Something Of The Night

Something of the Night

by Nick Smalley

with contributions by members and friends of Ayrshire & Arran Branch of the Multiple Sclerosis Society

Acknowledgements Ayrshire & Arran Branch of the Multiple Sclerosis Society Scotland, would like to thank those members and friends of the branch whose efforts made this e-book project possible. ___________________________ My personal thanks go to branch members Walter Blackley, Jim Cameron and Carolyn MacIsaac for contributing their articles. Carolyn also took on the arduous task of proof-reading the e-book so a special note of thanks to her. Local historian Mae McEwan allowed me to use a newspaper article she had previously written about folklore in Irvine, and travel writer Norrie Hunter gave a first-hand account of a spooky experience he’d had in the Caribbean seas. The accounts which aren’t credited to someone else were written by myself. Finally a branch member supplied the excellent drawings that are featured throughout this e-book. This person wishes to remain anonymous and I duly respect their wishes; however my thanks to them. Without the help of the people named above, this e-book, which is intended as a fundraising tool for Ayrshire & Arran Branch of the Multiple Sclerosis Society Scotland, would have been much harder to put together. If you enjoy reading ‘Something of the Night’ please consider making a donation to MS Ayrshire and Arran Branch. Details of our work appear on the facing page of this e-book. If you have any comments or suggestions about this publication, please contact me using the details below. Please make any donations payable to MS Ayrshire & Arran Branch. Nick Smalley FMA SOTN 3 Five Roads Kilwinning KA13 7JX e-mail: [email protected]

Multiple Sclerosis Society Scotland

AYRSHIRE & ARRAN BRANCH Multiple Sclerosis Society Scotland

Helping people affected by MS Ayrshire and Arran Branch of the UK Society provides emotional and financial support for people affected by Multiple Sclerosis; Scotland’s most common disabling neurological condition. The Branch offers a confidential service which supplements the mainstream work of the NHS and Social Services of the local authority. Although there is no known cure, many of the symptoms of MS, such as pain, fatigue and lack of mobility can be alleviated by rehabilitation therapies (physiotherapy and occupational therapy etc.) and modified by supervised drug regimes. These are available at the Douglas Grant Unit at Ayrshire Central Hospital in Irvine. The local Branch services are open to those affected by MS, their families and carers whilst the national UK Society funds research into establishing both the cause and hopefully finding a cure for the condition. Ayrshire and Arran Branch is run entirely by volunteers with no paid staff and with no government grants. It relies on the help of the people in the Ayrshire and Arran to continue its work. In almost 40 years the branch has existed, the community has not let us down. If you think you could assist us, or indeed think we can help you, please phone, in confidence, our local office in Kilwinning on 01294 558866, email us at [email protected] or visit our website at www.msayrshire.com Donald McNeill OBE Chairman MS Society Ayrshire and Arran Branch Registered Charity Number SCO16433

Introduction This book takes into account that there are many curious happenings which can be explained scientifically... it also takes into account that there are many which can’t. My own personal experience of what may be called a ‘haunting’ came in the 1980s when work commitments led me to move to the seaside town of Mablethorpe on the Lincolnshire coast. It was the busy part of the holiday season when I relocated, so accommodation was hard to find, but eventually I was lucky enough to find a beautiful cottage to rent on a short-term basis. The lady who owned it explained that it had been the home of her mother who had died the previous year. I settled into the cottage, but very soon, strange things began to happen. Packets of cigarettes I had bought went missing... then re-appeared a few days later in obscure places such as the bottom of the bathtub or in the garden shed. Often, when I returned home after work, the door to the cupboard which contained the electricity meters, and was stiff to move, was wide open although it had been closed tight when I had left the cottage earlier. Similarly, the door of the wardrobe in the bedroom - again securely closed and fastened when I left home - was often wide open on my return. When my short-term tenancy came to an end I mentioned these things in passing to the owner and she laughed and said, “Oh, don’t worry, that will just be my mum”, then went on to explain that her mother had despised smoking and had often hidden her husband’s cigarettes to try and make him kick the habit. She also told me that, in the months before she died, the old lady developed a form of dementia that had made her become obsessively worried about various things. Her main obsessions were that someone was tampering with her clothes and fiddling with her electricity meter, so she checked the meter cupboard and the wardrobe several times each day... often forgetting to close the doors afterwards. Whether this was a ‘ghost’ that couldn’t - or wouldn’t - leave its home, or merely the effects of subsidence, I don’t know. What I do know is that within the pages of this book you’ll find tales to make you wonder and a few that will make you shudder; but hopefully not too many that will disturb your sleep. Pleasant dreams. Nick Smalley FMA Editor

Something of the Night

Mary King’s Close

An account by Carolyn MacIsaac

Do you believe in ghosts? Let me take you on a tour of Mary King’s Close and ask you again. Mary King’s Close is a notoriously haunted place below The City Chambers in Edinburgh. Imagine streets of tightly packed “tenements”, up to seven stories high, with narrow closes and poor sanitation. It is a dark, dank, confined space which housed many of the people of Edinburgh. People like Mary King whom the close was named after. Mary was born towards the end of the 16th century. She married a local merchant burgess, Thomas Nemo or Nimmo in 1616 and had four children Alexander, Euphame, Jonet and William. Mary was left alone with her young family when Thomas died in 1629 after only thirteen years together. It was a very hard life which became even harder when the plague struck at Christmas in 1645. It was probably brought by ship into the port of Leith, from Europe. The plague was carried by the fleas on black rats. In 18 months the disease spread north and west from Edinburgh, killing a substantial part of the Scottish population. Can you feel the fear as the plague spread through those narrow, claustrophobic streets? There was no escape. Those infected by the plague enclosed themselves in their houses and displayed a small white flag to indicate their desperate plight. Bread, ale and coal were delivered to them each day. The plague doctor would visit to drain the pus-filled lymph nodes which if they ruptured would kill the patient through septicaemia. There was little help for anyone. A century after the illness broke out, the city partly sealed the abandoned homes and alleyways. Chilling stories about ghostly sightings of previous inhabitants were told. Young Annie, who had not yet reached her teens, is said to haunt Mary King’s Close. As you walk into “Annie’s room”, deep below the Edinburgh streets, the temperature drops, many feel hunger, sickness and sadness. It is believed Annie was left to die by her family. Some visitors feel a cold little hand tugging their leg as they try to leave. Is it a ghostly plea for help? Who could leave a young child to die a horrible death alone? No food, no warmth, surrounded by a miasma of sickness. It tugs at the heart stings of the many visitors to Mary King’s Close. Some leave gifts for the little girl out of affection. Some sense her spirit in that deep, dark, lonely room below the city of Edinburgh. Some of the guides report noises and the sounds of rustling clothes as they leave the empty room at the end of a tour. They know there is no one there, all the visitors have left. Perhaps it is the ghost of young Annie begging for food. Visit Mary King’s Close, then tell me you don’t believe in ghosts, if you dare.

Above: Mary King’s Close, deep below Edinburgh’s City Chambers, is reputed to be haunted by several ghosts. Left: One of these ghosts is that of a young girl called Annie who lived, and died, in the close. After hearing her story, some visitors leave gifts for her restless spirit.

The Screaming Skull of Burton Agnes Hall

The road that winds its way to the village of Burton Agnes in East Yorkshire narrows as it approaches the village, then dips and turns as it meanders its way through to the coast. In the dip is the village pond. A Wesleyan Chapel stands high on a grass bank. There is also a Post Office, village shop and the Blue Bell pub. However, the most famous local feature is Burton Agnes Hall; a beautiful Elizabethan mansion, the walls of which house a curious story. Ann Griffith, a young lady who at the time lived at the hall, was walking home after visiting friends. Halfway home she came across a pair of men lurking under some trees at the side of the lane. Feeling uneasy, she clasped her hands to hide a diamond ring she was wearing, but the men had already seen it and asked for the ring in exchange for her safe passage. Ann refused, and was beaten with a club before the men tore the ring from her finger and fled, leaving her in a battered and bruised state. Ann managed to struggle back to Burton Agnes Hall where she died soon afterwards. On her deathbed, Ann said that once she was dead her head was to be removed from her body and that it should remain within the house or terrible things would happen. Believing her to be delerious, and not wanting to carry out her request, her family had her buried intact in the nearby churchyard. On the night of Ann’s funeral, when everyone had retired, screaming, wailing and doors banging upset the household. These disturbed evenings carried on for several days until the family decided to exhume Ann’s body. When the coffin was opened they were faced with the ghastly sight of Ann’s fleshless skull on her otherwise normal body. The skull was removed, to fulfil her deathbed wish, and placed within the house. Thereafter the tormenting evenings stopped. A few years later, a new family moved into the house a box containing Ann’s skull was found by a maid. Having shown this to the new owner, the maid was told to throw it into a cart containing rubbish. The horse pulling the cart would not move until the skull was removed from the cart. On various occasions since then, the skull has been removed from the hall, and the ghostly noises have resumed, so much so that one owner decided that it would be best to have the skull encased in a wall within the house so that it could never again be removed.

