Lots to look at here so I have bookmarked the page to ease navigation:
The_Carpenters_Arms,_Great_Wilbraham,_Cambridgeshire,_England
The_Cross_Keys_and_the_Kings_Orchard,_Northgate,_Peebles,_Scotland
Killmichael_County_House_Hotel,_Brodick,_Isle_of_Arran,_Scotland
Prestbury_House_Hotel,_Prestbury,_Cheltenham,_Essex,_England
The_Ring_o_Bells,_New_Lane,_Middleton,_Greater_Manchester,_England
Shipmans_Public_House,_Northampton,_Northamptonshire,_England
Bank Holiday's - If you are visiting the city during a bank holiday weekend there should be some special tours on - call ahead before you travel to avoid disappointment Top
On All Bank Holiday weekends there will be special Ghost tours to allow for people on Holiday to partake - to find out more call 07779 575831 or E-mail
Half Term - When possible special tours will be held during Half Term Holidays - please call to check Top
During State School Half-Term Holidays, special tours may be held, if you have a group of friends who would like to join the tour or you are a family group visiting for the week, please remember you can always call 07779 575831 and speak to John or E-mail
Halloween - Generally I do conduct tours on October 31st Which ever day it falls on there will be a tour at 20:00hrs and another at 21:30 hrs - I suggest you book well in advance as these tours can be very busy limited numbers can be taken (50) The prices are the same - no guarantee of seeing a ghost however... Top
Copyright © by A. Æ. Hunt-Anschütz 2002
Many years ago, at a Halloween party, a man in a vampire cape asked me if I knew why people wear costumes on Halloween. I didn't. He went on to explain that pagan Celts disguised themselves to scare off evil spirits on October thirty-first. I asked how he knew that. He'd seen it on some TV show. (Apparently, he was one of those people who believes everything they see on TV.) For me, this explanation seemed to stretch the limits of credulity. If these evil spirits could be tricked so easily, they couldn't have posed much of a threat to begin with! More importantly, where's the evidence for this fact? Are there ancient Irish, Scottish, Welsh, Manx and/or Cornish writings that describe this pagan rite? Having done some research, I now know the answer. There is no historical evidence whatsoever that ancient Celts wore fancy-dress at Halloween time, much less that they wore it to scare off evil spirits. And yet you can still read this 'fact' (or variations on it) in hundreds of places on the Web.
The following is an attempt to rectify some of the misinformation spread about the origins of Halloween. It is not a comprehensive history and leaves many questions about the origins of Halloween unanswered. A thorough investigation of all the factors that have influenced Halloween customs in all parts of the world where it is celebrated today would require a very thick book, one which (as far as I know) has yet to be written. Since this article is aimed at the casual reader, I have not provided arguments or evidence in support of every fact relayed here. Those who are interested in a more scholarly treatment of the material should consult the relevant chapters in Stations of the Sun (see reference section).
Every October the popular press prints articles tracing the origins of the modern Halloween back to 'the Druids' and 'the ancient Celtic festival of Samhain'. This is one of those statements that gets repeated so often in so many places that it is taken for granted as true. But when we look for actual evidence linking Samhain and Halloween it turns out to be as ephemeral as the spirits who are said to roam the earth during this dark time of year.
Samhain (also spelled samain, samuin or samhuinn) is a Gaelic word signifying the end of summer. A suggested etymology is sam 'summer' (as in samrad, the Old Irish word for summer) and fuin 'end'. The term was brought to Gaelic-speaking areas of Scotland along with the Irish Scots who settled there. No form of the word samhain is found in any other Celtic language. Samhain feasts, which took place on and around November first, are only recorded in ancient Irish literature. Early Welsh literature, such as the Mabinogian, makes no reference to any festival occurring on that date. Thus, it is inaccurate to describe Samhain as 'Celtic'. The word, and any festivals associated with it, are specifically Irish in origin.
So what do we know about Samhain celebrations in ancient Ireland? Our only source of information is traditional tales written down in the twelfth century, after Ireland had been Christian for several hundreds of years. One of the more detailed accounts of a Samhain feast is given in Serglige Con Culaind, The Wasting Sickness of Cu Chulaind.
Each year the Ulaid held an assembly: the three days before Samuin and the three days after Samuin and Samuin itself. They would gather at Mag Muirthemi, and during these seven days there would be nothing but meetings and games and amusements and entertainments and eating and feasting. That is why the thirds of Samuin are as they are today.
Now the reason they met every Samuin was to give each warrior a chance to boast of his valour and exhibit his triumphs. The warriors put the tongues of those they had killed into their pouches --some threw in cattle tongues to augment the count-- and then, at the assembly, each man spoke in turn and boasted of his triumphs.
The Old Irish tales indicate that druids were present at these feasts, as they would be at any assembly in their capacity as respected members of the community and advisers to kings. However there's no mention of any druidic religious rites being held at Samhain. There is nothing in the ancient Irish literature that even hints at the idea that Samhain was a 'Druid festival' as opposed to a time of year when a large feast was held for chieftains and warriors, along with their wives and families.
Judging by the descriptions we have of ancient Samhain feasts, it seems that the only thing they have in common with modern Halloween celebrations is the idea that the days around late October or early November are a good time for a party. Today's Halloween parties, like ancient Samhain celebrations, include 'games and amusements and entertainments and eating and feasting'. But then, so do all good celebrations at any time of year for any occasion! Historical accounts of Samhain feasts do not contain any reference to specifically "Halloweeny" customs. More crucially, for those who see the modern holiday as a time when the veil between the living and the dead grows thin and ghosts wander the earth, there is nothing in accounts of Samhain feasts to indicate a link with ceremonies for the dead.
By contrast, the Catholic holidays of All Saints and All Souls Day are specifically concerned with honouring those who have passed on. By the fourth century the Roman church recognised so many martyred saints that there weren't enough days in the year to commemorate them all. The church began celebrating an All Saints Day to remember all the left-over saints that didn't already have their own day. This holiday occurred at different times of the year in different places. In the early eighth century Gregory III consecrated a chapel in the basilica of St. Peter in Rome to all the saints and fixed the date of their remembrance to the first of November. In the eleventh century, Abbot Odilo of Cluny set aside a feast day in February to pray for 'all the dead who have existed from the beginning of the world to the end of time'. All Souls Day was later transferred to November second to form part of a festival with All Saints Day or 'All Hallows'(hallow is an archaic English word for 'saint'). The festival began on All Hallows Eve, the last night of October.
One of the 'facts' often quoted to support the 'Halloween comes from Samhain' myth is the idea that the church changed the date of All Saints Day to correspond with the November first date of Samhain. This seems highly improbable given that the church in Germany was celebrating All Saints Day on November first when the church in Ireland was still celebrating it on April twentieth. The historical evidence suggests that the Irish church changed the date of All Saints to conform to the standard European date, which just happened to fall on the date of an ancient Irish festival.
Medieval Catholics believed that those who died unshriven or somewhat sin-laden, but not so sinful as to be damned to Hell, would go to wait in Purgatory. Their living friends and relatives could help to get them into Heaven by praying, collecting alms, attending mass and doing good Christian deeds on their behalf. All Saints Day and All Souls Day were dedicated to this sort of activity. The responsibility for getting the dead into Heaven was taken very seriously by whole communities. On All Saints Day the court of Henry VII dressed in mourning clothes: the king in purple and all his attendants in black. Many rituals became attached to Hallowtide, when the Church celebrated a mass for the dead. Torchlight processions and vigils were held, bonfires were lit and churchbells were rung at midnight to comfort the lost souls. In some parts of Europe, the dead were believed to leave Purgatory around the time of All Souls Day and revisit their homes to seek the prayers of their families.
