the UK.

Its location, somewhat isolated, and set against a breath-taking backdrop of fells and moorland – it isn’t difficult to imagine why this particular location, and its wild natural beauty was preferred by our ancestors. As with other stone circles, its use remains a mystery, however Castlerigg stone circle doesn’t appear to have any astronomical connection, according to some experts – although I wouldn’t necessarily rule out the possibility of a Neolithic calendar, a place of sacred ritual or perhaps a site for sacrificial offerings. One theory is that the site was used as a ‘tool exchange,’ or a ‘trading’ place to exchange axes and other tools. Unlike many other megalithic sites, there’s no current evidence that Castlerigg is a burial ground. Very little excavation has taken place here, although a flint axe head has been unearthed nearby, suggesting similar finds are likely in the future.

I was fortunate to visit the stone circle on my latest visit to Cumbria, after hearing about the mysterious lights that have been reported by unsuspecting onlookers who have witnessed blue and white lights fleeting around the stones in a deliberate and intelligent manner. Could this light anomaly be visitors of the long dead, or some kind of electrical charge emanating from the stones themselves? No one knows, however, we can say with certainty that Castlerigg Stone Circle, like many other stone circles in the UK are shrouded in their own mystique, magic and folklore. Not surprisingly the stones are said to be the petrified bodies of men, who were turned into stone by a disgruntled sorcerer – a familiar theme for folklore tales and legends concerning other stone circles throughout the isles.

This ancient place is very atmospheric, and you can only imagine how foreboding the area becomes after dark. I wouldn’t recommend visiting this place on your own, especially after nightfall, because of the uneven landscape – one slip or missed footing could become an emergency. So please be very careful !

T he following excerpt is an eyewitness account from a Mr Singleton, and was documented in 1931, during a visit to the stone circle with a friend. I feel should be included here.

“Whilst we were watching a remarkable incident happened: one of the lights, and only one, came straight to the spot where we were standing; at first very faint, as it approached the light increased in intensity. When it came quite near I was in no doubt whether I should stoop below the boundary wall as the light would pass directly over our heads. But when it came close to the wall it slowed down, stopped, quivered, and slowly went out, as if the matter producing the light had become exhausted. It was globular, white, with a nucleus possibly 6 ft or so in diameter, and just high enough above the ground to pass over our heads.”

(published in ‘English Mechanic’ magazine, via ‘ Ghostly Cumbria ‘ by Rob Kirkup)

It ’s interesting to note that other accounts of these ‘earth lights’ have been seen over the years on occasion – unfortunately there’s no explanation as to what they might be, and why they seem to play host at the Castlerigg stones. Some theories suggest alien visitors as UFO’S have also been reported near the stones – I should say that the Royal Airforce do fly in that region, and perhaps could explain some sightings being reported as unidentified flying objects.

I wasn’t lucky enough to encounter the lights during my brief visit, but I remain hopeful that one day I may witness this phenomena first-hand, with my camera ready!

The site is looked after by English Heritage – is open all year and is free. There’s limited roadside parking available, and it’s a short walk (5 mins) to the stones. I recommend getting there early as the site is popular with tourists, and sheep!

ADDRESS:

Castle Lane, Underskiddaw, Keswick, Cumbria, CA12 4RN

Tamworth Castle and the Black Lady

Sun, 28 Jun 2020 13:43:00 GMT

Britain is full of castles; many of them are remarkably well preserved considering their great ages and violent histories. All of them have ghostly tales to tell.

We have some pretty fine examples here in the Midlands and I recently paid a fascinating visit to one of the best – Tamworth Castle.

T amworth has a history stretching right back to Saxon times, when it was the capital of Mercia. Its strategic location meant that it has been fought over many times.

E thelfleda, the Lady of the Mercians (and a daughter of Alfred the Great), built a wooden fort here as a defence against the Vikings. A couple of centuries later the Normans arrived and built a castle on the site of Ethelfleda’s fort.

The first owners of the castle were the Marmion family who had helped William I invade England. One of them, Robert Marmion, seems to have had one of the earliest (and most painful) ghostly encounters on record.

For reasons best known to himself he decided, in 1139, to expel an order of nuns from their convent in Polesworth. The nuns were forced to join another convent in Oldbury. They were not at all happy and before they left they angrily prayed for help from their founder, St Edith, who had died two centuries before.

T hat night, the ghost of St Edith appeared to Robert Marmion in his bedchamber (now known as the Lady’s Chamber). She told Marmion that unless he restored the nuns to their rightful home he would suffer an untimely death. Before she vanished, this scary nun struck the Baron with her crozier (a heavy wooden staff). Marmion cried out in pain and immediately promised that the nuns could return to Polesworth.

Whatever you make of this story it does seem that something made Baron Marmion jump on his horse and ride to Oldbury to personally inform the nuns that they could return to their convent.

The ghost of St Edith is known as the Black Lady and her spirit is said to have carried on haunting the castle long after the Marmion family had vacated the premises.

Apart from the Black Lady many people have claimed to have seen another spectre known as the White Lady. Her story seems to be based much more on legend since it involves the Knights of the Round Table. The White Lady was said to have been kidnapped and imprisoned by an evil Knight called Sir Tarquin, an enemy of King Arthur. Despite this she fell deeply in love with her abductor. However, Arthur’s best Knight, Sir Lancelot was determined to rescue her. When he arrived at the castle he drew his sword and slew Sir Tarquin in front of her eyes. The White Lady was so distraught that she threw herself from the battlements. The gallant Sir Lancelot had obviously wasted his time.

Over the centuries the castle was passed from one powerful family to the next and was visited by many Kings and Queens. It narrowly escaped being destroyed by Cromwell in 1643. He was furious that he had been forced to lay siege to yet another Royalist castle.

In 1897 Tamworth Castle was bought by Tamworth Corporation for the princely sum of £3,000 .

Since then a steady stream of visitors and staff have passed through its gates and wandered through its old rooms and corridors. A lot of these people have claimed strange experiences and ghostly encounters.

Late one night a member of staff was alone in the castle. She was waiting in the reception area while an engineer was outside checking the alarm system. She was startled to hear footsteps and furniture moving in the room above. The staff member knew that nobody could be in that room. Although she had experienced odd things before, this time she was overcome with fear and ran out of the building, where she met the alarm engineer. He told her that he had seen a strange figure looking down at him from one of the windows.