Tea-Anna Falls.

An account by Walter Blackley

If I was asked to name the favourite time of my life, I’d have to say it was that spent in the company of my paternal grandmother who was a prolific story teller, mainly of spooky stories... which as a child I couldn’t get enough of. On many a cold winter’s night I sat by the fire enthralled as she told me stories, including many a spooky story about strange local characters. I often visited, in the company of my grandmother, the place near Kilbirnie in Ayrshire, called Tea-Anna Falls. It was always green and peaceful there, despite being surrounded by the noise of traffic on the surrounding roads. As a child, and often since, the place reminded me of a vaulted cathedral, serene and peaceful. Sitting alongside my grandmother one winter's night, she finally gave in to my constant questions and told me the legend of the falls; lending to it, of course, her usual brand of childish terror. In this area, many, many years ago travelled an old gypsy woman called Anna, the ‘tea’ part of her name was added because she sold loose tea door-to-door as well as the familiar clothes pegs and trinkets, possibly also bringing relief to sufferers of various ‘maladies’ with her herbal remedies. Gypsies - I've been told - lived by their own code and laws, preferring to be left alone, which may have made people become suspicious of them. One lonely night Tea-Anna was camped at the top of the falls, when the area was subject to a flash flood, not commonly known in the area, and since gypsies always parked their caravans safely, one becomes suspicious of what, according to legend, actually happened next. When the flood had abated, all that was found of Tea-Anna's belongings was her dog and the horse which was always tethered on a patch of grass away from her caravan; the remains of which were found smashed to pieces on the rocks below the falls. Tea-Anna was never sighted again in the area. Did my grandmother tell me the spooky story as a tale to keep an inquisitive child quiet of a winter night? Maybe there was more to it. Having visited the site numerous times since my childhood I have always been struck by the feeling of serenity and calm. Did the legend of Tea-Anna really happen? I like to think that her presence still inhabits the falls, keeping the area as it once was, or perhaps gypsies were looked on then as they are now, with suspicion and derision? Could some people have ‘helped’ Tea-Anna tumble over the falls, in effect, dashing her to her death? I have heard numerous versions of the story... perhaps the presence of calm and serenity means Tea-Anna's spirit remains at the site of her demise?

The Haunted Lighting Shop

Staff and customers at a lighting shop in Humberside turned up the dimmer switch after a spate of ghostly goings-on. Lights mysteriously dropped from the ceiling, shades were thrown, doors opened then slammed shut and footsteps echoed throughout the shop in Grimsby. Paranormal investigators, who were called in by the shop owner, declared that the shop was haunted. Staff first noticed something was odd about the shop when light bulbs were unscrewed from lamps and the shop door would unexplainedly open to set off an alarm. In the store room, boxes were thrown about at night. They finally decided to get help after a customer watched a collection of candle shades being thrown across the shop floor by some invisible force. Paranormal investigators have carried out research into the activities; and mediums and a shamanic pathwalker have also visited the shop to determine what is haunting it. The owner said: "We have been told there are two men and an elderly woman. One of the men is aggressive and comes into the shop after visiting the pub across the road. He then makes his way upstairs. It's thought that he killed his wife in a drunken frenzy." Mediums believe that one of the men could be called John and the other Tom. They also believe the surname Harrison is linked to the restless spirits. An investigator said: “There is no doubt there are large amounts of activity that can be classed as paranormal and unexplained on these premises.” However, the shop’s staff say they would like to know more. Steve Page, from the Lincolnshire and East Riding Paranormal Investigation Team said the first thing they do is to look at a building's past. “We examine previous human activity at the site, such as whether someone has lived, been born or died there. This shop used to be two houses and in the roof you can still see the original brickwork and walls, but we can't find out anything from before 1870.” “Our objective is to look at rational reasons for the perceived activity, such as road vibrations, anomalies in the electrics or other rational explanations. We are all sceptical but there is no doubt there are large amounts of activity that can be classed as paranormal and unexplained.” The shop owner’s opinion was: “The sooner we can get this calmed down the better. The presence of these entities isn’t frightening as they are not nasty towards us, but they are too mischievous for us and are interrupting the running of our shop.”

The Ghost-Room at Belvoir

When Lady Marion Alford went to Belvoir Castle in Leicestershire to attend a ball in the mid 1800s, she was invited to stay for the night. She was tired and went to bed early but was a little surprised whilst entering her room, when another guest said, “Oh, I see you’ve been put in the ghost-room.” Lady Marion said she was quite happy as she didn’t believe in ghosts, but the other guest retorted, “I can only say Miss Drummond slept there last night and she received letters of importance this morning and left before breakfast.” Lady Marion went into her room, lit the candles and made up the fire, but very soon she gave a great jump, for she heard the most dreadful groaning noise close by. Thinking it was a practical joke she began to examine every corner of the room in case someone was hidden there. Finding no one, she rang a bell to summon her maid. When the maid came Lady Marion said, “Don't be frightened, but there is someone hidden in this room somewhere, and you must help me to find him”. Soon the noise came again. Lady Marion’s friend, Lady Caroline Cust, who had accompanied her to the ball arrived at the room. She also heard it and summoned her own maid. The noise occurred about every five minutes. They examined everything each corner of the room. The noise then seemed close to each of them. At last Lady Caroline said, “I can stand this no longer, I must go,” and she and her maid shut themselves into the next room. Lady Marion told her maid, “If you are frightened you may go”, but the girl protested that she would rather stay where she was... after what she had just heard, anything would be better than facing the long lonely passages alone. However, just at that moment 'Oh-o-oo-oo!' went off again close to her ear, and with one spring the maid darted out of the room and ran off as fast as she could. Lady Marion courageously went to bed determined to brave it out. But the thing that groaned went to bed too, and went off at intervals on the pillow close to her face. Finally, she could bear it no longer and dragged her mattress into Lady Caroline's room and slept there till dawn. Funnily enough, the next day she also ‘received letters of importance’ and left before breakfast, but before she left, she sent for the housekeeper, and said, “You should not put people into that room,” and told her what had happened. The housekeeper was much distressed, but said that there really was no other room in the house then, but confessed it had often happened before. Some months later, when Lady Marion went to Belvoir with some friends who wanted to see the castle, the housekeeper told her in hushed tones that the same thing had happened again and that the room was now permanently shut up and sealed.

The Phantom Soldiers of Souter Fell

It was late evening on Midsummer Eve in 1735 when a farmhand, working in the fields in Cumbria suddenly stopped and looked across to the Fells. His unbelieving eyes concentrated on the top of Souter (or Soutra) Fell where he saw, with terror, what looked like part of a huge army crossing from east to west, which after long minutes disappeared into a cleft in the mountainside. The farmhand knew that Souter Fell was around 900 feet high and that the north and west sides were sheer precipices, therefore it was impossible for a number of people to move on the summit, let alone an army. As it began to grow darker he moved back towards the farm where he worked, half a mile away. His story was ridiculed by the farmer and villagers. Two years later, again on Midsummer Eve, the farmer, and members of his family, witnessed what they had disbelieved and mocked. At first he saw only a number of men leading their horses and for a moment thought they might be huntsmen, except that he knew only too well no hunt could possibly take place at that height. Soon, they were followed by what seemed to be a cavalry regiment riding five abreast under the leadership of officers who rode up and down the ranks of cavalry, and the following army of marching soldiers. The whole procession passed towards the cleft in the mountainside and vanished. As twilight came on and clouds gathered above the Fells, they had only time to see some stragglers trying to catch up with the army before darkness fell, and the family headed home. It was now their turn to be insulted by villagers to whom they told their story, none of the listeners believed them even though the Fells were renowned for legends handed down through the centuries. Every year, the farmer’s family went out on Midsummer Eve to look for the ghost army, but nothing happened until the tenth year after the first sighting by the farmhand. That was 1745, the year of the Jacobite Rebellion in Scotland. This time the farmer had summoned twenty-six other people to witness his story and what they saw amazed them, as a vast army stretching for half a mile or more, passed over the summit of Souter Fell. The very next day, still disbelieving what they themselves had now seen, some of the party climbed up Souter Fell to try and find hoof marks of the cavalry and the wheel tracks of the carriages, but there was nothing to be seen anywhere that would serve as evidence that such a vast army had passed there only a few hours before. So convinced were they all by now that each one of them swore on oath before a magistrate that what he or she had witnessed was the truth. More strangely still, they were now supported by others, who had previously been afraid to tell that they had seen the spectral soldiers for fear of being insulted, as the farmer and farmhand had been.