The medieval Catholic focus on the dead at the time of All Hallows Eve is at the root of Halloween as we know it.. By the fourteenth century a custom called 'souling' had developed in England in which the poor would go from house to house asking for soul-cakes. The better-off would give out small cakes or loaves in exchange for prayers for their dead relatives. Souling continued up until the twentieth century in some parts of Britain, though the ritual became increasingly secularised and was eventually relegated to children. Souling almost certainly forms the basis for American 'Trick or Treating'. Shakespeare uses the phrase 'to speak pulling like a beggar at Hallowmass'. I'll note that both of my parents, who grew up in Detroit, Michigan in the 40s and 50s, refer to the practice of trick-or-treating as 'begging' and to trick-or- treaters as 'beggars'. The phrase they used to ask for treats as children was 'Help the poor!'
During the mid sixteenth century the Protestant Reformation put a stop to All Souls Day rituals in England --or at least drove them underground. The Protestants denied the Catholic belief in purgatory and the idea that living humans could help dead souls get to heaven through their deeds. Thus, any Hallowmass activity connected to these beliefs, such as the ringing of church bells at midnight, was forbidden. But such edicts could not stop people from being genuinely concerned for the fate of their dead friends and relatives. All Hallows Eve rituals, which were once centred around the Church, became private family or community rituals. In eighteenth century Derbyshire people made bonfires on the common to 'light the souls out of Purgatory'. In nineteenth century Lancashire Catholic families still assembled at midnight on hilltops to say prayers for the dead. Legends about witches meeting at midnight on Halloween most likely have their roots in sightings by Protestants of Catholics engaging in forbidden Christian religious practices.
After the Protestants had driven Halloween away from the church, people were free to attach their own meanings and customs to it. It is not surprising that the holiday took on associations with the occult or demonic given the strong link to the dead and the strong disapproval of the Church of England. Once the connection with praying for dead ancestors in purgatory was lost, the evening took on more sinister tones in the popular imagination. The dead souls who were welcomed home at Hallomass in medieval Catholic times came to be seen as restless spirits to be feared. No doubt the spookier aspects of Halloween were also influenced by the time of year at which it occurs. Shorter days, colder nights, and dying vegetation provide a good atmosphere for tales of terror.
Customs attached to other celebrations were adopted as features of Halloween. Guising, the practice of wearing fancy dress or disguise, had been part of Christmas and New Years Eve customs in Britain and other parts of Europe since medieval times. By the nineteenth century the practice was a feature of Halloween in Scotland and Ireland. Divination and fortune-telling, another New Years Eve tradition, was a popular Halloween activity in Victorian times in various parts of Britian, no doubt due in part to the occult significance the night had acquired. In the twentieth century, as Halloween celebrations gained increasing popularity in North America, anything and everything weird, frightening or macabre could be encompassed by the holiday -- including characters from gothic literature such as Dracula and Frankenstein's monster and their on-screen equivalents. The relatively recent addition of the psychotic serial killer to the Halloween cast of characters is testimony to just how all-encompassing the holiday has become. Halloween customs are not static relics of ancient rites; they continually evolve to reflect the interests of the people who engage in them.
Since the origins of Halloween can be adequately explained with reference to Catholic All Souls Day and its Protestant prohibition, one might well ask why so many popular books, articles and web sites claim ancient pagan roots for the modern holiday. The simple answer is that in the popular imagination Druids are a lot more interesting than Catholics! Halloween conjures up images of the spooky and mysterious, so people naturally like to imagine that its origins lie in primitive occult rituals. People also tend to like simple explanations for things, whereas the historical explanations for any modern folk custom are likely to involve a lot of complex factors. The idea that ancient Celts wore disguises at Samhain to scare away evil spirits is both intriguing and simple. The real origins of Halloween fancy-dress can't be summed up in a sentence. They can only be explained with reference to other European guising customs, many of which have rather mundane connections with seasonal money-making schemes.
Most of the popular myths about the origins of Halloween can be traced back to two nineteenth century British authors: Sir John Rhys and Sir James Frazer, who speculated about connections between Halloween and pagan Celtic rituals, but provided no valid evidence to back up their claims. At the time they were writing, modern folk customs were typically seen as remnants of prehistoric religious rituals which survived among the common, uneducated country folk long after their original purpose had died out. This 'survivals theory' is widely rejected by contemporary historians, anthropologists and folklorists, who have a less romantic outlook on the past than their Victorian predecessors.
Unfortunately, nineteenth century ideas about the origins of Halloween still have widespread appeal outside of academia. This is partly due to laziness. Many people who write Halloween-themed books, articles, or TV scripts (most of which are meant primarily for entertainment) simply repeat information they've read on the web or in other popular (as opposed to scholarly) sources. They don't question what they read or bother to do any serious research into the matter. A popular Halloween book written in the 1990s might well get its material from a book written in the 1950s which gets its material from a book written in the 1890s --completely ignoring any historical studies relating to the topic that have been undertaken over the last hundred years.
Another factor that keeps the old myths about the origins of Halloween in the public eye is the specific interest of two diametrically opposed groups. Every Halloween, fundamentalist Christians and Neo-Pagan witches argue over whether or not Halloween (and all it stands for) is 'evil'. Ironically, both religious groups share and help to propagate the false assumption that the origins of Halloween are not Christian. Fundamentalist Christians repeat and add to myths about the pagan origins of Halloween in order to damn it as diabolical (to do this they also have to make ludicrous claims about Druids worshipping Satan). Wiccans (who celebrate Halloween as one of eight festivals on their 'wheel of the year') repeat and add to the myths about pagan origins of Halloween in an attempt to give ancient historical legitimacy to a twentieth century religion which is largely based on obsolete nineteenth century ideas about paganism.
Dispelling some of the myths surrounding the origins of Halloween does not take away any of the awe or mystery for those who see Halloween as a sacred time when the dead can make contact with the living --for indeed, interactions between the living and the dead were essential to All Souls Day. Nor does the truth behind the holiday detract from the entertainment of Halloween for anyone who enjoys it as a secular celebration. Halloween, as we know it today, has roots in serious medieval Christian religious beliefs about the afterlife, with five hundred years of fun and spooky secular beliefs and folk customs grafted on. It is precisely this combination of elements that gives the holiday its special appeal. Many people engage in Halloween activities with the sense that behind all the fearful fantasy they are acting out, there might be something real --that the ghostly figure they glimpsed outside the window or the unexplained rattling sound might just possibly be a soul returned from the realms of the dead. This tension between the known and unknown, the true and fantastic, the secular and sacred, is the source of our Halloween thrills. But that doesn't mean it should be the source of our Halloween facts!
This article summarises, amalgamates and expands on material presented in two authoritative sources. All information presented here as 'historical fact' can be found in one or both of the following books:
Ronald Hutton, The Stations of the Sun: A History of the Ritual Year in Britian, Oxford University Press, 1996 (See the following chapters: 35. Samhain, 36. Saints and Souls, 37. The Modern Hallowe'en)
J. Simpson and S. Roud, A Dictionary of English Folklore, Oxford University Press, 2000 (See the following entries: All Saints Day, All Souls Day, Guising, Halloween, Souling, Survivals Theory)
Information on the etymology of Samhain is taken from:
Malcolm Maclennan, A Pronouncing and Etymological Dictionary of the Gaelic
Language, Aberdeen University Press, reprinted 1984
The quote from The Wasting Sickness of Cu Chulaind,
is taken from:
Jeffrey Gantz (trans), Early Irish Myths and Sagas, Penguin Classics,
1981 (This collection includes several other references to Samhain.)
The modern origins of Wicca are thoroughly explained in:
Ronald Hutton, The Triumph of the Moon: A History of Modern Pagan Witchcraft,
Oxford University Press, 1999
Halloween History and Origin
Pumpkin Head or jack-o-lantern Halloween is the one of the oldest holidays still
celebrated today. It's one of the most popular holidays, second only to
Christmas. While millions of people celebrate Halloween without knowing it's
origins and myths, the history and facts of Halloween make the holiday more
fascinating.