Another member of staff was working in the Tamworth Story room when she felt as if someone had thrown sand into her eyes. At the same time her colleague saw a blue mist swirl around the room.

A member of the public had an almost identical experience. Just outside a room known as the Haunted Bedroom. He felt as though somebody had thrown something in his eyes and then rush past him. When he told a staff member he was informed that strange things like that happen all the time!

We really enjoyed our visit to Tamworth Castle and many thanks to the friendly and helpful staff. The castle has fascinating exhibitions and an exciting programme of annual events.

We will definitely be making a return visit. I would love to get a glimpse of that scary nun, the Black Lady.

Close Encounters of the Harborne Walkway Kind

Wed, 19 Feb 2020 18:45:00 GMT

I grew up near a pleasant little bit of woodland known as the Harborne Walkway. This is a lovely disused railway line popular with dog walkers, joggers and cyclists. Over the years I’ve heard many stories from people who have had strange experiences around here.

T his was a busy railway line from 1874 to 1963. Bowler hatted Harborne gents would use it for the short commute to their offices in town and Chad Valley Toy Co, would send their tin plate penny toys and train sets to kids all over the world.

A lot of people will remember the noise of the old trains and the sight of their steam and smoke billowing over the rooftops. A later generation will remember playing in the derelict remains of the old station (now Rose Road Cop Shop).

I n the midst of modern Harborne, the walkway can be an eerie, secluded place, especially at twilight or in the dark. The haunting sounds of owls hooting and foxes crying can be heard most nights. But these are not the only haunting sounds coming from the walkway.

I know of at least two people who swear that they have heard the sound of steam trains and whistles long after the last trains departed from the station. I am certain that these two people did not know each other and these accounts were told to me many years apart.

As a child I remember hearing stories of a ghostly Nightwatchman walking over the bridge on Park Hill Road. He was supposed to carry a glowing lantern and seemed to be inspecting the tracks. This is a classic ghost tale that can be associated with many railway lines and stations around the country (or even around the world). The story obviously originates with a railway man being killed by a train. However, I have not been able to unearth any evidence of fatal accidents along this stretch of line.

I also remember another childhood story of mysterious fires appearing on the walkway. The Fire Brigade (conveniently situated on Rose Road) would investigate only to find no trace of any blaze. This is another story which can be related to lots of other railway lines and would of course originate with an accident where the train had burst into flames (a not uncommon occurrence in the age of steam). Once again, I have not been able to find any evidence of such an accident. If any historians out there could enlighten me I would be most grateful.

A friend of mine used to live just off the Hagley Road in Edgbaston. A regular visitor to the hostelries of Harborne High Street, he would often end the night with a short cut home through the walkway. Scepticism and several pints of lager would always dispel any fears of this dark walk. But one night, while happily munching on a kebab, he became convinced that somebody was following close behind him. Of course, when he turned around, there was nobody there. He also has the distinct feeling that somebody (or something) was trying to say something to him “but couldn’t quite get their words out”. My friend was thoroughly unnerved by this experience and does not like to talk about it. These days he gets a taxi home.

I always find these types of strange encounters the most interesting because it suggests that ghosts seem to have the ability (or the need?) to communicate with the physical world. Other people have spoke of feeling “another presence” on the walkway and a feeling of being watched.

Two other people I know have had odd experiences in the area. One of them was walking along Gillhurst Road one night and claims to have seen red, blue and white lights floating above the trees. He said they “danced in the air” for several seconds. He didn’t think it was a firework, or anything similar.

The other person had a bizarre encounter while walking his dog. A strange creature which he described as a “long black ferrety, weasely type thing” suddenly darted out into the middle of the path. He said the animal remained perfectly still and stared at him for quite a few seconds. It then very slowly moved into the undergrowth, never once taking its eyes off him or the dog. Does anybody know what kind of critter this could be?

If you or anyone you know has had any strange experiences around the walkway area, or if you know of any stories associated with this place, please get in touch, I’d love to hear from you!

White Ladies Priory

Wed, 19 Feb 2020 17:15:00 GMT

An interesting and eerie place I’ve had the pleasure to visit is White Ladies Priory in the Shropshire countryside. This is a set of ruins of a medieval convent that dates from the twelfth century, although there is evidence to suggest that this was a religious place long before the Norman invasion of 1066.

I’ve always thought that the name White Ladies has a suitably ghostly feel. However, the most likely explanation for the name is quite simple. The nuns who lived here were well known for their white robes. They probably couldn’t afford or didn’t think it necessary to dye their habits black as in most other convents.

There is another couple of explanations for the name “White Ladies” which are much more interesting.

One tale is connected to the legend of King Arthur. After Arthur’s death his queen, Guinevere, hid away from the world and became a nun. Her final home was a poor and little known convent which eventually became known as The White Lady’s Priory.

Legend has it that the last time this statue glowed was in the early 1530’s shortly before the priory was closed down. In 1536 Henry the Eighth’s soldiers arrived to kick the nuns out and steal all their valuables to take back to the King. The glowing statue, however, had disappeared.

It is thought that the statue ended up at St Mary’s church in the nearby village of Brewood. But sadly this statue is not made of fine, white marble and is not known to glow in times of trouble.

Cromwell’s patrols were all around and the King was forced to spend an undignified night hiding in an oak tree. (This is why so many pubs have the name Royal Oak.)

The following day the King was hurriedly whisked into Boscobel House where he was hidden in a priest hole. He could hear Cromwell’s soldiers outside threatening immediate execution to anybody who helped the King. Fortunately, everybody managed to keep their nerve and Charles eventually managed to escape to the safety of France. He was restored to his throne a few years later and those who helped him were handsomely rewarded.

White Ladies Priory definitely has a ghostly presence around it. The people who built these places didn’t just buy a piece of land and begin laying bricks. They searched for special places that they thought were spiritual enough to build a house of worship. White Ladies Priory, with its legendary queens, lucky kings, and glowing statues is such a place.

Ghosts of East Anglia

Mon, 17 Feb 2020 18:29:00 GMT

Norfolk is home to some old, and not so old spooky tales. It forms part of East Anglia and shares boundaries with Lincolnshire, Cambridgeshire, Suffolk and the North Sea. The county is mostly rural in comparison with other English counties, and
having few towns and cities, one being the historic city of Norwich with its two impressive cathedrals and thirty two medieval churches.