The Undead Priest

High in the remote mountains outside Dublin lived a widow whose only son decided to go into the priesthood. He left the family home and was away for many, many years - first training for, and then following his calling - during which time, not once did he return home to see his mother. One day, he arrived home unannounced. He had aged considerably by then and it was clear that he had some sort of sickness. People assumed that he had come home to stay for a while with his old mother to recover his health. She was of course delighted to see him and made him very welcome. Her neighbours were delighted to hear the old widow’s news and also called in to welcome him home. However, he had been away for such a long time that he was no longer - nor did he make any attempt to be - part of the community; he was clever and aloof and considered himself much better than the local people. Locals consulted him on matters of faith but they did not socialise with him, nor he with them. He simply shut himself away in his mother's cottage in the mountains with his books and his own thoughts. Then, just before his fiftieth birthday, he suddenly died. His body was laid out in his mother's house and everybody in the immediate locality called to pay their respects, On the day of the funeral, they carried his coffin from the lonely mountain cottage to the rocky graveyard on the side of a hill a few miles away. As was traditional, all the people in the locality went to the funeral, but the mother was not feeling up to the long and difficult journey and so remained at home. It took a long time for the funeral party to reach the graveyard, and the trip back over the uneven road was equally slow. Night was beginning to fall before they came within sight of their own homes. As they came over the last hill, the mourners saw a man approaching them, walking very quickly. They looked at each other confused. “Every man in the district has been at the funeral”, said one. “Who could that man be and why is he coming from that direction?” The leaders signalled for the procession to stop and they stood by the roadside and waited as the walker drew level with them. As he neared, they all saw very clearly the face of the man that they had just buried! He passed them on the other side of the road, still striding along swiftly at an almost inhuman speed, his head slightly turned away from them. Even so, they were all sure of his identity and each of them saw the paleness of his skin, the steel-hard, wide-open eyes and the lips drawn back across his shrivelled gums as though caught in the rictus of death.

He was not wearing the winding sheet in which he had been buried; instead he was clothed in the decent, black frock-coat of a regular priest. He passed them by and disappeared round a bend in the road which led towards the graveyard. Once the figure had passed, the people in the procession began to talk fearfully amongst themselves, casting long glances along the road that he had taken. There was much discussion as to whether they should go to the mother's house, which lay about a mile away, and tell her what they had seen. It was finally agreed that a couple of the party should visit the grieving woman and check that she was well and settled for the night, but that nothing should be said about the apparition. So agreed, two of the pallbearers went to the cottage and knocked loudly on the door. There was no answer. One of the mourners peered through the kitchen window to see the old woman Iying on the floor apparently unconscious. Using their shoulders, the men broke down the door and lifted her, reviving her with a little whiskey which they had about them. Hesitantly, she told them what had happened. About half-an-hour earlier there had been a knock on her door. She could not imagine who it might be since all her neighbours were at the funeral and she was rather afraid to answer it. The knock came again, this time more loudly and insistently. Getting up on a kitchen stool, the woman peered out of the small, high window. To her horror, she saw her dead son standing there in broad daylight, much as she had remembered him when he was alive. Although he was not looking directly at her, she was still able to see the ghastly pallor of his skin and the awful wolfishness of his whole bearing. He seemed to be half-crouching as though preparing to spring upon her when she answered the door. Fear swept over her and she felt the stool give way beneath her feet as her legs buckled and she fainted. There she had lain until her neighbours had found her. The undead priest was never seen in the neighbourhood again, but people in that remote parish still pass his grave in the lonely mountain cemetery with a quick and fearful step.

Nottingham’s got Spirit(s)

The Galleries of Justice can be found in Nottingham’s Lace Market area in a Grade II listed building. There has been a court on this site from 1375 and a prison since 1449. Should you ever visit, you will see that many years ago, when carving the institution’s title above the door a stonemason accidentally carved ‘County Goal’ - hastily changing it to ‘County Gaol’ (the old spelling of ‘jail’). The prison was a vast array of cells, corridors and yards that extended around the building. It was the only place in the country where you could be judged, sentenced, imprisoned and even executed all in the same place. The Victorian Courtroom which dates from 1887 was used up until 1986. Nowadays, it is an award winning museum with the largest collection of police memorabilia in the country. It was also recently discovered that underneath the building there is a warren of medieval tunnels - hardly surprising as the now bustling city was originally known as ‘Tig Guocobauc’ or ‘the city of caves’. With the history and all the punishments that have taken place in the buildings over the centuries, it is understandable that there are said to be many tormented souls here. The reported activity includes a lady and a soldier in the entrance hall, voices, knocks and bangs in the courtroom whilst it is also said that shadowy figures can be seen the the overlooking balconies, whilst there are unexplained smells in the laundry room. Bodies are still buried beneath the yard and people have experienced strange sensations. Sometimes, visitors feel sick and tell of being touched by unseen hands, whilst more alarmingly, people have had stones thrown at them in some of the darker areas. Just a short walk away from the Galleries of Justice lies what is reputed to be the oldest inn in England - ‘Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem’ - so called because it was a favourite watering-hole of Crusaders on their way to support Richard the Lionheart in the Holy Land in the 12th Century, ‘tryppe’ or ‘trip’ being an ancient word for a halt or stop-off on a journey. This curious, but extremely popular, inn is cut into the sandstone rock which supports Nottingham Castle 213 feet above it and to quote one visitor “the public bars are little more than ‘caves with beer-pumps seats and tables’ ”. The pub is on two levels, with two bars at ground level and upstairs, a bar that is known as the Rock Lounge. The pub houses many unusual artefacts, including several model ships - gifts from visiting sailors - which hang from the ceiling of the Rock Lounge. Amongst these, is ‘The Cursed Galleon’, which is covered with dust and cobwebs accumulated over the last 50 years. Nobody will clean it because it’s said to be cursed and the last three people who decided to dust it off met unexplained deaths within a year of doing so. It is now encased in a glass box. The Rock Lounge seems to be the focal point for strange happenings. Glasses and bottles fly off shelves when no one is about. The sound of breaking glass is heard but none can be found when staff go to clear it up.

Above: England’s oldest inn ‘Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem’ is located 200 feet below the walls of Nottingham Castle and has had many ghostly happenings. Left: A mistake by a stonemason can clearly be seen on the word ‘gaol’ in the former County Court; now home to the Galleries of Justice... no wonder the carved face looks unhappy!

Often the old-fashioned scent of lavender wafts past as if someone wearing the perfume has passed close by. Keys disappear and turn up in odd places. One day a medium visited and told the then landlady that a clock hanging in the bar was possessed by two evil spirits; which might explain why her two guard dogs seemed to hate the clock and and would stand barking at it for no reason. Carved from soft rock, passages below Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem date back thousands of years and have probably been in use since the time of the Norman Conquest in the 11th Century. Below the inn is part of a cave network that has seen murder, intrigue and scandal over the centuries, so it’s hardly surprising that there is an oppressive atmosphere. The cellars incorporate a cock-fighting pit and a rusty gate leads to the castle’s condemned cell where prisoners sentenced to death were shackled to the wall and simply left until they starved or died of thirst. When two of the pub’s regular customers spend a night in the condemned cell to win a bet, they lasted just 20 minutes before hurrying out and being violently sick. They later told of feeling a presence and seeing a figure moving about in the shadows, whilst a member of staff working down there on her own also saw something that she described as a grey mass come out of the cell’s doorway and move across the cellar floor. She said “I went icy cold, there was a totally evil feeling in the room, absolutely horrible. I wouldn’t go down there again for weeks, I was really frightened.” In the sandstone of the castle rock high above ‘The Trip’ - as the inn is referred to locally - is a tunnel known as Mortimer’s Hole. Roger Mortimer, the Earl of March, was the lover of Queen Isobel and an accomplice in the murder of her husband, Edward II. At midnight on 19th October 1330, whilst the illicit couple were staying at the castle, his son Edward III, accompanied by a band of soldiers,entered the secret network of caves and made their way up a tunnel to a bedchamber in the castle, where they siezed Mortimer, who was taken back down the tunnel to be tried. Mortimer was denounced as a traitor and was hung, drawn and quartered and his remains skewered on spikes. His ghost is said to haunt the tunnel - known as ‘Mortimer’s Hole’ - and other parts of the castle.