Some people view Halloween as a time for fun, putting on costumes,
trick-or-treating, and having theme parties. Others view it as a time of
superstitions, ghosts, goblins and evil spirits that should be avoided at all
costs.
As the Christian debate goes on, celebrating Halloween is a preference that is
not always viewed as participating in an evil holiday. Halloween is often
celebrated with no reference to pagan rituals or the occult.
The History of Halloween
Halloween is on October 31st, the last day of the Celtic calendar. It was
originally a pagan holiday, honouring the dead. Halloween was referred to as All
Hallows Eve and dates back to over 2000 years ago.
All Hallows Eve is the evening before All Saints Day, which was created by
Christians to convert pagans, and is celebrated on November 1st. The Catholic
church honoured saints on this designated day.
The Origins of Halloween
While there are many versions of the origins and old customs of Halloween, some
remain consistent by all accounts. Different cultures view Halloween somewhat
differently but traditional Halloween practices remain the same.
Halloween culture can be traced back to the Druids, a Celtic culture in Ireland,
Britain and Northern Europe. Roots lay in the feast of Samhain, which was
annually on October 31st to honour the dead.
Samhain signifies "summers end" or November. Samhain was a harvest festival with
huge sacred bonfires, marking the end of the Celtic year and beginning of a new
one. Many of the practices involved in this celebration were fed on
superstition.
The Celts believed the souls of the dead roamed the streets and villages at
night. Since not all spirits were thought to be friendly, gifts and treats were
left out to pacify the evil and ensure next years crops would be plentiful. This
custom evolved into trick-or-treating in USA and sadly is taking hold in good
old blighty.
The Brown Lady of Raynham Hall
The Brown Lady of Raynham Hall is one of the most famous hauntings in Britain,
because of the strange form captured by photographers from 'Country Life'
magazine in 1936. Before that event the Brown Lady had been reported several
times, but many of the written accounts vary considerably.
The hall dates from the 17th century, and has been in the hands of the Townsend family from that time. In some stories the apparition of the Brown Lady once haunted Houghton Hall, but came to Raynham with the sister of Robert Wallpole, who married Viscount Townsend in 1713.
Lucia C Stone recorded the first reference to the ghost in 1835; the sighting takes place at Christmas of the same year. Lord Charles Townsend had invited a number of guests to the hall for the Christmas festivities. Among them was a man called Colonel Loftus, who witnessed a figure in a brown dress with another guest called Hawkins. He also ran into the apparition on the stairs of the hall. He described her as an aristocratic looking lady with one horrific feature, where her eyes should have been were only empty sockets, highlighted in a face that glowed with an unearthly light. The captain drew a sketch of the apparition, and others also said that they had witnessed the ghost.
The next sighting was by a Captain Marryat (1792-1848), an author of sea novels, although no firm date is given for this encounter. In most accounts the captain has asked to stay in the haunted room because he believes that the haunting is the result of local smugglers. He is returning to his room with two companions, when they see a figure with a lantern coming towards them. They take refuge in a doorway, and the figure turns and grins at them in a "diabolical manner", the captain, who is armed, looses off a shot, which passes straight through the figure and becomes lodged in the opposite wall. Fortunately the figure is not a guest with a sense of humour in disguise, and the apparition vanishes.
The next publicised sighting
was in 1926, when Lady Townsend admitted that her son and his friend had
witnessed the ghost on the stairs. They identified the figure with the portrait
of the lady hanging in the haunted room.
The Brown Lady of Raynham Hall Ten years later in 1936, the most famous event
occurred in the potted history of the haunting. Two professional photographers,
Captain Provand and his assistant Indre Shira, were taking photographs of the
hall for 'Country Life' magazine. The date was the 19th September, and at 4.00pm
that afternoon they were photographing the Hall's main staircase. They had
completed one exposure, and were preparing for another, when Shira saw a misty
form ascending the stairs. He shouted to the captain that there was something on
the stairs, and asked if the Captain was ready, he replied "yes" and took the
cap off the lens, while Shira pressed the trigger for the flash light.
After this the captain came up from under the protective cloth, and asked what all the fuss was about. Shira explained that he had seen a shadowy, see-through figure on the stairs. When the negative was developed it showed the famous image. There were three witnesses to the negatives development, as Shira had wanted an independent observer to verify the event. He ran and got a chemist called Benjamin Jones, who managed the premises above which the development studio was located. A full account of the experience was published in Country Life magazine on the 26th of December 1936.
The photo was later examined by experts at the Country Life offices, where it was declared unlikely to have been tampered with. There have been a few detractors saying that Shira hoaxed the image by smearing grease on the lens or moving in front of the camera, but there is unlikely to be a definitive explanation for the photo. It is still held in the offices of Country Life.
There have been more recent stories suggesting the haunting has moved to a road between South and West Raynham, but this has not been verified. The spirit has not been reported at the hall since the photograph was taken.
The Green-faced Ghost
An article by Melanie Warren, first published in Poulton Life Magazine, winter
96
In December 1936, the Blackpool Evening Gazette carried an article which began excitedly; 'Carleton Ghost? A Layton taxi-driver claims he has seen a ghost with a green face, near the gates of Carleton Crematorium '
Although this story appeared sixty years ago, the media's treatment of it was no different than it would be today. Concentrating on the sensational rather than the factual, the article meaningfully pointed out that five years previously a lonely widow had been battered to death in nearby Robins Lane - perhaps the green face had been this poor woman's ghost? In fact, there was probably no link at all between the two.
When I read this old news-clipping, I was intrigued because I knew of a Robins Lane in Bispham; beginning partway down Kincraig Road and wandering through fields and farmland to Bispham Road, it was an ideal place to walk my two dogs. But this Robins Lane was nowhere near Carleton. Only when I looked closely at a map did it become clear that Robins Lane extends for several miles, from Bispham to Skippool in one direction, and in the other direction meandering to Carleton, and beyond the Crematorium, into Poulton itself. Only in Carleton is the lane actually lined with houses; the rest is no more than a path winding through beautiful Fylde countryside. As I looked at the map, suddenly the age of the lane became apparent - dotted along the miles of 'lane' are several old farms - clearly the lane was an ancient track linking all the local farms with the agricultural market which used to be held at Carleton.
I have often found that researching ghost stories encourages a plethora of coincidences, and this tale of the green-faced ghost was no exception. A young friend of mine, hearing that I had taken the dogs down Robins Lane one summer evening, quite innocently told me that nothing would induce her to take the same route - as a child, she and all her friends had believed that in one of the many ponds which lie along the path there lurked a malevolent 'red hand'... Quite what the significance was, she didn't know, but the tale had frightened the children enough to keep them well away from the farmers' land. Perhaps the farmer himself had made the story up for just that effect?
Suspecting that there was a more prosaic explanation, I asked Maisie Allen, a local expert on folklore and history, if she knew anything about it. She informed me that many farms had a 'hand' insignia over their doorways, carved in red stone. Quite possibly one of these artefacts had found it's way into a local pond - and had found it's way into legend when it was discovered by a child explorer. So much for that story - satisfactorily explained.
But my run of coincidences
wasn't over yet. A couple of weeks later, my teenage son and a group of friends
had a strange encounter, walking home to a friend's house along part of Robins
Lane. It was late, and dark, and one of the boys had been standing atop a small
hillock near one of the many ponds, when 'something white' had appeared out of
nowhere, and 'brushed against him' before disappearing. None of the other boys
had seen anything, and my son has lived with me long enough to know that most
strange events have a natural explanation, but his friend refused to accept his
reassurances. Finally, two hours later, with his white-faced friend still
looking as if he had seen a ghost, my son rang me at one a.m. to ask me what he
should do? I had no idea!
The next day, Harry was still trying to make sense of his experience, and not
knowing who else to call, he called the local newspaper. His hope was that other
people might come forward and give him a logical explanation for what he had
seen, or failing that, help him track down the woman who had been in the cab,
and who he was sure had also seen the 'face' as well. Only she could corroborate
his story, and convince everyone - and Harry himself - that he hadn't imagined
the whole affair. The reporter who covered the story asked around in the area of
Robins Lane, in the hope that someone might recognise the woman's description,
but he had no luck. It was as if the woman had just disappeared into thin air.