We start our ghoulish journey at Blickling Hall. An impressive red brick stately home that was built sometime after 1616 by Sir Henry Hobart and architect Robert Lyminge.
An earlier building owned by Sir Geoffrey Boleyn stood on the same site as the current Hall, and was believed to be the birthplace and childhood home of Anne Boleyn – the unfortunate second wife of Henry VIII – who’s fate was to lose her head at the hands of a skilled swordsman at the Tower of London on May 19, 1536.

Anne’s headless ghost has since been seen at numerous locations, including the place of her execution, but her favourite haunt seems to be at Blickling.
It is said that on the 19th May, during the twilight hours, her anguished spectre can be seen riding in a phantom carriage while holding her severed head on her lap. The carriage frantically heading up the long driveway towards the Hall, driven by a headless horseman before disappearing out of view. Sometimes the urgency of the carriage and horses hurtling through uneven ground can be heard while the whaling cries from poor Anne herself is enough to make you stay far away from Blickling Hall on the anniversary of her execution!

Visitors to this grand house have sometimes felt uneasy and have been overcome by a sense of sadness. Anne and the headless horseman aren’t the only ones to haunt the Hall grounds however – her father Sir Thomas Boleyn has also been seen.

Out of guilt for not trying to save his daughter Anne from the wrath of Henry – Sir Thomas’ penance is to appear each year for a thousand years on the anniversary of his daughter’s death. He is given the impossible task of steering his ghostly carriage and horses from Blickling to Wroxham, crossing twelve bridges while cradling his decapitated head securely under his arm.

Blickling Hall is open most days to the public and is free for National Trust members, so if you’re in the area why not pop in and have a look around – you just might be unlucky enough to see one of these headless ghouls and their spectral carriages – just don’t hitch a ride with them.

Twenty three miles west from Blickling is Raynham Hall, made famous in 1936 with the publication of a photograph taken by Captain Hubert C Provand of the ghostly image believed to be that of the long dead Lady Dorothy Walpole – better known as the “Brown Lady of Raynham Hall”. The capture is known worldwide and is probably one of the most famous images depicting an alleged apparition.

Lady Dorothy was the sister of Britain’s first Prime Minister Robert Walpole and the second wife to the violent and cruel Charles Townshend, a jealous and controlling man. The story of their marriage would be a turbulent one and unfortunately for Dorothy it would prove to be fatal – according to what story you believe, as there are many variations. One thing they all agree with is that Dorothy met an untimely dismal death and her ghost is said to haunt Raynham Hall – perhaps seeking revenge, perhaps searching for freedom.

Charles accused his wife of adultery and had her locked away in a room until she finally drew her last breath in 1726 at the age of 40 years old. It was after Dorothy’s demise that the sightings of the Brown Lady began – leading to the speculation that they were somehow linked and that the identity of the ghost must be that of Lady Dorothy Walpole.

The photograph is interesting and you can clearly see the outline of a human shape, resembling the many statues you might see of the Virgin Mary. I don’t dispute the existence of the Brown Lady of Raynham Hall, as there have been many accounts from numerous witnesses going back a very long time, however the image caught on film I believe isn’t real and is probably a double exposure or simply a hoax – whatever you believe, you cannot disregard the sightings experienced by unsuspecting normal credible people, who over the years have visited this intriguing and historical building.

Our next stop takes us south into the neighbouring county of Suffolk.

Here we find Dunwich, once the sixth largest trading sea port and town in England. Nowadays Dunwich is quite small having mostly disappeared into the abyss of the North Sea. Many homes, businesses and lives have been lost forever, succumbing to their watery graves. Of course many ghosts are associated with this place, including ghostly visions of cattle seen in the distance – their grassy pastures now submerged under many metres of sea water.

The beach at Dunwich is said to be haunted by several wandering spectres, who it seems are unaware of the living. A recording of the past, playing over and over, allowing the viewer a small glimpse of what was long before.

The town is slowly disappearing and might eventually be remembered only in the history books. The coastline is fragile and warning signs are dotted about the clifftops – which is where the last grave lies – waiting its turn to be washed away. This particular spot housed a church and graveyard but now hangs on the very edge of the cliff overlooking the sea – the church having long since gone. Over the years it has revealed gruesome sites of skeletal remains protruding from the cliff face.

They say Dunwich takes on an eerie persona after dark, especially on the beach, where the dead souls rise up from the sea and once again walk upon dry land. The place is steeped in history and tragedy – which would seem a likely recipe for a ghost or two.

We stay in Dunwich for our next story – which lies adjacent to the last grave.

Greyfriars Friary was home to the Franciscan monks and was built in the 13th and 14th centuries. Strange lights have been seen flickering around the ruins after dark, particularly on Michaelmas Day and Christmas Eve. Distant chants have also been heard on stormy nights and shadowy cowled figures have also been seen wandering about the place, leaving witnesses terrified.

Another phantom to be spotted at the Friary is that of the “Black Shuck” a ghostly demonic hound that supposedly prowls around the town of Dunwich and its Friary.

In 1926 Mrs Rudkin was at Greyfriars walking her dog when she suddenly had a formidable sense of being watched. She looked around and to her horror she saw a very large black dog staring back at her from the ruins. Its mouth twisted as it snarled viciously – its eyes looked menacing – the creature seemed ready to pounce. She quickly headed back in the opposite direction to avoid any confrontation with the devil hound, and made a hasty retreat back onto the road. Later she told a local man what she’d seen. The man listened and tried to dismiss Mrs Rudkin’s encounter as a mere sheepdog but after she insisted that it was no sheepdog, the man quickly changed his demeanour and hurried away looking rather shaken.

The famous black dog of Dunwich is still seen on occasion roaming the Friary ruins and clifftops, sometimes the ominous presence of the animal is felt rather than seen to this very day.

Paranormal investigation groups have captured some interesting EVP’s on site – could this be the remnants of disembodied voices from long ago when it was home to the monks? Anything is possible!

If you do visit, please be mindful of the residents and pay attention under foot, as it can be very precarious. It might also be worthwhile taking a few doggy treats with you just in case …

I’ll come back to Norfolk and Suffolk in future blogs as there are many stories and legends to be told.