Right: Amongst these caves lies one of the entrances to ‘Mortimer’s Hole’.

The Story of Harry Evans

On a winter’s day in January 1967, Cynthia Aspinall of Dulwich in London saw her friend, Harry Evans, standing in his garden without a coat. This surprised her as Harry was in his mid-seventies, and it was a very, very cold day. Harry Evans lived with his sister, Kitty; they had been living together in the same house since their parents died half a century before. Mrs Aspinall was pleased to see her friend as she had been away for several weeks, but she was also sad to see that he looked very pale and drawn. Harry was just a few feet away when Mrs Aspinall shouted “hello” to him, but he didn’t respond; he stared straight through her. However, Mrs Aspinall warned Harry not to be out in cold weather without an overcoat or he might catch a chill. At home later Mrs Aspinall told her husband that she had seen Harry but was wondering what she had done to offend her friend because he had not answered her. She was worried that he might be ill. A few days later, Mrs Aspinall was having coffee with friends, including Harry’s sister, Kitty. Mrs Aspinall mentioned to Kitty that she knew of a place in Scotland that would suit both Harry and Kitty very much for a holiday; suddenly Kitty burst into tears. A friend broke the news to Mrs Aspinall that Harry had died a few weeks before. Of course Mrs Aspinall was terribly shocked and told her friends that she had been speaking to him just days ago and had been near enough to reach out and touch him. Kitty was in such distress that Mrs Aspinall tried to retract her statement, saying she had probably got the dates wrong; although she knew she had not. Mr Aspinail confirmed that his wife had mentioned seeing and speaking to Mr Evans but not receiving a response. One of the other women at the coffee meeting confirmed that something similar to Mrs Aspinall’s recollection had taken place. She recalled Kitty saying how much she missed her brother and that they had been close. She confirmed that Cynthia had then arrived and started questioning Kitty about Harry, commenting that she had spoken to him the day before. The woman recalled Kitty being extremely upset by Cynthia’s inquiries. Harry Evans had in fact died of leukaemia at the age of 75 at Duiwich Hospital in mid-December 1966, over a month before Mrs Aspinall saw him in his garden. Mrs Aspinall offered an interesting theory to explain the apparition; perhaps it was not ‘inspired’ by Harry Evans but rather by his sister who may have been inside the house, thinking of her brother, and possibly projected the image which Mrs Aspinall saw. She was no stranger to the paranormal, as she came from a family of psychics and had previously reported other cases of precognition.

The Eglinton Photograph

When she heard we were writing this book, a friend told us of an old photograph she had seen depicting a seemingly tranquil riverside scene that had been taken many years before at Eglinton Country Park near Kilwinning in North Ayrshire. The photo, she said, when viewed from different angles, showed some peculiar images including the face of a threatening-looking man, a totem pole of faces and other ghostly images; including that of Eglinton Castle which used to stand on that particular spot in the park grounds and which is reflected in the river... although it had been demolished many years before. By good fortune, she managed to procure a copy of this photo and we have reproduced it on the opposite page. Although it is old and dark, it still manages to convey the spooky images and many people see different faces in the photo. The most obvious images - and how to see them - are identified below, but some people pick out faces that they can see, but others can’t. Be aware though, that before you start looking for the faces and images, although our friend managed to get a copy of this photo for use in this book, the image of the ‘threatening-looking man’ upsets her so much that she refuses to have a copy of the photo in her house. Opposite, you’ll see the photo of this river scene as it was when it was taken. Note the trees, river bank, reeds and general tranquility of the scene. Look at the photo at different angles. Can you see any faces? The face of the ‘threatening-looking man’ is quite clearly visible.... are there horns coming out of the head? You decide. Immediately below this is the ‘totem pole of faces’, a vertical line of what appear to be skeletal faces. The white ‘blob’ near the bottom seems to be another entity... is it my imagination, or can you also see the outline of a young girl? The next step is to turn the photo upside down. Although it was dismantled many years before, Eglinton Castle - in all its glory - seems to be reflected in the waters of the River Garnock... despite not appearing in the photograph when it is the ‘right way up’. At another angle, what appeared in the original photo to be a row of trees becomes a lighted window with the silhouette of a woman - possibly holding a baby in her arms - standing at the bottom corner. Is it possible that these images are merely a trick of the light, a photographic anomaly or an active imagination... or is there something more sinister?

The castle appears when the original image (top) upside down. Insets show the woman at the window and the ‘threatening-looking man’.

Folklore of Irvine by Mae McEwan

The Ayrshire town of Irvine has never been a fanciful town. The folk of the Old Royal Burgh were hard working, reasonably sober in their habits and not given to letting their imagination run away with them. But in the days before television when families gathered together more in Grandparents' homes on a Sunday night, the conversation did occasionally veer round to "things that go bump in the night". Not that the statue of Robert Burns which stands on Irvine Moor ever did go "bump" in the night. No, it is said he went walking in the night. In the days when mother and father went their traditional Sunday walk after the mid-day dinner and the children had no option but to accompany them, the Irvine Moor was a favourite place to go. In the 1930s, Robert Burns, cast in bronze, was an imposing figure as he stood, majestically, overlooking the town. The statue had been placed there in 1896, a gift to the Royal Burgh from one of her sons, Mr. John Spiers. The unveiling took place to commemorate the centenary of the birth of the poet. The statue is still imposing but in those pre-war days, beautiful wrought-iron ornamental railings enclosed a very fine rose garden. In the centre of this - our national bard, surrounded by four benches placed where visitors could sit and admire him. Children were not allowed to wander in there indiscriminately. Mum or Dad would open the gate take your hand and lead you up to look at this man. You gazed in awe because it had been whispered at school that this statue left his plinth on an evening as dusk fell and went down the banking to the River Irvine where he drank his fill of water. Bread was said to be concealed under his plaid. The fact that no one ever saw him take a drink - or eat - was nothing. Children just knew this story was true and felt they were never out the moor late enough in the evening to see this remarkable feat. Are children still so incredulous today? There was a little boy who lived in the town’s Fullarton Street in the latter part of the nineteenth century. Paralysed from the waist down, young Tom would be carried out from his home in Fullarton Street. At that time, the gardens of the houses where blocks of high rise flats now stand, stretched down to the river. Fruit trees abounded in the area. The boy had a basket chair shaped like a chaise-longue and day after day, he would be propped up on his cushions and watch the other children play. The Fullarton children were fond of Tom and never neglected him. Boys and girls alike always took time to talk to Tom. As they climbed up and down the gnarled branches of the old apple trees he would look longingly at them. At twelve years of age and never ever being able to walk, Tom was long

resigned to his lot; but as if to compensate for his inability to use his legs he had the most beautiful features. He had blonde curls and a placid nature. Always beautifully dressed he could never tear or even crease his clothes. Early one summer morning one small girl was out just that little bit earlier than the rest. Passing what they called ‘Tom's place’, empty always at that time, she stopped when she heard a chuckle. There was Tom, astride one of the topmost branches, beaming radiantly with happiness. The little girl couldn't believe her eyes and just stared, too astonished even to speak. Slowly the other children congregated and were also amazed. Excitement took over as Tom continued to chuckle down at them and with one accord, the group dashed off to ask Tom's mother when this miracle had occurred. How could Tom be at the top of the tree? A closed door met them. Their frantic knocking brought Tom's grandmother, whose face was tear-stained and ravaged with grief, to the door. By the fireside sat Tom's mother, her pinafore pulled up over her eyes as she rocked herself silently, also grief stricken. The children just stared. Slowly the grandmother said, "Children, Tom won't ever lie under the apple tree again. He died .... just about half an hour ago." "No, no", the children cried excitedly. "Tom isn't dead - he's nearly on top of the tree, quickly come and look!" The grandmother looked strangely at them, then said, "It was Tom's dearest wish to climb that tree. You children must have seen his wraith." Tom's mother then looked up and said "It gladdens my heart that my Tom got his wish." What or who did the children see? It pleases the people who remember hearing this tale, to think that truly Tom was granted his wish and in those days people really did believe in wraithes. Indeed, some of them still do.