The question arises; why did the woman run off beyond the Crematorium, where there are only fields? Probably because she lived at a local farm and this was the quickest way home. The reporter enquired only at the houses on the small part of Robins Lane which is built up - and which is some distance from the fields beyond the Crematorium - so it's no surprise that he could not find her. The second question; why was the mysterious face green? Probably because whatever-it-was was glowing in the reflection of Harry's car headlights.
But explaining the 'face'; what
it was, why it was there, and where it disappeared to - that's a little more
difficult. Perhaps it would be surprising if a lane which has been used for
hundreds of years, as Robins Lane undoubtedly has, were not haunted. It must
surely have seen its share of accidents and tragedies, and after all, life would
be very boring without a little mystery here and there. Although such an
assertion would probably have been of little use to poor Harry Hodges, who lived
with his own personal mystery for the rest of his life...
Text © Melanie Warren 2001
The Ring o' Bells, Middleton Top
The Ring o Bells is said to be one of the oldest buildings in Middleton, and may
be one of its most haunted. Historically the pubs foundations are thought to
date all the way back to Saxon times, and legend has it that a Druidical temple
stood at this spot in the Iron Age - perhaps a place of ancient sacrifice. In
the Middle Ages it served as a refectory for monks brewing their potent ale,
probably in the area where the pubs cellars are currently situated.
The Haunting
The pub is said to be haunted by a Sad Cavalier, who has been nicknamed Edward.
When we last talked to the Landlord (some 10 years ago now), he described how
the ghost, dressed in his royalist finery, had been seen on a few occasions,
within the pub and outside by other landlords and a local lady. He also
explained that 'Edward' manifested in other less visual ways, including
footsteps sounding on the stairs, and other strange noises. He was also known to
lay a heavy hand on customers, much to their surprise when they turn to find
nobody in the vicinity. One of the more frightening incidents was recorded in
the Oldham Evening Chronicle, August 18th 1972: the Landlord at that time, Mr
George Barnett, was checking barrels in the cellar around midnight when a stone
was thrown at his shoulder, he looked around but no-one was in the room. This
was the first time Mr Barnett had been shaken by a strange event within the pub;
he had felt a strange presence, and had even seen a glass slide along the bar
but the stone throwing seemed a more aggressive action. He thought that someone
had perhaps upset the spirit.
The Legend
The traditional story about the Sad Cavalier suggests he was the son of the Lord
(Stannycliffe) of Stannycliffe Hall in the 1600's. The Lord and his family were
unwavering Royalists during turbulent times of the Civil War. Unfortunately for
them Middleton became more staunchly Parliamentarian, with the Old Boars Head
becoming the Roundhead's headquarters in the area. The story goes that a pocket
of Royalist resistance - including the Lords son - survived in the area, and
used the cellars of the Ring o' Bells as a clandestine meeting place. The
cellars were linked to Middleton Parish Church by a secret tunnel, by which they
could escape if their furtive council was compromised (this passage is said to
have been verified by openings which were bricked up within the cellar). One day
somebody betrayed the son of Lord Stannycliffe to the Roundheads whilst he was
still in the pub. He managed to flee to the cellars and down the dark tunnel,
only to be cut to pieces by Roundheads who were waiting at the church by the
passage exit. His body is supposed to have been buried under the flagstones of
the cellar, where he is said to remain to this day. Some time in the past
helmets and pikes have been discovered under the cellar floor, which date to the
1600's, but no human remains have been found.
At one time the snug (a small
room in many old pubs; now often disappearing with modern alterations), which is
situated directly over the cellar, was said to have been the room in which the
Cavaliers plotted against the might of Cromwell's Model Army.
The Ring o' Bells, Top
The Old Boars Head, scene of the Roundheads headquarters,
Middleton Parish Church, which was once said to be connected to the cellars of the Ring o' Bells by a secret passage,
This served as a focus for the haunting, and a seat within the snug was for long known as the Cavaliers seat, which was always said to be much colder than the rest of the room. Some enthusiasts, who were allowed to spend a night there, recorded colder readings in this area than in any part of the room.
While their could be a rational explanation for all of the phenomena that happened in the pub, the wealth of traditions attached to the pub make it one of the more interesting buildings in Middleton, and I certainly intend to call in for a beer when I am back in that neck of the woods.
Ghost story - Dorothy Dinglett Top
Although this tale is very old,
dating from 1665, the year of the great plague, and the year before the Great
Fire of London, it is interesting because the person who performed the alleged
exorcism recorded the events, and there were a number of witnesses. Although the
exorcism was said to be a success her spirit is still said to wander in the
local environs. It is difficult now after such a long passage of time to
completely verify the story, but the account has some interesting features. The
story appeared in 'English Folklore' by Christina Hole published in 1939.
The Story
The story has been preserved in the diurnal of the Reverend John Ruddall, who
was the curate of Launceston in 1665, he seems to have used ceremonial magic,
mixed with church practice to exorcise a ghost. His help as an exorcist was
sought by a Mr Bligh of Bothaten, whose son was experiencing a haunting that was
effecting him mentally and physically.
Every morning on his way to his tutors, the boy would meet the ghost of Dorothy Dinglett, who had died around 3 years earlier. She appeared in the same place at the same time, and seemed to glide over the _top of the grass pointing to some distant place, neither looking nor speaking to the boy.
Both the Reverend and Mr Bligh went along with the boy one morning and also observed the spectre. The minister described the apparition as having a pale and stony face, misty hair, and eyes fixed firm on something far away. One arm was outstretched, and her other hand was on her girdle. She glided past the spot where they where stood without looking at them, and although the reverend had resolved himself to speak to the spirit, his nerve failed him at the time.
He sought permission from the Bishop to exorcise the spirit and 2 days later, on the 12th of January, he went back to the spot wearing an inscribed ring, and carrying a rowan stick. He marked a circle and a pentacle on the grass, and standing facing North commanded the spirit to enter the circle. Eventually the shade came into the circle and he asked her why she was not at rest, they conversed, although he did not record the nature of the conversation.
The next day at sunrise he redrew his circle and the ghost entered it willingly. He performed the exorcism and the spirit glided off Westward, and was never seen again (although there have allegedly been other reports of the ghost in more modern times).
Screaming Skulls Top
Introduction
The tradition of screaming skulls seems to be almost entirely isolated to
England, where stories of these mischievous bone locked spirits abound. A
screaming skull is basically a skull of dubious origin, said to cause great
havoc - storms, poltergeist activity, and (given its namesake) unearthly screams
- when it is removed from its pride of place within a stately home, or other
ancient abode. Just how each skull came to reside within the house, is the
subject of colourful stories, which also explain why the skull is so unwilling
to return to the grave.
Many of the stories about the skulls origins do not stand up to the scrutiny of investigation, but the actual tradition itself bears interest, and can be seen as a folklore motif widespread throughout the English counties.
It has been suggested that the tradition of screaming skulls may be related in some way to a fragmented ancient tradition, associated with the reverence for the head. The Celts in particular were worshippers of the head. There have been many archaeological finds from the Iron Age to suggest that this is so, from skull shrines to the plethora of carved stone heads. The tradition has also been passed down in the Celtic Myths, from Bran's sacred head to the beheading motif found in Cu Chulainn and other folklore. The only problem with this theory is that the tradition of screaming skulls seems restricted to England, and is not found in Wales, Scotland and Ireland. Counties where you would more readily expect to find fragments of surviving Celtic traditions. So whether there is any connection with older traditions is difficult to quantify, and as the stories do not seem to date back further than the middle of the 16th century the tradition may be relatively new.