Haunted Houses of the National Trust

Thu, 30 Jan 2020 19:11:00 GMT

Like everybody else I have a purse full of plastic cards. The only one I really enjoy taking out is the one that gains me entry to the historical houses that belong to The National Trust. This wonderful and very important organisation owns hundreds of properties all over the British Isles.

From tiny pubs in remote villages to vast country mansions, The National Trust is there to maintain and preserve our rich heritage. No matter where you live there are fascinating places within easy reach. You will not be surprised to hear that some of these creaky old houses are haunted.

A lovely old manor house I have visited several times is Baddesley Clinton in Knowle, Solihull. This building dates right back to the early Middle Ages, and it is thought to be haunted by one of its former owners, a man called Nicholas Brome.

The Brome family lived here during the Wars of the Roses and, unfortunately for them, in 1461 they found themselves on the losing side. This led to a serious falling out with the Earl of Warwick, culminating in the murder of the family’s patriarch, John Brome. Shortly afterwards, John’s son, Nicholas took a bloody revenge and stabbed to death the Earl of Warwick’s Steward. Nicholas Brome had an appetite for violence and people crossed him at their peril.

One night he returned home to find his wife in a compromising position with no less a person than the local parish priest. The priest, it seems, was tickling his mistress, “under ye chinne”. This was more than enough to send Nicholas into a terrible rage.

He drew his dagger and slew the amorous priest on the spot. Killing a man of God was a serious offence and could have cost Nicholas his own life, however he had the good fortune to be pardoned by both the King and the Pope. His penance was to build nearby St. Michael’s church, where he was eventually buried standing up (another penance for his many sins).

It could be that Nicholas Brome, his soul never properly laid to rest, still wanders the dark rooms and hallways of Baddesley Clinton. (A dark red stain on the wooden floor of the library is said to be the priest’s blood, but I must say I am not entirely convinced!).

In the Tudor period the house was taken over by the Ferrers family who bravely gave sanctuary to catholic priests during the reign of Elizabeth I. The tiny “priest holes”, where they would hide from Elizabeth’s soldiers, can still be seen.

This must have been a particularly frightening time because the punishment for observing the “old religion” was terrible indeed. Priests could be burnt at the stake, while their protectors ran the risk of being “hanged, drawn, and quartered”.

Traumatic experiences do seem to trigger paranormal activity. Members of the Ferrers family and many visitors to Baddesley have reported hearing raised voices and hurried footsteps coming from empty rooms. Could this be the chilling echoes of long dead catholics trying to evade their protestant hunters?

Another fascinating place I recently visited is Snowshill Manor, close to the picturesque Cotswold village of Broadway (a favourite place of creepy actor Donald Pleasence).

Snowshill has its origins in the ninth century when it was occupied by monks. The house, as seen today, dates from the 1500’s and has had many colourful owners, including Katherine Parr, one of Henry VIII’s long suffering wives.

Its last owner was a wealthy eccentric by the name of Charles Paget Wade who chose not to live in the house, but in a little cottage in the grounds. Instead, he used the house to store his vast collection of bizarre and interesting objects, some of which had connections with witchcraft and alchemy. A room known as “the witches’ garret” is said to be decorated with magical symbols.

Snowshill has long had a reputation among local people of being haunted. Many people have reported strange, unnerving experiences here and it’s not unknown for some visitors to be suddenly overcome with fear and refuse to enter. When Wade bought Snowshill in 1919, he had difficulty employing local builders because they were too scared to work there. Some people claim to have seen the hooded figure of a monk in the house (ghostly monks seem to crop up everywhere!).

Another apparition is said to be that of an agitated young girl by the name of Ann Parsons. In 1604 she inherited some money but it was not to bring her any happiness or security. It seems that Snowshill was the venue for her forced marriage to a fortune seeking servant who mistreated her.

In the first half on the nineteenth century the house was owned by Charles Marshall. One evening, one of Marshall’s servants was greatly surprised to see his master riding close to the house. The servant’s shock was understandable seeing as he had only recently attended the old man’s funeral.

The servant, Richard Carter, saw the ghost several more times and finally plucked up the courage to speak to him. Local folklore has it that the ghost of Charles Marshall revealed to his former servant the location of a hidden bag of money. This story was related to Charles Paget Wade by Richard Carter’s great grandson.

At least one person was killed in Snowshill Manor, which adds to its ghostly atmosphere. A duel is said to have taken place in one of the rooms. The bloke who came second is thought never to have left.

A National Trust card is essential to anybody with an interest in history and ghostly goings-on. I will be returning to the subject of National Trust properties and their resident spectres in future blogs.

Ghost Trains and Haunted Railway Stations

Thu, 30 Jan 2020 15:25:00 GMT

On the 15 September 1830, an English politician by the name of William Huskisson had the dubious distinction of being the first man in history to be killed by a train.

George Stephenson was demonstrating his famous “Rocket” locomotive along a specially built track between Liverpool and Manchester.

Crowds followed the slow moving engine, fascinated by this noisy new invention.

Huskisson, however, was much more interested in speaking to the Duke of Wellington, inconveniently standing on the other side of the track.

So intent was he on getting the Duke’s attention that he failed to notice the great belching, steaming contraption rolling towards him.

“Stephenson’s Rocket” hit poor Mr Huskisson and crushed his legs. The stricken man was taken to the nearby village of Eccles where he died shortly afterwards.

Now, I don’t know whether or not poor Mr Huskisson’s ghost haunts the Liverpool to Manchester line, but one thing is for certain, he would not be the last to meet his maker under the deadly wheels of a train.

Railway lines and stations the world over have stories of grisly deaths in which the victims stick around in spirit form.

As I have mentioned before, some paranormal experts believe that a traumatic (and maybe sudden or unexpected) death could be the catalyst for a haunting.

And, let’s face it, a hundred tons of train roaring towards you is pretty traumatic.

I think another reason why some railway stations (as opposed to railway lines) are associated with hauntings is because of human emotion.

Train stations are the sorts of places (castles, battlefields, courtrooms etc) where incredibly strong emotions can seep into the atmosphere.

How many joyous meetings and sad farewells have taken place at a railway station?