Right: Rabbie Burns’ statue on Irvine Moor.

Britain’s Most Haunted House

The tiny parish of Borley is located in a desolate, sparsely populated area near the east coast of England, close to the Suffolk border. It is a lonely place and would be largely forgotten if not for the fact that it is the location of what came to be known as “The Most Haunted House in Britain”. Harry Price was a well-respected psychic researcher in the 1930s and 1940s and no newspaper article about unusual or supernatural activity was complete without a comment from him. Price got involved in the case of the Borley Rectory after a newspaper carried a story about a phantom nun at the house, in June 1929. He was asked by the paper to investigate and he was told about various types of phenomena that had been reported there, such as phantom footsteps. strange lights, ghostly whispers, a headless man, a girl in white, the sounds of a phantom coach outside, the apparition of Henry Bull who built the house, and of course, the spirit of the nun whose spectral figure was said to drift through the garden with her head bent in sorrow. Legend had it that a monastery had once been located on the site and that a 13th century monk and a beautiful young novice were killed while trying to elope. The monk was hanged and his would-be bride was bricked up alive within the walls of her convent. Price scoffed at the idea of such a romantic tale but was intrigued by the phenomena associated with the house. It would be during his investigations of Borley Rectory that he would become the best-known and most accomplished of the early ghost hunters, setting the standard for those who would follow. Price coined the idea of the “ghost hunter’s kit”. He used tape measures to check the thickness of walls and to search for hidden chambers, he perfected the use of still cameras for indoor and outdoor photography; brought in a remote-control motion picture camera; put to use a finger-printing kit; and even used portable telephones for contact between investigators. Many of Price’s accounts from Borley would be first-hand, as he claimed to see and hear much of the reported phenomena like hearing bells ring, rapping noises and seeing objects that moved from one place to another. He also collected accounts from scores of witnesses and previous tenants of the house, even talking to neighbours and local people who had their own experiences of the rectory.

Even the original tenants of the house, Reverend Henry Bull, his family and servants had encountered the spirits. Reverend Bull had become pastor of Borley Church in 1862 and despite local warnings, had built the rectory on a site believed by locals to be haunted. Over the years, Bull’s servants and his daughters were repeatedly unnerved by phantom rappings, unexplained footsteps and the appearance of ghosts. Reverend Bull seemed to regard these events as splendid entertainment and he and his son, Harry, even constructed a summer house on the property where they could enjoy after-dinner cigars and watch for the appearance of the phantom nun who walked nearby. Harry Bull inherited the rectory and the job as parson when his father died in 1892 and stayed on until his death in 1927. However, Bull’s successor, Rev. Guy Smith, quit the rectory just one year after moving in, plagued by both the ghosts and the house’s deteriorating state. Until that point, the ghosts at the rectory had been relatively peaceful, but all that would change in October 1930 when Smith was replaced by the Reverend Lionel Foyster and his wife, Marianne. Their time in the house would see a marked increase in the paranormal activity. People were locked out of rooms, household items vanished, windows were broken, furniture was moved, odd sounds were heard and much more. However, the worst of the incidents seemed to involve Mrs. Foyster, as she was thrown from her bed at night, slapped by invisible hands, forced to dodge heavy objects which flew at her day and night, and was once almost suffocated with a mattress. Soon afterwards, a series of scrawled messages began to appear on the walls of the house, written by an unknown hand. They seemed to be pleading with Mrs. Foyster, using phrases like “Marianne, please help get” and “Marianne light mass prayers”. Nearly all of the poltergeist-like activity occurred at times when Mrs. Foyster was present, so Price was inclined to attribute it to her unknowing manipulations; but he did believe in the possibility of the ghostly nun and some of the other Above: Some of the scrawled messages reported phenomena. Opposite: Borley Rectory in the 1920s.

Despite the implications of the phenomena centering around Marianne, Price maintained that at least one of the spirits in the house had found the rector’s wife to be sympathetic to its plight. This was the only explanation he could find for the mysterious messages. He believed the writings on the wall had come from another young woman, one who seemed to be, from her references, a Catholic. These clues would later fit well into Price’s theory that the Borley mystery was a terrible tale of murder and betrayal in which the central character was a young nun, although not the one of legend. The Foysters moved out of the house in 1935 and with the place now empty, Price leased the house for an extended, round-the-clock, one year investigation. He ran an advertisement in the personal column of the Times on May 25, 1937 looking for open-minded researchers to literally “camp out” at the rectory and record any phenomena which took place in their presence. The advertisement read: “HAUNTED HOUSE: Responsible persons of leisure and intelligence, intrepid, critical, and unbiased, are invited to join rota of observers in a year’s night and day investigation of alleged haunted house in Home counties. Printed Instructions supplied. Scientific training or ability to operate simple instruments an advantage. House situated in lonely hamlet, so own car is essential. Write Box H.989, The Times, E.C.4” Price was deluged with potential applicants, most of whom were unsuitable. After choosing more than 40 people, he then printed the first-ever handbook on how to conduct a paranormal investigation. A copy was given to each investigator and it explained what to do when investigating the house, along with what equipment they would need. The researchers were allowed a wide latitude when it came to searching for facts. Some of them employed their own equipment, others kept precise journals and others turned to séances, which would prove interesting, as during the year that Price leased the rectory, breakthroughs were made in the communications with the spirits. One séance would later give Price the material that he believed he needed to solve the mystery of the haunting. During a sitting with a planchette, an alleged spirit named Marie Lairre related that she had been a nun in France but had left her convent to marry Henry Waldegrave, a member of a wealthy family whose manor home once stood on the site of Borley Rectory. There, her husband had strangled her and had buried her remains in the cellar. The story went well with the most interesting of the Borley phenomena, namely the reported phantom nun and the written messages. Price theorized that the former nun had been buried in unconsecrated ground and was now doomed to haunt the property seeking rest.

In March of 1938, five months after Marie’s first appearance, another spirit promised that the rectory would burn down that night and that the proof of the nun’s murder would be found in the ruins. Borley Rectory did not burn down that night, but exactly eleven months later, when Captain W H Gregson, who had recently bought the house, was unpacking books in the library, an oil lamp overturned and started a fire. The blaze quickly spread and the rectory was gutted. Price took this opportunity to excavate part of the cellar of the house and in 1943 discovered a few fragile bones including a jawbone which turned out to be that of a young woman. Evidence, Price concluding that there was something to the story of the murdered nun. A Christian burial for the bones was carried out and it seemed this act had provided the ghost with the rest she had long sought. The rectory was finally demolished in 1944. However, the remaining ghostly residents of the house had one last trick up their spiritual sleeves. During the demolition work a brick was seen to hang suspended in a doorway, with no visible means of support. This event can be seen in a photo that was much publicised at the time, and which we’ve reproduced below. Sceptics say it’s simply a brick thrown by one of the demolition crew, but given the history of the house... who knows!

The demolition of Borley Rectory begins. In both the photo and the enlargement, a brick is clearly visible floating in mid-air.

The Cargo Vessel

An account by Norrie Hunter

The Caribbean.… our adventures, island hopping was peaceful, tranquil and without incident until ‘that’ night. After spending a year sailing around the Windward and Leeward islands of the Caribbean, the sun was setting on our voyage up through the Bahamas to Florida. Out of the twilight there it was, the silhouette of a large cargo ship, closing on us, and fast. As this towering hulk began to bear down on our, by comparison, tiny 43 ft. yacht, ‘Freelance’, the possibility of a collision seemed too real and almost inevitable. All attempts to raise the ship – now within 200 yards off our stern – on our VHF radio failed. An eerie silence fell, now even the motion of our own vessel through the water could be heard. We threw the rudder hard to starboard, altering course sharply in an attempt to steer clear, as the ship was almost upon us. I looked through my binoculars towards its bridge but there was no sign of life, no crew, no one on watch, just an eerie white mist swirling inside. Then, with less than 50 yards between us, its huge hull, towering above us, the vessel simply dissolved and vanished into the thin night air. Only the wash from its bow wave was visible, rocking our ketch, but the sea was empty! This wasn’t the infamous Bermuda Triangle but a popular sailing ground used by countless pleasure craft enjoying the warm Caribbean waters. My wife and I looked at each other, completely stunned and shaken by our near miss – or was it a close encounter?

Right: The Freelance... still ship-shape after its ‘close encounter’.