In some stories these skulls have almost become the 'luck' of the house, in much the same way as some stately homes and castles have an heirloom, which in tradition must be kept safe to maintain good luck for the home and the family. Here is a selection of some of the most famous and well-documented screaming skulls in Britain:
The Screaming Skull of
Bettiscombe Manor Top
Bettiscombe Manor,
Perhaps the most famous screaming skull is the one that resides at Bettiscombe
Manor in Dorset. The tradition (which has many variations) to account for its
presence suggests that it was the skull of a black servant of the manor some
time in the distant past. It was his dying wish to have his body returned home
to the West Indies, - the land of his fathers. Unfortunately the master of the
house - a man called Azariah Pinney - had no intention of returning his earthly
remains to the West Indies, and he was interred locally in Bettiscombe
Churchyard. Soon after his burial terrible screams and strange guttural noises
issued from the grave, and the house was plagued by poltergeist activity.
Finally after the local villagers and family members could take no more, the
skeleton was recovered and brought into the house, whereupon the haunting
ceased. The bones of the skeleton became lost over the years until only the
skull remained. Any attempts to rebury the skull are always said to have
resulted in the same disturbances.
One owner - who was disgusted at the grisly relic - is said to have thrown the skull in a nearby pond only to be plagued by all manner of unearthly screams and groans throughout the night. Inevitably he is said to have quickly retrieved the skull from the watery depths to restore it to its pride of place. In another story the skull was buried in a deep hole in a hasty attempt to be rid of its presence. The perpetrator was shocked to discover that the skull had somehow burrowed itself out of the depths, and was met with its empty eyed stare in the morning, as it sat waiting to be returned to the house.
There is also a tradition that a phantom coach issues from the manor house along the road to the local church, and that this haunting is associated with the presence of the screaming skull.
Any truth in the mythical origin of the skull was shattered when it was examined by an archaeologist called Michael Pinney in 1963, who dated the skull to the Iron Age. He suggested that the skull was that of a female, and was most probably associated with the Iron Age settlement of Pilsdon Pen close to the Manor House, although its true origins will never be known.
The Screaming Skull of Tunstead Farm, Tunstead Milton, Derbyshire Top
Tunstead farm has a skull named Dickie that had its height of fame during the
19th century. The name seems strange in that legend suggests the skull is
actually that of a woman, who was murdered within the house. Before she died she
managed to blurt out that it was her wish for her remains to stay within the
house forever. Over the years the skeleton was gradually lost until only the
skull remained, and the tradition grew that if the skull was removed then all
manner of things would go wrong at the farm. Accounts in the 19th century also
suggest that the farm was haunted by the woman's' spirit who was seen as a
guardian kind of figure. The other story is that the skull belongs to Ned Dixon
- hence Dickie - who was murdered at the farm by his cousin when he returned
from some nameless war in foreign parts.
The tradition of the skulls
power was so well known in the local district that it was blamed on the
diversion of the 1863 Waley Bridge to Brunton railway. A bridge was being built
near to the farm, but had to be abandoned due to unstable foundations. This was
attributed to Dickies influence, obviously not wanting such a noisy diversion to
his purgatory slumbering.
The skull is also said to have been stolen and taken Disley, where the thieves were plagued by such frightening disturbances that they returned it to the farm. Along with other screaming skulls one owner is said to have provoked its wrath by burying it, inevitably having to return it to the farm to restore peace.
The Screaming Skull of Wardley Hall Top
The skull that resides at Wardley Hall is another skull with opposing legends to
account for its existence. In tradition the skull - which was kept behind a
panel - was supposed to be that of royalist Roger Downs who lived in the 17th
century. Roger was a man of ill nature, and according to legend once killed a
Taylor in a drunken unprovoked attack, because he had sworn to kill the first
person he met. His influence in high society allowed him to literally get away
with murder. Eventually Roger picked a fight with somebody more than his equal,
and during a drunken brawl on Tower Bridge in London, a watchman (or waterman)
severed his head with one stroke. His body was Unceremoniously dumped into the
River Thames. His head is said to have been delivered to the hall in a wooden
box. The story was disproved when his coffin was opened in 1779, as his head was
still attached to his body.
The skull actually belonged to Father Ambrose Barlow, who was hung and quartered for his faith in 1641; his head was then put on display at Manchester church or at Lancaster castle. According to some sources the skull came into the hall when it was bought by a catholic sympathiser, who kept the skull hidden lest his true leanings were discovered. The skull was then rediscovered in the 18th century by the owner of the house. One day a servant found the skull and threw the grisly relic into the moat, whereupon there was a terrible storm that led the owner of the hall to believe the skull was venting its wrath at being removed. He had the moat drained and the skull was returned to its position.
From traditional stories the skull seems to be indestructible as it has been buried, burned and smashed into pieces, always to be found outside the hall the next day, wearing its eternal grin.
The actual story is thought to date from the 1930s when a visiting journalist was duped into believing that that the skull was one with a tradition as a screaming skull. The skull has also been removed (by one time resident the Bishop of Salford) from the house for periods, without the purported paranormal occurrences.
The Screaming Skull of Burton Agnes Hall Top
The skull at Burton Agnes Hall is another famous screaming skull, although its
exact whereabouts in the hall is unknown. It is thought to reside behind one of
the walls, having been bricked up and forgotten about years before.
Tradition relates that three sisters built the Hall in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. Before they managed to complete the building the youngest of the three sisters was attacked and mortally wounded by a cutthroat while walking in the park. She quickly fell into a fever and died. Before she passed away her sisters promised her that they would bring her head back into the hall so that she could see the completed structure. Her two sisters did not fulfil their promise and had her body buried, after they had moved into the finished Hall they began to be plagued by "strange moaning and weird sounds" until they could stand it no more and had their sisters skull disinterred. It was found to be already detached from the body and was fleshless. After it was placed in the hall all was well until a servant - who disbelieved the story - wrapped the skull in a cloth and threw it on the back of a wagon and horses. The horses reared and trembled in fear, the hall shook and pictures fell of the wall until the skull was replaced. After this the skull was placed in a niche in the wall, and eventually walled up.
The actual origin of the skull is unknown, but the Hall was built for Sir Henry Griffiths in the 16th century, and not for the three sisters - who may have been Sir Henry's three daughters. But it is difficult to ascertain whether the skull actually belongs to Anne Griffith, as tradition asserts.
The spirit of Ann was also thought to haunt the hall and was known as Owd Nance. She is still said to appear on the anniversary of her death.
The Screaming
Skull of Higher Farm, Chilton Cantilo Top
The skull at Higher Farm is said to be that of Theophilus Broome, who died in
1670. Before he passed away he left instructions for his skull to be kept at the
farmhouse, and attempts to remove it are said to have resulted in poltergeist
activity. The haunting is well documented; a manuscript at the farm has written
account from a number of people who attested to the phenomena resulting in the
attempted interment of the grisly item.
The tale was committed to paper in 1791 by John Collinson in his History and Antiquities of Somerset, and the tomb of Theophilus can be found in St James's Church.
A small collection of
Ghost stories
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Ghost Stories
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My_haunted_House The Spectral Child-Snatcher Daddy's Home for Christmas A_Sad_Supernatural_Tale_from_the_Trenches
The Last Christmas Alone A_Strange_But_True_Tale_of_the_Loneliest_Christmas The Problem Child Sad_Tale_of_Haunted_Boy_Nobody_Wanted_
The Note to Santa A_Heart-Warming_Tale_of_Charity_in_Victorian_Liverpool The Christmas Space Message The Christmas Spectre
The_Ghost_of_a_Liverpool_Christmas_Past_ A Ghostly Introduction A_Bloody_Reminder The Dukes Ghost Quija Take This Board Off My Hands
One Last Goodbye The Haunted Closet The Old Stagecoach Stop A Watery Grave
Julie writes about the house that she has been living in for the past four years. It is quite haunted and she has generously consented to share some of her experiences & some of the occurrences that she has witnessed.
Ghost Story - My haunted House!