How many soldiers have waited excitedly on platforms, with clean new rifles and packs, finally getting their chance for war?

How many have returned to those same platforms, dirty and wounded, and minus their mates?

I think spirits are attracted to, and can feed off, such strong human energies.

Even modern, crowded New Street Station in Birmingham seems to be haunted.

About 35 million people pass through New Street every year and quite a few of them have reported ghostly sightings.

The station as we know it today was built in the 1960s, but the original station was opened in 1848.

Arthur Smith, author of “Haunted Birmingham” (a great little book, highly recommended) found out something very interesting about the original station.

The site the builders chose had one “minor” obstacle – a Jewish cemetery.

This didn’t actually bother them too much. They demolished the cemetery and got on with constructing their great Victorian station.

Whenever cemeteries get destroyed you can be sure to awaken a few disgruntled spirits (you must have seen Poltergeist!).

Over the years quite a few people have died at New Street Station, either by accidents, natural causes and, unfortunately, suicide.

(For obvious reasons, railway lines and stations do tend to attract people who are determined to end it all.)

Unsurprisingly, in my opinion, some of these unfortunate people linger on in spirit form.

Some souls are possibly trapped in the physical area where their deaths occurred. This could be because they are confused and perhaps unaware that they have passed on.

Maybe this is why some ghosts apparently try to communicate with the living.

I also think that some ghosts are spirits that are able to travel freely between the realms of the physical and the spiritual. Some of these spirits may feel compelled to re-visit the location of their physical death.

One apparition at Birmingham New Street has even acquired a nickname, Claude.

Claude seems to be one of the most reported sightings, probably because he is so distinctive in his Victorian attire complete with top hat.

The next time you find yourself standing on a crowded train, take a good look out of the windows, do you see anything strange?

The next time you are waiting impatiently on a noisy platform, take a discreet look at the people around you – are they all they seem?

Cornish Ghosts

Thu, 30 Jan 2020 13:47:00 GMT

Let’s hope the weather people are right when they say we’re in for a lovely, sizzling summer.

In these days of credit crunchiness a lot of us will be foregoing foreign shores in favour of a holiday in dear old Blighty.

Cornwall is a definite hotspot, and not just for surfers and sun worshippers. Just about every town, village and old smugglers pub has a ghostly tale or two to tell.

The most famous smugglers pub of all is Jamaica Inn which makes an ideal first stop as you enter Cornwall. I’ve been there a few times and have definitely felt an eerie presence, especially in the bar area.

The ghostly figure of a man wearing a tricorn hat and a long cloak has also been witnessed in the bar. People have described him as looking like an eighteenth century highwayman.

In the bedrooms some guests have been startled to hear disembodied voices and whisperings late at night. The language of these voices is not English but Cornish – the language that would certainly have been spoken by the smugglers.

Jamaica Inn lies on the edge of Bodmin Moor, home of the legendary Beast of Bodmin, a massive black feline creature that has been terrifying locals for centuries.

Nearby is Bodmin Gaol, definitely one of the grimmest places I have ever visited. The first thing you see outside the building is the gallows where dozens of men and women (some innocent, some very, very guilty) were publicly hanged.

The building itself is semi-ruined but you can go underground and walk around the dungeons. There are lots of cells with unearthly wax figures depicting the former inmates and the horrific conditions that they existed in.

One of these inmates was a crippled farmer by the name of Matthew Weeks. He was hanged for the murder of his lover Charlotte Dymond whose blood spattered body was found in a field in April 1844. Matthew Weeks protested his innocence right to the end and many people believed him. His ghost is said to wander the Gaol, furious at the injustice dealt out to him. Meanwhile, the ghost of the murdered Charlotte is said to be seen every April in the town of Camelford.

Another Ghost is that of Selina Wadge who was hanged in 1878 for killing her infant son. Her ghost is said to show a particular interest in young children.

In the early nineteenth century one unfortunate old woman, Ann Jeffries, became the victim of superstitious neighbours. She was accused of witchcraft and carted off to Bodmin Gaol where she was locked in a dungeon. Ann refused to confess to being a witch and was subsequently starved – the logic being that if she didn’t die then she was bound to be a witch. Unsurprisingly, she died. Her emaciated spirit is sometimes seen in the bowels of this horrible prison.

Bodmin Gaol is a very interesting place to visit but has an extremely oppressive atmosphere. This is a place where thousands of people endured dreadful suffering and some people may find it an unpleasant experience.

A medieval lord of the manor, Henry Pengersick seems to be responsible for many of the castle’s ghosts. By all accounts he was a violent psychopath who killed anybody that crossed him. One of his victims was the aforementioned monk sent by his abbey to collect the rent. The ghost of this monk has often been seen in the castle grounds.

A particularly unpleasant spectral scene is sometimes witnessed in the main bedroom. A woman is seen writhing in agony on the bed. Another woman (her maid?) is desperately trying to comfort her. Could this unfortunate woman be another of Henry Pengersick’s victims?

Paranormal investigators have documented no less than thirty spirits at Pengersick Castle. There are also light flashes, mists and strange voices. These voices, like those at Jamaica Inn, are sometimes heard to speak in Cornish, a language that has not been in use since Victorian times.

One of Cornwall’s grandest houses is Lanhydrock, a National Trust property. It dates from 1630 but had to be rebuilt in 1881 after it was destroyed by fire. The shock of losing their beautiful house sent its owners, Lord and Lady Robartes to early graves (they are buried in the grounds). It is thought that they, along with other long dead family members and various servants, have maintained a ghostly presence throughout the house’s fifty rooms.

A little old lady, dressed in grey, has been seen sitting quietly in the Long Gallery. Some people, thinking she is a guide, have approached her only to see her vanish before their eyes.

I visited Lanhydrock a couple of years ago and definitely felt the presence of many spirits all around.

The Nursery, with its Victorian toys and books, seemed particularly active. Some people claim to have heard children giggling in this area.

In the Billiards Room, where the gentlemen would retire after dinner, I was certain I could smell cigar smoke (smoking, of course, is strictly verboten in modern day Lanhydrock).

One of the bedrooms belonged to a Robartes family member who was killed in the First World War. His uniform was laid out on the bed and the room was locked for several decades. This room has a very eerie and very sad atmosphere and I certainly felt a spirit present here.