The Red Lion by Jim B Cameron

The Wiltshire town of Avesbury is home to some of England’s most ancient and mysterious sites. Evidence of human activity dates back thousands of years in the area and it houses Europe's largest stone circle. In fact, it contains many such sites, dating from as far back as 4,000 BC, some two millennia before Britain’s most famous stone circle, Stonehenge. Avesbury is also home to one of the most haunted pubs in England, namely ‘The Red Lion', which is situated within one of the aforementioned stone circles. Originally a farmhouse built in the early 1600's, it became a coaching inn at the start of the 19th Century. It has been voted one of the Top Ten most haunted pubs in the world, and has been the origin of many strange reports over the years, with a number of different ghosts reported to haunt the site.The most famous of these is the ghost of 'Florrie', who lived in the pub in the 17th Century. While her husband was away fighting in the Civil War, Florrie took a lover. Unfortunately for Florrie her husband returned home unexpectedly to find her in the arms of the other man. In a fit of rage the husband shot the man dead and brutally stabbed Florrie to death before throwing her body down a well and covering it over with a large boulder. The well, now glassed over, forms a centrepiece in the bar area. Florrie's ghost has been seen emerging from it, and also spotted on many occassions in the ladies toilets. ‘Florrie’ has also been blamed for poltergiest activity; with objects being hurled across the bar and chandeliers spinning. Patrons with beards apparently have a better chance of seeing Florrie, leading to the belief that either her husband, or lover, sported one. Another murder is believed to have taken place within the pub’s walls during the 17th Century when a farmer agreed to harbour some outlaws in his cellar, but was double-crossed and murdered by them. The figure of a man carrying a blade has been reported by a number of psychics, but whether this is the ‘murdered farmer’ or possibly the spirit of Florrie's husband whose rage has yet to abate, is not known. An investigator, unaware of the building’s history, reported the apparition of a man thrusting a knife furiously in his direction. Other ghosts often sighted include a pair of children that have been seen cowering in the corner of a room whilst a woman looks on unconcernedly and a ghostly horse-drawn carriage arrives in the courtyard and members of staff have heard the clattering of hooves beyond the building’s doors.... though most choosing not to investigate what is believed to be an omen of impending ill fortune.

The Clencher, Large Purple Fingers and a Naked Man... Welcome to Aberdeen!

‘The Northern Lights of Old Aberdeen’ the popular folk song goes, but judging

by the number of ghost sightings in the granite city, maybe this song should be re-titled the Northern ‘Frights’ of Old Aberdeen! Following reports of unexplained disturbances in Aberdeen Central Library, a team of paranormal investigators heard footsteps, whispering and the sound of a bell being tolled, although nobody else was in the building and when the now-demolished Amatola Hotel still stood in the city’s Great Western Road, it boasted an apparition of a lady wearing 19th Century clothing who was frequently seen on a landing in the oldest part of the establishment. In another now-demolished hostelry, the White Dove Hotel, a nurse attending a guest who was dying of fever in the late 1800s saw the figure of a young Asian girl appear alongside her patient. The girl had such dreadful injuries to her neck that the nurse fainted at the apparition. When she recovered consciousness, her patient had died. In the 1970s, the semi-transparent hooded figure of a monk was seen several times near a bus stop on the city’s Kincorthland Estate. A woman who was walking her dog in the early hours saw the figure and felt an overwhelming need to approach it... as she did so, it “dissolved into a mist and faded away”. In the early 1900s, staff at the Palace Hotel were amazed when a naked man hammered on the hotel’s windows each night for a week. When they eventually got outside quickly enough to challenge him, the man floated away leaving no footprints in the freshly fallen snow... he was never seen again. At St. Machar Cathedral, a group of passers-by were horrified to see large purple fingers with unnaturally long black nails curling around the cathedral’s door... understandably enough, they ran away. A former resident of the Old Fire Station - now student accommodation - recalled how a silhouetted figure came out of the wall towards him whilst he was in the shower. He jumped out of the shower injuring his head in the process. He later learned the apparition had been seen many times before. In Union Street, people going about their business have reported being ‘grabbed’ by an invisible force that squeezes their arms, legs - or far more alarmingly - their throat for a few seconds before letting go. Locals refer to this manifestation as ‘The Clencher’ and is thought to be the ghost of a child that died a violent death in the street during the Victorian era. At Craigievar Castle, the ghost of a man haunts the Blue Room, from the window of which he fell to his death, whilst the ghost of a fiddle-player who drowned in the castle grounds only manifests to people named Forbes.

The Baleful Girl

A Welsh family’s home has been the scene of many disturbing happenings. The house is home to a couple in their early 50s, their teenage daughter and her fiance. The owner’s parents had previously lived - and died - in the house. All four people who live in the semi-detatched house in the North Wales town of Wrexham, told how, when they walk along the hallway to the kitchen, they feel someone is following just inches from their back. This ‘feeling’ often follows them when they go up the stairs or leave through the front door. The family keep quiet about their experiences for fear of ridicule or sightseers flocking to their home, however a friend told them that she feels something brushing by her whenever she enters the house, as if someone was passing her in the doorway. On the ground floor they have a large room which has been converted into a ‘granny flat’. This room has had a strange feeling to it since the owners’ parents died in the room. Family members have seen shadows flitting along walls, heard a voice calling their names and have felt someone stroking their forehead or cheek particularly when they are upset. The daughter’s fiance, when he first visited, wasn’t told about the ‘happenings’ and used that room as a guest room. The next morning at breakfast, he told the family he could feel someone standing in the room staring at him and that it had “freaked him out”. Another family friend refuses to go into the room on her own. One night, the face of a baleful little girl appeared floating in the darkess of the parents’ bedroom, terrifying them before fading away. When the father recovered enough to reach towards the area where the face had been, it was icy cold. A couple of winters ago the mother passed by an upstairs window to see the face of a middle aged woman looking back at her from the other side of the glass. At first she thought she’d glimpsed her own reflection, but soon realised that a stranger, whom she had never seen before, was hovering twenty feet above the ground outside her bedroom window. When everyone is downstairs, including their pets, the family can sometimes hear a child running around in one of the bedrooms. One evening, their neighbour, whose house adjoins their own, came to the door to complain about the noise being caused by the child that was running about in the bedroom. Although the neighbour was shown that the room was empty and no child was in the house, when she returned home, could still hear the phantom footsteps around the bedroom next door.

The Ancient Ram Inn

A family home in Wotton-under-Edge, Gloucestershire is reputedly one of the most haunted houses in Britain. The house which dates back 900 years and was formerly ‘The Ram Inn’ is built on an ancient pagan burial site. The house that used to be, and is still known as, ‘The Ram Inn’ stands on a ley line running between Ley Farm and a stone-age burial mound known as ‘Hetty Peglar's Tump’, which is thought to be the underlying reason for the amazing paranormal activity that has been witnessed there. The inn’s first recorded use was as housing for masons who worked on the construction of the nearby St Mary’s Church. The property then fell into the hands of the Church and housed the local Bishop hence the 'Bishop’s Room' where at least nine different entities have been seen. Accessed from the bar area are the remains of a tunnel system, which is believed to link the pub with St Mary’s Church and Lacock Abbey. The tunnels may have been used by highwayman to escape the local judiciary. The property became an inn during the late 1800s, but John Humphries, the present owner bought it in 1968 and turned it into a private residence. John's bedroom is a converted loft located directly above the kitchen which, until recently, was the focus of poltergeist activity. John would be kept awake by tapping and banging on the window. Possessions would disappear and later be found in other rooms of the inn. The paranormal activity came to a stop when a cross was placed on the wall. Next to the kitchen is a former stable which John uses as a living area. In this room, he has seen lights dancing around near to the door. A teenager who attended a paranormal tour at the property was thrown to the floor in this room in front of several witnesses. A large and heavy curtain that was used to separate the room during the winter months was torn apart and clawing sounds, like those of a large dog, have been heard behind a wall where centuries ago a door used to be. John has furnished The Ram Inn with period furniture in a style befitting its age and history. He once bought a painting of Rev. John Wesley, founder of the Methodist movement, to hang on the staircase, but as soon as he got it through the front door he described ‘all hell breaking loose’. Doors that had been secured and locked slammed shut at night and there were knocks on all the windows of the inn. John found puddles of water in several of the inn’s rooms and some visitors complained of strange smells. In 1997, John allowed a paranormal group from Swindon to excavate near the stairwell to try and find a rumoured cellar dating back to earlier times, but they found nothing. However, that night a baby’s cries were heard issuing from the hole they’d excavated.