Julie writes - Well I guess I can start my story by telling you that I lived
here for about 4 yrs. Since we lived here I have experienced quite a few
things. before we moved in, people told us that this house was haunted. One
night we ordered pizza and the pizza delivery man would not come up on my
porch. He said the house was haunted and some crazy things had happened in the
little room we have upstairs. We do have a weird little room almost like a tiny
attic. That's where it has been rumoured that things have happened.
Well what we have dealt with is another story. This one I know of being real
because I have heard and seen it with my own eyes. In the beginning I heard a ot
of strange noises, sometimes in the middle of the night. The noises were coming
from the weird room.
One day my brother and mother were talking in the kitchen when they both
realized the faucet in the bathroom in the next room was on. Neither one had
left it on and my brother says that he heard it all of a sudden like it got
turned on by itself.
We hear footsteps on the porch and there is no one there. I have opened the
door a few times cause I hear someone walking up the stairs. I have come to
find out that my brother has done it quite a few times himself.
I heard walking upstairs when everyone is downstairs. Things have almost flown
across the room at times. They just didn't fall they seemed to get pushed.
I hear someone walking up the hallway just to open my bedroom door (the room
closest to the little room) and find no one out there.
My name has been called two times. The first time I was over my friends house
and the second time I was home. My brother heard it the second time thank god
because I thought I might be losing my mind. the first time my friend was half
asleep in the other room so she didn't hear it. Both times it sounded like my
mothers voice.
There have been so many people that know about things going on in here. Some I
don't even know. A cabdriver, the neighbours, one of my brothers ex-girlfriends
father etc. There is also my friends sister who didn't even want to step foot
in my house and was very hesitant to do ever come over.
I have no problem living with whoever it is. It doesn't seem to want to harm
any of us. I actually think it protects me at times. I was dating someone who
was bad news and when he would argue with me the lights would flicker in my
room. He claims that one night when he was in the shower the chain he wore
around his neck tightened up. He was very afraid of whoever it is and has
always felt that there was something that didn't want him here. I believe he
was right!
Of course there is more but I will end this now. I will keep in touch. I am
beginning research on this house very soon. I overheard one of my neighbours
one day say that someone was murdered here. So when I find out any history of
this house I will update everyone. I have a feeling that I may come across
something that proves there is a lost soul in here. Whether murdered or they
died in here I will let
The Sinister St Luke's Abduction
by Tom Slemen
The following weird tale took place in Liverpool, England in the early 1990s,
and it has never been explained. It all started in one foggy December evening in
1991.
On the evening of Friday, December 20th, 1991, at 7 pm, the Edwards family of Dovecot decided to go and do a bit of late Christmas shopping in Liverpool city centre. Mr Edwards drove his wife and four kids to town in his old Volvo estate, and as usual, finding a place to park proved to be a real pain. Mr Edwards drove about, searching desperately for a parking space as his three sons and daughter gazed at the spectacular Christmas lights and decorations lining the streets. The youngest of the Edwards children was Abbey, who was only six years old. She loved Christmas, and for days she had been pestering her mum and dad to take her to see the big fir tree covered with coloured lights in Church Street.
As Abbey's dad was grumbling about finding a place to park the Volvo, her Mum suddenly pointed to a secluded side-street called Bold Place, which runs from Berry Street, past the back of St Luke's Church, up to Roscoe Street.
"You're a genius." Mr Edwards complimented his wife and he turned left and drove up the poorly-lit cobbled road, which was on a bit of an incline. As soon as the car was parked up, the kids eagerly jumped out the vehicle and all four of them started asking their parents what they were getting for Christmas. Meanwhile, an icy fog rolled down the street
. Mr Edwards checked the doors of the car were locked then had a quick discussion with his wife about where they were going to first. He wanted to go to a shop in Bold Street to buy his father a cardigan, but Mrs Edwards insisted upon going to Dixon's first to buy a CD player for her sister. Then the children started arguing too; they wanted to go to various toy stores first. Mr Edwards shouted, "Alright, will you all just shut up!"
The family were about to walk off when Mr Edwards suddenly noticed something - and his heart skipped a beat. With a look of dread he glanced about Bold Place and muttered, "Where's Abbey?"
Everyone looked around. Mr Edwards anxiously looked through the windows of the car, but his little daughter wasn't there. "Where's she gone?" Mrs Edwards asked with a tremble in her voice. The three boys looked about, but the street was empty.
Then they all heard a faint voice scream out in the distance. "Daddy!" The voice sounded like Abbey, and it came from the top of Bold Place, towards Roscoe Street. The Edwards family rushed up the cobbled road with the father leading the way. "Abbey!" Mr Edwards shouted, "Where are you?"
The gates at the back of St Luke's were open, and Mr Edwards surmised that his daughter had wandered into the precincts of the old church. He hurried into the grounds followed closely by his wife and their sons, and once again they all heard Abbey cry out for her father. But the little girl was nowhere to be seen, and the fog was getting thicker by the minute.
Mr Edwards didn't want to alarm his wife and kids, but he wondered if some perverted lunatic had grabbed his daughter and taken her into the ruins of the old church. He handed his wife the car keys and told her to go and bring the torch from the vehicle. She did this and Mr Edwards climbed up onto the ledge of a church window and shone the flashlight into the deserted church ruins. The interior was deserted with nothing but rubble scattered about. Mr Edwards knew that the church of St Luke had been gutted by an incendiary bomb in World War Two during the Blitz. Only the shell of the building survived, and the church had been left that way as a reminder of the war. And yet it sounded as if Abbey's voice had come from inside the church.
As Mrs Edwards helped her husband down from the window, she said, "Listen!"
It was the faint eerie sounds of a church organ, and it seemed to be emanating from the church.
Mr Edwards said, "Sound can play funny tricks at night. Come on, let's go to the police."
Mrs Edwards started to cry, but her husband said, "It'll be all right. We'll find her love. She can't have gone far."
The family went to the police station in Hope Street and told the desk sergeant about their lost daughter. The sergeant alerted all the patrol cars in the area, and told officers on the city centre beat to be on the lookout for the girl. The Edwards family then rushed back to Bold Place to resume their search for the girl. They searched the grounds of St Luke's once again, and after twenty minutes, they were about to return to their car, when something happened which continues to puzzle the Edwards family to this day. A tall man wearing a top hat and a long black coat came out of the grounds of St Luke's and walking with him was little Abbey, holding his hand.
When Abbey saw her mum and dad she ran to them and started to cry as her father picked her up. The sinister man in black looked like something out of the Victorian age. He had long bushy sideburns, a pallid face, and staring ink-black eyes. He stood outside the gates of the church, and in a creepy low voice, the outdated-looking stranger said, "Please accept my sincere apology for any distress caused."
He then turned and walked silently back towards the rear of the church ruins.
Mrs Edwards grabbed Abbey from her husband and said, "Are you all right? Where have you been?"
Abbey just said, "I'm fine mummy."
Mr Edwards was furious, and he shouted after the man, "Oi! Who are you? What's your game eh?"
Then a police patrol car came tearing down the road, and Mr Edwards told the officers in the vehicle about the stranger who had returned his daughter. Three police officers bolted from the car and rushed into the grounds of the church wielding their batons.
But the police found no one. The grounds were empty. More police turned up and the grounds were searched again with powerful torches, but the place was deserted. However, several police officers also heard the faint strains of a church organ playing nearby somewhere, but they never determined just where the strange music was coming from.
One of the policemen asked little Abbey where she had been, and the child gave a strange account. She said an old woman in a shawl had grabbed her hand and dragged her into the church, where a mass was being held. In the church, there were many people dressed in old-fashioned clothes. The women wore big hats, and the men were all dressed in black. Abbey had screamed for her father, but the old woman had put her hand over the girl's mouth to silence her. Sometime later, a tall man came into the church and pulled Abbey from the old woman's clutches. He had been the man who had taken Abbey back to her parents.