There is so much in Cornwall that I will be returning to this enigmatic county in future blogs.

Prison Ghosts

Thu, 23 Jan 2020 11:27:00 GMT

From medieval dungeons to modern American penitentiaries, prisons are truly frightening places – and they remain frightening long after the last inmate has finished his porridge.

One former prison that sees a lot of paranormal activity is Derby Gaol, owned by ghost expert and historian Richard Felix.

Over 260 crimes carried the death penalty. A twelve year old who stole a handkerchief was just as likely to hang as a highwayman who committed murder.

Therefore, the vast majority of the poor souls who entered Derby Gaol had a rather unpleasant appointment with the hangman. Even those inmates not sentenced to death were probably going to die from the filthy conditions and the violence of the gaolers and fellow convicts.

As if the prospect of the gallows was not terrible enough, condemned inmates had an additional fear which caused them great anguish. Their bodies were often handed to the surgeons to be dissected and examined (and then put on public display as a warning to others). In these more religious times it was firmly believed that your soul could not enter heaven if your body had been dismembered. This belief could be a contributing factor as to why some spirits stay on the earthly plane and refuse to “cross over”.

One particular scary figure has been encountered lurking in a doorway of Derby Gaol. He has been described as an evil looking bald man wearing a kind of leather garment or apron. I remember reading that when prisoners were flogged, the jailer would wear a leather apron because it was easier to wipe off blood and bits of flesh. This leather clad bald man has also been seen to walk through a wall.

Another strangely dressed figure, a woman in a large fancy hat, was seen to walk down a corridor and through a door to the outside. The witnesses followed her outside to be confronted by freshly fallen snow – and no footprints!

Derby Gaol seems to be full of strange ghostly people. A man in a long scarlet coat is sometimes seen acting as if he is looking for someone or something. A “terrified looking” blonde woman was witnessed lying on a bed, a dark, shadowy figure seemed to be menacing her. People have commented on black shapes congregating around the fireplace in the Day Room.

Many people have commented on a strong tobacco smell. This is something that I and other investigators have increasingly begun to notice in haunted locations. The smell of strong tobacco smoke (mainly pipes and cigars) has become very noticeable since the smoking ban was introduced.

Derby Gaol also has more than its fair share of poltergeist activity. Cups, glasses and various ornaments have all moved by themselves – sometimes flying past the heads of shocked visitors and staff. A pair of antique spectacles seem to be able to move themselves around the building whenever they feel like it.

Other prisons, some still in use, also appear to be haunted.

For over a hundred years Wandsworth Prison in London has been the home of a well known ghost called ‘Wandsworth Annie’. Many prisoners and staff have described her as middle aged and wearing a long grey woollen dress and black boots. She appears for a few seconds at various points in the prison and as soon as she is noticed she quickly vanishes. ‘Wandsworth Annie’ is thought to be a woman who worked at the prison, probably as a cook, in the mid nineteenth century.

Dartmoor prison also has a ghost with a name and, back in the 1930’s, was even recognised as a former inmate called David Davies. He spent most of his life, over fifty years, incarcerated at Dartmoor Prison. For much of that time he looked after the prison sheep and was so devoted to them he gave them names and was able to tell them apart. He died in 1929 but a year later the prison governor was shocked to see him walking among his beloved sheep. Some prisoners also saw this figure and recognised him as their old mate David Davies.

A much more disturbing experience has been had by inmates at Durham Prison. In 1947 a brutal murder took place in one of the cells. One prisoner killed another with a knife stolen from the Dining Hall. The killer was eventually hanged but his malevolent presence lingered in the cell of his horrific crime. One prisoner who was locked up in this cell emerged screaming one morning. He claimed to have seen the murder re-enacted before his very eyes. Other convicts refused to enter this cell and begged to be put into solitary confinement instead.

The ghost of the infamous Dr Hawley Crippen has been seen at Pentonville Prison where he was hanged in 1910 for the murder of his wife. His bespectacled, sorrowful figure has apparently been witnessed standing over his unmarked grave, complete with a bent, crooked neck.

Many of our old Victorian prisons must still have their execution chambers and condemned cells and I would love to hear of any strange experience in these places.

Hauntings often occur in locations that have seen great trauma and suffering. Negative emotions – anger, hate, violence, fear, despair – have always been prevalent in prisons throughout history. These emotions tend to linger in the atmosphere, providing energy for spirits to manifest.

The Ghosts of Aston Hall

Thu, 23 Jan 2020 10:32:00 GMT

A place I like to visit from time to time is Aston Hall , a beautiful Jacobean mansion set amidst the grimy factories and and victorian terraces of inner city Birmingham. Of course when it was built,nearly 400 years ago, Brum was little more than a collection of cottages and metal bashing workshops. The Hall would have been surrounded by green fields and lush countryside. It must have been quite a sight!

Back in those days the big man in these parts was Sir Thomas Holte. Rich and powerful, a close friend of King James. Holte began building Aston Hall in 1618 and it took over twenty years to complete. History does not paint a very flattering portrait of Sir Thomas. Cruel and violent, as a young man he embedded a hatchet into the skull of an incompetent cook. Sadly I cannot find any reports of a ghostly cook wandering around with an axe sticking out of his head. Now that would be a ghost worth seeing!

Aston Hall is definitely haunted and the most often seen ghosts seem to have their origins in the early days when nasty old Sir Thomas was in charge. One of these ghosts seem to be of his daughter Mary. She was horrified at the prospect of being forced into a marriage with a man she detested. Mary and her true love, a young man of lower social status, went on the run. Unfortunately she didn’t get far and Sir Thomas dragged her back to Aston Hall. In his eyes she was now spoilt goods, no ‘respectable’ (i.e rich) gentleman would want to marry her now. He locked her in an upper room and threw away the key. Poor Mary suffered sixteen years of loneliness and despair before succumbing to madness and death. Her ghost, a shimmering white figure, is known as the ‘White Lady’ and is said to glide around the upper floors. (It seems to be compulsory in stately homes and castles to have a ‘White Lady’!)

The ‘White Lady’ has a companion known as the ‘Green Lady’ who has been seen sitting on a chair in the Great Hall. This ghost is supposed that of a Mistress Walker, an elderly servant to Sir Thomas Holte. She is described as wearing a green, high collared dress and is said to be so lifelike that people think she is a member of staff in period costume. This kind of ‘real’ looking ghost makes me think of the ‘recording’ theory that some people apply to ghostly sightings. Somehow images from the past are replayed in the present.