The Bishop’s Room is considered to be the main focus of the haunting, with several different ghosts being sighted in this room, including that of a cavalier which appears in the corner of the room and a figure of a young lady has been seen hanging from the ceiling. When a chimney in the room was opened up during repair work, black magic and satanic artefacts were found behind the brickwork. In the kitchen many people have felt the presence of a malevolent force in a well, used for drawing water until about 1700. This room especially affects women, with lady visitors often reporting cold spots and feeling dizzy. There is anecdotal evidence of devil worship having taken place at the premises and the ritual sacrifice of children. In the kitchen area a grave was excavated and the remains of a woman and child were found. Along with these bodies, knives were found and experts at Bristol Museum, who studied the bodies and artefacts, believed that they had been killed in ritual sacrifice. A family who visited the Ram Inn ran from this room screaming. After they had calmed down they reported seeing the ghostly apparition of a woman rise up out of the floor. The former Bishop of Gloucester the Right Reverend John Yates, is reported to have tried and failed to exorcise it and was quoted in the local press as saying it was “the most evil place I have ever had the misfortune to visit”.

Right: In spite of its homely, olde worlde, appearance, the former Ram Inn has a disturbing history of psychic disturbances.

The Gresford Suicide

A Mr Williams of Gresford, near Wrexham, had a terrifying experience back in the 19th century, whilst he was enjoying an evening stroll with his friend, Mr Jones, a builder who lived in nearby Marford. They were walking down the hill that linked the two villages when suddenly they saw approaching them through the gathering gloom an unearthly white figure. The men stopped in their tracks and watched with growing unease as it came closer. The figure looked like everyone's classic idea of a ghost. It was dressed in a white robe with its hair billowing about its head although there was no wind that evening. As their anxiety grew, they hoped that someone was playing a prank on them. Suddenly, Mr Jones laughed; he had recognised the figure. It was Mr Williams' wife! “Now you're for it”, he joked to his friend. He assumed they had stayed out too long and Mrs Williams was coming to find them. However, Mr Williams was not amused at all. His wife’s face was drawn and desperate. What on earth was wrong? Why had she come outdoors in her nightgown? He moved toward her to comfort her... and she turned away and vanished! The friends were dumbfounded. Mr Williams lost no time. He sensed that something was terribly wrong and hurried down the hill towards his home, with Mr Jones close on his heels. At last they reached Mr Williams’ home in Gresford. All was dark and cold. There was no supper on the table, ready for his return, which was unusual. Heart thumping, Mr Williams called out his wife’s name but received no response. He lit a candle and started a frantic search of the the house for her. He found her hanging from a rope attached to the sitting room ceiling having committed suicide. Both he and Mr Jones later realised that the figure they had seen on the road must have been that of his wife at the moment of her death, when her desperate spirit had come in search of her husband.

The Kennedys of Culzean Castle An account by Jim B Cameron

It is believed that a structure of some form has stood on the site since the early 12th century, but our interest begins in the year 1243 when present day Ayrshire was know as Carrick. Gillescop MacKenedi is believed to have become Steward (although the earliest official mention of the clan was in 1358 with the granting of land to John Kennedy of Dunure, later recorded as Steward of Carrick in 1367). The Kennedys were powerful; the name appears in various forms such as MacKenedy and MacKenede giving an indication of their growing size and influence in the region. The castle is said to be haunted by many ghosts, including one believed to be an actual Kennedy ancestor, Sir Thomas Kennedy, who was known as the 'Tutor of Cassillis'. He bought the ruined tower house in the late 1500's, rebuilt the tower and renamed it 'Cullean' after a former abode (the name 'Culzean' did not appear until the late 1700's). It was Sir Thomas and the Earl who were responsible for the infamous 'Roasting of the Abbot of Crossraguel' within Dunure Castle ... they roasted the Abbott alive on a hot spit until he relinquished the ownership of the Abbey lands to them, something he was able to later recant. A number of visitors have reported sightings of a strange, misty apparition in the grounds as recently as 1976. This is believed to be the ghost of a princess who was killed in the Green Room, and it has been said that new members of staff are warned not to be surprised if they come across a ghost down near the dungeons. Similarly, the spirit of a young, but unknown, woman dressed in a ball gown is said to roam Culzean, but no-one can say what events link her appearances to the castle... it's a mystery. It is also reported that throughout the thunderous waves and howling winds on many a rain soaked, stormy night, a ghostly piper can be heard within the castle grounds. The sound of the pipes is said to celebrate the marriage of Clan family members. There is also a castle legend that tells of the kidnap of a young heiress by a 'supernatural' knight, who imprisons her within the castle and threatens her with death. The heiress however had other plans, and after lulling the knight to sleep, snatched up his dirk and brutally stabbed him to death with his own weapon. Real life was to mirror the legend when May Kennedy was abducted by Sir John Cathcart. Cathcart had murdered his first wife and he seems to have had similar plans for May. Fortunately, May seems to have got wise to Sir John’s less than honourable intentions and pushed him from the cliffs near his residence at Carelton Castle, where he is said to stalk the ruins to this day.

Windhouse

Shetland's most haunted house is a Category C listed building located on a hillside in Mid Yell. First built in the 1600's higher up the hill, Windhouse was moved in 1707 and was rebuilt in 1880. The house has been derelict since the 1920's; but Windhouse has many stories of haunting. It was rebuilt in 1880 on an old Celtic burial ground... not an ideal site for a happy home! For years people have told many tales of experiences in Windhouse - weird noises, people appearing and disappearing, seemingly just walking through walls. A local man recalls watching his father put out his hand to stroke a strange dog which vanished as soon as he touched it! Many a tale has been told of the guests that came to visit and decided not to stay the night, packing their belongings and leaving, whatever the time or the weather conditions. The whole house was subject to haunting, and although the winds in these remote parts can be chilling there was no explanation for the cold spots that people would encounter. Laughter and disembodied voices of people could be heard in empty rooms, especially the bedrooms. There was one bedroom in particular that people refused to go into. According to a resident of Mid-Yell, there was an incident where the maid was trying to make the bed and ran out of the room because every time she tried to make it someone started laughing. One family who lived in the house had workmen in to do some job or another that involved lifting the floor boards, under which a skeleton was found, with its skull broken, possibly by a blow to the head. When the house was inhabited, an old sea chest used to stand in the hall and one day, a householder tried to get into it to have a look at what was inside but it was locked. As he examined the chest, looking for a way to open it, a strange mist appeared from one of its corners and proceeded to rise above the chest. The mist then formed the apparition of a man. Seconds after the formation took place, it disappeared back into the chest. One evening in the early 1900s, the residents had all had gone out for a walk and by the time they returned it was dark. On their way up the road leading to the house, the family stood there in disbelief as one by one, each window of the house became a bright blaze of light. In only a few seconds the entire house was lit up like a beacon, and it remained so for half a minute. Then, just as quickly as it had happened, the lights went out one by one until the house was again in total darkness. Windhouse had no electricity, either by mains or generator. In 2003 a couple from Cheshire dismissed the spooky history and bought Windhouse (pictured opposite) with a view to renovating it, but, according to local sources, this has not yet taken place.

Frightful Fiends

“Like one, that on a lonesome road, Doth walk in fear and dread, And having once turn’d round walks on, And turns no more his head; Because he knows, a frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread.” ‘The Rime of the Ancyent Marinere’ Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834)

For those readers unfamiliar with the poem from which the above verse is taken, here is a brief synopsis: An old man forcibly stops a guest who is on his way to a wedding and relates a story, telling how he was on board a sailing ship which encountered bad weather and was blown southwards across the equator until the vessel became trapped in Antarctic ice. Following the appearance of an albatross, a bird that is believed to be a good omen for sailors, the weather improved and the ship was blown towards warmer waters and its crew were saved. The crew befriended the albatross, which followed the ship day by day, until the mariner, who is the subject of the poem, killed it with a shot from his bow. Immediately afterwards, the ship was beset by misfortune, with the vessel soon becoming becalmed in a windless sea whilst all on board suffered from dehydration and heatstroke. Those on board blamed the mariner’s actions for their misfortune and condemned him to wear the slain albatross around his neck as an emblem of his guilt. The mariner, however, saw a ship appearing over the horizon and alerted his shipmates to their possible salvation... but, when it drew alongside they realised to their dismay that the vessel was a ‘ghost ship; with a crew of only two...namely ‘Death’ and ‘Life-in-Death’, who threw dice to win the souls of the unfortunate crew of the ship. ‘Death’ won the souls of the crew, who immediately died en-masse. Whilst ‘Life-in-Death’ won that of the mariner, condemning him, as punishment for killing the albatross, to wander the earth telling his story. In his poem, the fiend that Coleridge had in mind when he wrote the above stanza may have been something like the one which frequently crops up in folklore all over the world - the phantom dog. In Wales, this spectre is called Gwyllgi, or Dog of Darkness; a terrifying apparition in the form of a huge hound with a shaggy pelt and great glowing red eyes. The favourite haunt of Gwyllgi were lonely roads at night.