The intrigued policeman continued to interrogate the child, and he asked her if the man had spoken to her about the strange incident. Abbey shook her head, then said, "The man said he had been a long time dead, that's all."
A cold shudder ran up everyone's spine when they heard the child's reply. Since that strange incident, the Edwards family refuse to go anywhere near St Luke's Church, especially during the Christmas period...
A Sad Supernatural Tale from the Trenches
by Tom Slemen
The First World War was, without a doubt, one of the greatest upheavals in the
history of the human race, involving 70 million combatants nine million of whom
lost their lives. When this so-called "Great War" first broke out in August
1914, millions of patriotic conscripts in Britain went rather light-heartedly to
the trenches over in France, believing that they would be making a victorious
return home by Christmas of that year. In fact, the war dragged on for four long
years, and during that eternity of horror, the soldiers were subjected to gas
attacks, hand to hand combat and bayonet charges, constant barrages of
high-explosive shells which obliterated all traces of a man, snipers, typhus
fever, rats, body lice, water-logged trenches, and shell shock syndrome. Because
of the strategic stalemate between the warring nations, the front-line soldiers
of both sides spent most of their time confined to the trenches, cooped up with
dismembered bodies and hideously disfigured comrades.
In the first year of the war, at Christmas Eve, German and British soldiers alike pined to be at home with their families, loved ones and friends. At midnight, snow began to fall, and a strange hush descended on the cratered battlefields of France. Suddenly, the sounds of a distant choir drifted across no-man's land. It came from the German front lines, less than 150 yards away, and it was a beautiful but saddening sound. They were singing Silent Night. Most of the soldiers caught up in the insanity of the conflict suddenly realised that the unknown men they were fighting were not the ruthless, heartless soldiers the propagandists had painted them to be. The men on the other side of no-man's land wanted to go home too. About an hour later, something very strange occurred on that freezing Christmas morn. Some of the Germans emerged from their trenches and walked unarmed to the middle of the neutral battlefield. One of them carried a leather football, and he kicked it towards the startled British troops, who were surveying the courageous German soldiers with binoculars and periscopes. Three unarmed British "Tommies" responded to the daring challenge. They arose from a trench further down the line and went to meet their adversaries. One of the men was a Liverpool-born man named George Wilkinson of the 1st Cheshire Regiment. Wilkinson shook hands with one of the German men, who offered him a cigarette. Wilkinson and his friends exchanged sweets and some cocoa for tobacco and tins of pressed beef, then sportingly kicked the football around. Soon, more troops from both fronts came over to no-man's land. Some laughed and shook hands, but others openly wept and comforted one another with a reassuring hug or a pat on the back, even though they couldn't speak the same language. The soldiers produced cherished photographs of their loved ones; of wives and babies, sons and daughters, mothers and fathers who were spending Christmas back home without them. How they all wanted to just pack up and go back to the life they knew. But the short cessation of hostilities didn't last long. Within the hour, the military commanders in Britain and Germany learned of the 'unpatriotic' meetings in no-man's land, and they wired an immediate order: the meetings between the opposing armies was to be terminated straight away, or heads would roll. And so, the soldiers from both sides of the war shook hands and headed back to their trenches. George Wilkinson thought about the strange encounter with his foes as he patrolled the trenches for the remainder of that morning. After his sentry duty, he laid down on the duckboards of his dugout and pulled a thick coat over himself. A knapsack over his tin hat was a makeshift pillow. As he started to fall asleep, Wilkinson's thoughts were with his family in Warrington. He could see his familiar little terraced home in the snow-covered street. Meanwhile, back in England, something very strange took place which has never been explained to this day.
George Wilkinson's wife, Maggie, left her home and rushed across the street to her sister Joan's house. Joan was a reclusive widow, and Maggie had invited her over for the Christmas dinner, but typically, she hadn't turned up. Maggie went over to find out why, and while she was out of the house, her children, 6-year-old Jimmy and 5-year-old Lucy, were playing with their toys in the parlour.
Jimmy was sitting on the hearthside rug in front of the coal fire, winding up his clockwork train, when he suddenly noticed a figure out the corner of his eye. The boy turned and dropped the tin locomotive. 'Daddy!' he gasped, 'Daddy's home for Christmas!'
Lucy saw him too and her little round face lit up with joy. She and Jimmy charged at their father and he stooped down to pick them up. George Wilkinson had never been happier and he doubted his senses. He just couldn't believe he was home at last. He hugged and squeezed his kids, then asked where their mother was.
'She's over at Aunty Joan's, Daddy.' Jimmy told him.
'Come on; let's go and meet her.' George Wilkinson took hold of his children's hands and they led him to the front door. They walked out the house and across the snow-covered street. There was Maggie, standing on the other side of the road with her sister Joan. The two women were gazing at the returned soldier in utter disbelief.
'Maggie!' George shouted, and suddenly, he wasn't there. Just his two children crossed the road. One minute they had been holding their father's hands, their faces beaming with contentment. Now the children were as baffled as Maggie and Joan, and they seemed ready to cry as they looked around, trying to discover what had become of their father. Then Maggie noticed that only the trails of Jimmy and Lucy's footprints were visible in the snow.
A week after his solid-looking apparition had been seen by his children, wife and sister-in-law, George Wilkinson was killed by a German shell. It left no trace of him and two other soldiers. In 1919, a soldier named Davey Harris, who had been a friend of George Wilkinson, bumped into Maggie in Liverpool one day. Harris expressed his sorrow at the tragic loss of Maggie's husband in the trenches, and he told the widow a strange story. He said that a week before his death, George had told him about a strange dream he'd had. George said that in the dream, which had seemed unusually lucid, he had visited his home in Warrington and actually picked up his children and hugged them. George said he'd also seen his wife in the dream with her sister, but as he went to meet her, the bitter cold woke him up.
Maggie then told Davey about the apparition of her husband which had vanished as it came across the road towards her and her sister on that Christmas day in 1914.
Until her death in 1964, Maggie Wilkinson held a personal vigil for her deceased husband every December, just in case he was able to make it home for Christmas.
A Strange But True Tale of the Loneliest Christmas
by Tom Slemen
The following bizarre story began to unfold at Neston in Northern England on the
Christmas Eve of 1990.
About a week before Christmas in 1990, a 43-year-old bachelor named Carl lost his mother to cancer. He had been looking after her night and day, always constantly hoping she would make it to Christmas, but it just wasn't to be. As Carl was decorating the Christmas tree for his mother, she suddenly said, 'You're a good son Carl', and passed away in her armchair. Carl cried like a baby when he realised his mum had died, and when Christmas Eve came, he took down all the decorations and threw the Christmas tree into the loft, along with the gift-wrapped presents he'd bought for his Mum. He felt so angry, losing his mum at a time of the year when families were supposed to be together. Carl had no one now. His father had died five years ago from a heart attack, and Carl's only sister lived in Canada, and she never phoned him or even sent him a Christmas card. Because Carl had devoted all of the past few years looking after his Mum, he hadn't had time to go out and find a girlfriend, and now, at the age of forty-three, he felt as if he would be permanently left on the shelf.
So upon this Christmas Eve, Carl sat in his bedroom swigging whiskey from a bottle as he wallowed in self-pity. He looked out the window and could see families visiting their relatives, friends and loved ones. Then he noticed an old friend he hadn't seen for years, walking down the other side of the street. It was a man named Bob, who once worked with him in a bakery years ago. Carl was about to open the window to shout to Bob, when he saw him stop in front of the house opposite. Bob knocked on the door, and almost instantly, a beautiful blonde girl came out and hugged him. She then walked on hand in hand with Bob down the street, laughing and kissing.