One of the upper rooms is known as Dick’s Garrett and is thought to contain the spirit of a servant boy. This young man, Dick, was accused of theft and locked in the room to await his master. Guilty or not he knew he would be in for horrific punishment. Unable to bear his harsh existence any longer he took his own life.

A strange phenomena has been witnessed by staff in the kitchen. A glowing white ball suddenly appears out of the wall and bounces around at high speed before disappearing. This part of the Hall is known to have been damaged by cannon fire during the Civil War.

Aston Hall was home to some very lucky and very rich people until 1858 when it was bought by the Birmingham Corporation and opened to the public. It was opened by Queen Victoria herself but the day ended in tragedy when a young circus acrobat fell to her death. Victoria witnessed this unfortunate event and was said to very distressed.

Whenever I have been to Aston Hall I have sensed many spirits in residence there. I think some of them are stuck in a confusing limbo, unaware that they have passed on.

I would recommend a visit especially to one of the ‘Candlelight’ nights they have every couple of years. It really is a beautiful sight.

What the Devil is Halloween

Wed, 18 Dec 2019 17:34:00 GMT

Yes, it’s that scary time of year again.
The shops are full of pumpkins and pointy hats. Little devils roam from door to door demanding money and sweets. If you don’t pay up, you may well find your front door decorated with eggs and flour (the little monsters).

There is, of course, a lot more to Halloween than this recent import of American trick or treatery.
Most cultures, the world over, seem to have developed a “Festival of the Dead” which is basically what Halloween is all about.

The barrier between the physical world and the spiritual world is weakened and the dead are free to walk amongst the living.

On October 31st, if you see somebody dressed as a ghoul or a vampire, they probably don’t realise it but they’re acting out an ancient tradition.

They are mimicking the dead in order to protect themselves from the visiting spirits.

Halloween, in Britain and north America, has its origins in Gaelic culture. Indeed, the reason why it is so popular in the US is because of the mass Irish immigration of the 19th century.

There was an ancient Celtic festival called Samhain which marked the end of summer and the beginning of the long dark winter. This was a critical time of change and they believed that normal time was briefly suspended.

This meant that the spirits of the “Otherworld” – some good, some evil – were free to invade.

A “Feast of the Dead” would be held to honour and placate these spirits (and to hope they would return to their world without causing too much trouble).

This pagan festival, like so many others, was eventually Christianised and November 1st became All Hallows Day. October 31st naturally became All Hallows Eve which we now call Halloween.

The church meant for this festival to be a commemoration of the blessed dead, the “hallowed”.

Over the centuries, All Hallows Eve became a raucous night of bonfires and bad behaviour. People could play tricks on each other and blame the evil spirits. (In some of our towns, Halloween is referred to as “Mischief Night”.) This is obviously how trick or treating developed.

Many traditions and superstitions became associated with Halloween.

Familiar games such as apple-bobbing were once taken seriously by young men and women. If you managed to grab an apple with your teeth, you were supposed to then peel it in one unbroken strip. You would toss the apple peel over your shoulder. The shape of the peel when it landed was supposed to be the first letter of the person you would marry.

Young women also believed that if they sat in a darkened room, on Halloween night, and stared into a mirror, the face of their future husband would appear.

There was a downside to this particular form of divination. If a skull appeared in the mirror the unfortunate girl was not long for this world.

Another form of Halloween fortune telling began in Ireland. Various little objects were baked into a fruit bread (a barmbrack). When the bread was sliced, the object you received would determine your future.

If you received a pea then you were destined not to marry. If you received a ring you would marry within the year. A matchstick would mean an unhappy marriage; a coin would bring good fortune.

The tradition of the American pumpkin also originated in Ireland. Instead of a pumpkin they used a hollowed out turnip and called it a “Jack O’ Lantern”.

Legend has it that Jack was a drunken farmer who tricked the devil into climbing a large tree. Jack then trapped the devil by carving a cross into the tree trunk.

In revenge the devil placed a curse on Jack. He was condemned to forever wander the dark roads and country lanes. His only light, a solitary candle in a hollow turnip.

Our modern take on Halloween bears little resemblance to the festival observed by our ancestors. They literally believed they were about to be visited by all manner of devils and demons from the underworld.

Hopefully that won’t happen to us this Halloween.

But you never know!

Have fun.

The Ghosts of Kirkstone Pass

Wed, 18 Dec 2019 17:21:00 GMT

During a recent visit to Cumbria I thought it only polite to stop by one of the most haunted Inns in England (allegedly). Kirkstone Pass Inn dates back to 1496 AD and is the third highest public house in the country and the highest inhabited building in Cumbria, being a mere 1500ft above sea – level. It is believed to have once been connected to an ancient 15th Century monastery, and is now a welcomed rest stop visited by many travellers, alive and dead. Its remoteness is ideal for those wanting to getaway from it all – however if you’re looking for somewhere to rest for the night, I’d think again! Due to all its unpaying guests, you’re sure to get more than you bargained for. The Inn is named after the a large standing stone situated 500 metres away, not far from the Kirkstone quarry, overlooking Brotherswater below. The word “kirk” is Scottish for church, and it was the romantic poet, William Wordsworth who immortalised the standing stone with the words:

‘This block and yon, whose church like frame, gives to this savage pass its name.’

One such visitor to the Inn is Ruth Ray, who many years ago made the perilous journey from Patterdale to visit her ailing father. With her baby wrapped warmly and cradled in her arms she set out across the fells. As she approached the Kirkstone Pass, the weather became much worse with an unexpected blizzard of heavy snow and blowing gales. Poor Ruth was unable to find her way through the harsh weather, finally falling victim to the freezing temperatures – her frozen, lifeless body was later found by her husband still holding the small child who miraculously survived. Ruth is sometimes seen wandering about the Inn, perhaps waiting to be reunited with her baby. Another restless soul is that of a hiker, who is said to have once worked at the Inn and is responsible for the poltergeist activity. This “noisy ghost” likes to throw glasses from the bar, as well as bowls and plates. It can be expensive having a poltergeist who insists on breaking everything, on a lighter note however, it might save on the washing up.