Carl's heart sank. He felt so alone now. He sat on the end of his bed and wondered if it was worth going on. 'What's the use eh?' he whispered, and he thought of the Christmases he'd spent with his parents when he was young. In those golden days of yesteryear when he was surrounded by so many friends and relatives; plenty of people who loved him. His Mum and Dad; his sister, his Gran and Uncle Tony. All of his school mates. And his old loyal dog Jack. In those happy days, Carl never dreamt he would end up alone with no one to love, and no one to love him. He became choked with sorrow when he went back in his mind to the merry Christmases of his childhood. What really topped that sad Christmas Eve was the poignant Christmas Card he found addressed to him from his late mother. She had secretly written the card out and left it in the letter rack on the mantelpiece. Carl's Mum had evidently known she wouldn't be able to celebrate Christmas with her devoted son, and in the card she wrote: 'I'd better wish you a Merry Christmas now Carl. I love you son and I'm so grateful you looked after me. When I'm gone, please don't be bitter, and settle down with someone who will love you.'
Carl bowed his head and started to cry. He said, 'Merry Christmas Mum, wherever you are.' As Carl was wiping the tears from his eyes, he heard voices downstairs, singing. It sounded like carol singers. Carl had had enough, and he decided he would confront the singers and tell them to get lost, because he had nothing to celebrate this Christmas.
He stormed out of the bedroom with his bottle of whiskey, intending to give the carol singers a right earful, but as Carl reached the bottom of the stairs, his heart jumped, because he realised that the singers were not in the street outside his door at all; they were in his front parlour.
Carl surmised that drunken intruders had somehow broken into the parlour, and he peeped in. A couple of strangers were sitting on the stool in front of the old stand-up piano with their backs turned to him. A woman with long red hair and a dark-haired man sat at the piano, and the man was playing a rendition of the old Bing Crosby classic, White Christmas. The woman next to him was resting her head on his shoulder and had her left arm curled around his waist. Stranger still, a small girl around six years of age with long red hair stood to the left of the piano, gazing at the couple with a beautiful dreamy smile on her face. To the right of the couple stood a small black boy around the same age as the little girl. He wore a paper party hat and held a red balloon in his hand. He also seemed entranced by the man's piano-playing. On top of the piano sat a black cat. It's tail writhed about as the animal caught sight of Carl peeping into the parlour. Suddenly, the little girl turned and she also saw Carl peeking in at her. Her mouth opened wide with shock, then she pointed to Carl and shouted 'Daddy! Look!'
A split second later, the parlour was in darkness and there was nobody there. Just the old piano stood there with its keyboard cover closed and locked shut.
Carl realised he had just encountered a family of ghosts, and he ran out into the street in fright. He knew that what he had witnessed was not some alcohol-induced illusion; in fact the ghostly skirmish had sobered him up.
The shock of the spooky encounter took Carl's mind off his bereavement, and he managed to get through Christmas and the New Year without any more tears.
In February of the following year, Carl mustered up enough courage to ask out a librarian in his local library named Nicola. Nicola found Carl to be the most romantic man she had ever dated, and soon fell head over heels in love with him. Then one day she started to cry and told Carl that there was a secret she had kept from him. Carl asked what the secret was, and Nicola said she had a year-old baby girl from a previous relationship. The father had left Nicola while she was carrying the baby after saying he could never settle down to bring up a family. The baby was named Stacey, and she was being looked after by Nicola's mother. Carl told his girlfriend it didn't matter if she'd had a baby by another man. He loved her anyway and he took on Stacey and doted on her as if she was his own child. The couple settled down in Carl's house, and they later adopted a 5-year-old black child named Danny. In the Christmas of 1996, Nicola discovered she was having Carl's child, and that Christmas Eve, the family assembled in the parlour. They played games like any other family, and before the children were put to bed for the most exciting night of the year, Carl and Nicola sat on the stool in front of the old piano and hugged each other. Then Carl played an old Christmas favourite of his mother's; Irving Berlin's White Christmas. They all laughed when the family's black cat Midnight jumped onto the keys, then climbed onto the top of the piano. As Carl played the notes of the song, a tear trickled from his eye as he pictured his old mother sitting in her armchair, putting on a brave face and pretending she wasn't in pain. Nicola put her arm around Carl and gave him a reassuring hug as little Danny looked on with his paper party hat, fidgeting with a red balloon. Suddenly, the fur on the cat's back went up and then Stacey shouted to Carl, 'Daddy! Look!'
The girl pointed at something in the hallway. When Carl, Nicola and Danny looked to see what the girl was pointing at they saw nothing.
'It was a ghost Daddy!' Stacey exclaimed, and she ran to Carl and her Mum in a dreadful state. Nicola grabbed her Mum's hand and said, 'He had a sad face Mummy.'
Carl went to the hallway and saw that it was empty. He knew Stacey wasn't playing a prank, because the girl seemed to be really shook up by the experience. Then an amazing realisation faintly dawned on him. Carl cast his mind back four years to that lonely Christmas Eve when he had looked into the parlour and seen the ghostly people. He recalled the couple at the piano, and how the woman had long red hair, just like Nicola, and how the man had been playing White Christmas - just as he had a minute ago. He recollected seeing Danny with his party hat, and the little girl with red hair who had spotted him peeking around the doorway of the parlour.
Carl then realised that upon that sad Christmas Eve years back, he had somehow seen a preview of a happy life with his future family. So little Stacey had not seen the ghost of a dead person lurking in the hallway; she had seen the spectre of a lonely Christmas past; that last Christmas Carl spent alone.
Sad Tale of Haunted Boy Nobody Wanted
by Tom Slemen
In 1990 a childless couple in Merseyside, England jumped at the opportunity of
fostering an 11-year-old boy named Gary. The authorities told the couple that
Gary had been put up for adoption two times before, but had been returned to the
care of the social services for being 'unusually hyperactive'. The couple took
Gary home a fortnight before Christmas and spoiled him rotten. The child said he
wanted three Christmas stockings and was given them. The couple put up a huge
Christmas tree and laid bundles of presents for Gary under it. The child opened
some of these presents, but the couple didn't scold him, they just laughed about
it, and allowed the boy to take the gifts - a box of antique tin soldiers and a
little drum up to his room.
At 3 a.m. the couple were awakened by the sound of a strange racket which was coming from Gary's bedroom. The foster-parents jumped out of bed and barged into Gary's room, and were shocked at the bizarre sight which greeted them. The drum was beating all by itself, and all the little tin soldiers were hopping along the floor in a single file to the drumbeat. A sleepy-eyed Gary was sitting up in his bed, giggling and clapping his hands as he surveyed the eerie spectacle. The couple - who were very religious - took the poltergeist-like phenomenon as a manifestation of the Devil and promptly decided they didn't want to adopt the child. During the journey to the social services department, strange knocking sounds were heard on the side window's of the couple's car. Once again, Gary spent his Christmas without a mum and dad, because he probably possessed the psychic gift of telekinesis: the ability to move objects by the power of the mind. The 'problem child's' fate is unknown.
A Heart-Warming Tale of Charity in Victorian Liverpool
by Tom Slemen
The following story is a true tale which took place long ago on a bitterly cold
Victorian Christmas Eve in the Edge Hill district of Liverpool, England. Pull
your chair up to the fire and I'll transport you back in time to the Christmas
Eve of 1868. The snow is fluttering down on a little run-down house in Oxford
Street East, and a choir in this street is singing Silent Night...
When the choir called at number 52 Oxford Street East at 7 p.m., a woman with a sad, ashen face and heavy sorrowful eyes answered. Her little 7-year-old daughter, Annie came from behind her mother clutching an old broken doll. Little Annie smiled at the choir. She could hardly see them, because she was partially sighted, but she imagined the singers as a flock of angels. When the choir stopped singing, Annie's mother, Kate, could only offer them a few farthings. A small boy held out his cap and received the coins with a grateful bow, saying, "God bless you ma'm. A merry Christmas to you and your family."
Kate smiled and nodded, then closed the door. Behind the door she stood there, trying not to cry. But she started to shake. Little Annie held onto her mum's dress and said, "Mummy don't be sad. Please don't cry, Polly doesn