A more sinister ghoul is the grey lady who likes to scream in the faces of unsuspecting visitors, leaving them hastily heading toward the exit to escape their hellish encounter. Who is this malevolent entity and why does she insist on scaring the life out of the living? The shade of a young boy is sometimes seen standing outside the Inn. This poor lad is said to have been accidently run over and killed by a horse drawn coach. I wonder who or what he is waiting for all these years later. The apparition of a woman who brutally murdered her young child is said to haunt a nearby tree – the same tree that broke her neck in a noose years earlier. Maybe her punishment in death is to be bound to the area of her execution, as a reminder of her evil crime.

A more recent ghost story is that of a family who came to the Inn during their travels. While looking about the place they decided to take some photographs. A man dressed in 17th Century garb appeared on one of the photos. Closer examination of the image revealed that this man was indeed the great, great, grandfather of the family who had taken the shot. Needless to say this grateful ghost is said to have gone home with his relatives, leaving the years he spent at the Inn behind him. Let’s hope he likes all the mod cons of his new home. The Inn and surrounding area is home to many ghosts, far too many to list here. During my research and visit, I came across inexplicable episodes of battery drainage from my mobile devices and my camera not being able to focus properly, no matter what I tried. As soon as I left the premises however, everything returned to normal.

It’s believed by many that travellers along this mountainous terrain who have met with fatal accidents, also come to the Inn, perhaps confused and not accepting their own death, in search of refuge or seeking revenge – whatever the reason, the Inn seems to act like a fiery beacon for the lost souls, recent and not so recent victims of this dangerous winding narrow road known as the Kirkstone Pass.

A Christmas Carol

Wed, 18 Dec 2019 14:08:00 GMT

“Mercy! Dreadful apparition, why do you trouble me? Why do spirits walk the earth, and why do they come to me?”

On a wintry evening in 1852 a rather special event took place at Birmingham Town Hall. Charles Dickens gave the first ever public performance of “A Christmas Carol”.

Dickens imagined a series of ghosts haunting a selfish old miser, Ebenezer Scrooge, one Christmas Eve. The ghosts showed Scrooge the error of his ways, that his wealth meant very little unless used for the benefit of others.

By the end of the story Scrooge had heeded the warnings and changed his ways. From now on he would endeavour to help his fellow man – starting, of course, on Christmas Day.

Since Dickens gave the first public reading, his “ghostly little book” has become an integral part of Christmas. In fact the book played a major part in helping to revive the Christmas tradition in Victorian times.

It seems strange to us now but after the English Civil War the celebration of Christmas nearly died out. (Cromwell and his Puritans didn’t like Christmas at all, he really was the Grinch).

The publication (to great popular acclaim) of “A Christmas Carol” seemed to awaken some distant folk memory in Europe and America. Like all great Christian festivals there are strong elements of Paganism in the Christmas tradition. Dickens gave us a good example of this in the Ghost of Christmas Present – an early version of the modern Santa Claus.

The Victorians began to re – invent the Christmas celebration with decorated trees (courtesy of Prince Albert), cards, gifts, parties and as much food and drink as they could afford.

Along with the festive theme, “A Christmas Carol” also, of course, has some very interesting ghosts that pop up throughout the story.

When Scrooge returns to his bare, dismal house he encounters his first ghost – that of his old business partner Jacob Marley. In life, Marley was as mean spirited as Scrooge. In death he is forced to walk the earth forever, bound in chains and made to witness endless suffering.

Marley warns Scrooge that he will meet three Christmas spirits and that, unless he takes note of them, he can look forward to a terrible afterlife.

The first spirit is the Ghost of Christmas Past who shows Scrooge some of the people and events that shaped his life. Lonely schooldays and a beloved sister. A kindly employer and a failed romance. Scrooge begins to get upset.

The second spirit is the Ghost of Christmas Present, a “jolly giant”. This ghost takes Scrooge around London on that particular Christmas morn. He shows Scrooge the impoverished, but happy, family of his clerk, Bob Cratchit. However, their happiness would not last long because their sickly boy, Tiny Tim, is dying. Despite this, Bob Cratchit says a toast for his mean old boss.

The ghost also shows Scrooge two destitute children. If they are not helped, their suffering can only spread.

Scrooge gets even more upset, but the final spirit is by far the scariest. This is the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come and Dickens made him into the image of the Grim Reaper. Scrooge sees his own death, unmourned and unloved. In fact some people are very happy to hear of his passing, they steal his money and make off with his possessions. He also sees the Cratchit family grieving for their lost son Tiny Tim.

Scrooge is distraught but realises he has the power to change things for the better. On Christmas day he sends a massive turkey to the Cratchits and gets medicine for Tiny Tim (who did not die!).

He even surprises his own long suffering family by attending their Christmas party and having a jolly good time.

Ebenezer Scrooge became a kindly old uncle to all those who knew him, never once begrudging a penny for charity or a helping hand to those in need.

There are now hundreds of different versions and adaptations of “A Christmas Carol”. The story has been turned into films, plays, musicals and cartoons. Even the Muppets did a wonderfully mad version (Jacob Marley had a brother called Robert).

So when the going gets tough, and you just can’t face another visit to Tescos or the Bull Ring, think of uncle Ebenezer and Tiny Tim. Think of Christmas trees and brightly wrapped presents. Think of succulent turkey and cranberry sauce, mince pies and tons of chocolate. Think of that warm drunken glow while watching Corrie. Think of Dean, Bing, Noddy and the great Jona Lewie. Think of “It’s a Wonderful Life” and “Miracle on 34th Street”. Think of partridges in pear trees and Pogues in drunk tanks.

Think of the Nativity.

Bah Humbug? No, No, No (as Amy Winehouse might say).

Happy Christmas? Yeah, Yeah, Yeah (as the Beatles might say).

Wishing you all a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year with peace, love and light.

Blog Feed – British Ghosts and Hauntings

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Close Encounters of the Harborne Walkway Kind

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Ghosts of East Anglia

Haunted Houses of the National Trust

Ghost Trains and Haunted Railway Stations

Cornish Ghosts

Prison Ghosts

The Ghosts of Aston Hall

What the Devil is Halloween

The Ghosts of Kirkstone Pass

A Christmas Carol

The Ghost of Raynham Hall