A lane in the parish of Marchwiel in North Wales, is called Lon Bwbach Ddu (Lane of the Black Spectre) probably recalling such a haunting. An encounter near Ruthin with one of these hell hounds was recorded by the author T.Gwynn Jones in 1930. “My grandmother declared that as she and my grandfather were riding on horseback from Ruthin one evening, in passing a roadside house, the nag suddenly shied and pressed to the hedge. At the moment an extremely tall mastiff-type dog was passing on the other side”. “My grandfather who rode directly behind saw nothing at all and his horse had not been startled. They had just come to live in the district and only got to know afterwards that the house was said to be haunted by a Gwyllgi.” A more alarming adventure was had by Edward Jones as he was returning home late one night from a fair at Cynwyd, near Corwen when an enormous black hound followed him across the moor, literally dogging his footsteps, keeping just behind as he hurried along. He said it was “a beast of fearsome visage and blood-shot eye”. At any moment he expected to feel its jaws clamp upon him and he suffered terrible anxiety and a cold sweat. The dreaded climax never came however, and when nervous and exhausted, he eventually reached his farm gate, he found the beast had vanished. Stories of phantom black dogs abound in Britain, almost every county has its own variant, from the Black Shuck of East Anglia to the Bogey Beast of Yorkshire. Phantom black dogs have been witnessed too frequently in modern times to label the phenomena as simply folklore and legend, but then folklore and legend often has origins in real events. There are various theories to explain the phenomena and they seem to have many common traits from sighting to sighting. There are so many myths, tales, legends and sightings of this fearsome apparition that it is hard to know where to begin. Black Shuck is said to be one of the oldest phantoms of Great Britain, with the name possibly deriving from the Anglo-Saxon word 'scucca' meaning demon or devil. Other historians say that the hound has its origins in Norse mythology based on the name of 'Shukir', the huge dog of war of Odin and Thor who came over to Britain thousands of years ago along with the Viking long-ships. Black shuck is the name given to the large black dog which is said to roam the Norfolk and Suffolk coastline and the Waveney river valley. For centuries, the inhabitants of East Anglia have told tales of a large black hellhound, the size of a calf, with flaming eyes.

Even as recently as the 1970s, the huge snarling dog was reportedly seen on the beach at the holiday resort of Great Yarmouth, but one of the most vivid reports comes from the parish record of its appearance at Holy Trinity Church in Blythburgh, near the Suffolk border on August 4, 1577. Written in the language of the day, it tells how a tremendous thunderstorm was raging outside during the morning service when “...this black dog, or the divel in such a likenesse (God hee knoweth al who worketh all,) runing all along down the body of the church with great swiftnesse, and incredible haste, among the people, in a visible fourm and shape, passed between two persons, as they were kneeling uppon their knees, and occupied in prayer as it seemed, wrung the necks of them bothe at one instant clene backward, in so much that even at a moment where they kneeled, they strangely dyed.” The spectral hound is said to have burst in through the large wooden church doors, run up the nave passing the large congregation, before killing a man and boy. As black shuck left, the church spire collapsed through the roof. Black scorch marks, which parishioners believed to be the devil’s fingerprints, appeared on the north door and can be seen at the church to this day. A pack of fiendish dogs known as the Whist Hounds is said to roam Dartmoor in Devon and was the inspiration for Sir Arthur Conan Doyle to write the Sherlock Holmes mystery, The Hound of the Baskervilles. The author is said to have been inspired by the legend of Squire Richard Cabell, a keen hunter from Brook Manor, Buckfastleigh. The squire was rumoured to have sold his soul to the Devil and after he died on July 5, 1677, a phantom pack of black hunting dogs with glowing red eyes is said to have raced across Dartmoor on the night of his interment, breathing fire and howling at his tomb. According to local legend, the demonic hounds have roamed the moor ever since and can often be seen around the anniversary of his death prowling around the grave trying to get the promised soul for the Devil. Still on Dartmoor, at the aptly named Hound Tor, a four-legged fiend with glowing eyes and a blood-curdling howl stalks the spot, which makes this photo of a mystery creature taken at Hound Tor more intriguing than ever. Seen only yards away from a party of schoolchildren, the animal has a thick, shaggy coat, rounded ears and large front limbs which would be powerful enough to tear human flesh.

The Ghost of the Legendmaker

Beddgelert village lies at the foot of Mount Snowdon, the highest mountain in Wales. The village is a significant tourist attraction, its picturesque bridge crossing the river Colwyn just upstream of its confluence with the river Glaslyn. It is the nearest village to the scenic Glaslyn gorge, an area of tumultuous river running between steep wooded hills. Rhododendrons provide a covering of pink blossom in May and June. Beddgelert is linked to the famous Rupert the Bear stories, as Alfred Bestall wrote and illustrated some of these whilst he lived here. There is a local legend which has drawn tourists to the village for 200 years. The legend tells that Llywelyn the Great, Prince of Gwynedd, who ruled Wales for four decades in the 12th and 13th Centuries, was fond of hunting and spent each summer in a hunting lodge in Snowdonia. Although he had many dogs, his favourite was Gelert, because not only was Gelert fearless in the hunt he was also a loyal friend and companion at home. One day Llywelyn and his wife went out hunting, leaving their baby son with a nurse and a servant to look after him. However, the irresponsible staff went for a walk in the mountains leaving the baby alone and unprotected. Llywelyn was absorbed in his hunting, but after a while he noticed that Gelert wasn’t with the pack of hounds. The Prince knew something was wrong as Gelert was always at the front of the pack. He reasoned that the only place the dog would go was back to the lodge, so he called off the hunt and headed back home. As the party dismounted, Gelert came running out of the lodge towards his master, covered in blood and wagging his tail. The Princess, calling her child's name, fainted. Llywelyn rushed into the baby's room to find the cradle overturned, the bloodstained bedclothes thrown all over the floor - and no sign of his son. Filled with anger and grief, he drew his sword and ran Gelert through. But as the dog’s dying whimpers were answered by the sound of a baby crying from behind the overturned cradle. When Llywelyn pulled aside the cradle he found his son unharmed and the body of a huge wolf next to him. Gelert had in fact killed the wolf as it tried to attack Llywelyn's son. Filled with remorse, Llywelyn buried Gelert in a meadow nearby and marked his grave with a cairn of stones. The village of Beddgelert (Gelert's grave) owes its name to this site. It is believed that in the 1700s a group of villagers got together and created the story recounted above, to attract visitors to the village. Their ringleader was a David Pritchard, landlord of the Goat Inn. The village prospered and he made his fortune. However, for all his wealth, in 1821 he had a heart attack, and died without leaving a will.

Some weeks after David’s burial, the Goat Inn was the scene of some very peculiar goings-on. Footsteps were heard on the stairs, strange noises in the bedrooms, whilst in the bar there were sounds of the coal fire being raked. However, nothing was seen, and it was decided the best course of action was to ignore it. This course of action didn’t work.... instead of the noises dying away, they grew louder and more frequent and soon, bar staff and local people started seeing the ghost of David Pritchard himself. At one point he was seen walking around the village itself. Understandably, the villagers were petrified. Doors and windows were bolted, charms and crucifixes were carried to bed at night. An old farmer called Huw, a long-standing friend of the landlord, decided to see if he could find out why the spirit was wandering the village, so stayed out one night without carrying a charm of any kind. Sure enough, as he was crossing the bridge the ghost of David Pritchard appeared in front of him. Huw shivered but was brave enough to call out to his long time friend. With a trembling voice Huw asked why his spirit was so disturbed. The apparition answered: “My dear Huw, there can be no rest until a certain task is carried out. You are to go to the Inn and look under the hearthstone in the bar. There you will find a pouch containing one hundred gold guineas which you are to give to my wife.” Huw said he understood and that he would undertake the task of reuniting Mrs Pritchard with the money. Hearing that promise, the ghost faded away. The coins were found, and the ghost was not seen again. The Goat Inn still stands in the village of Beddgelert, and perhaps - if you’re passing you might call in to buy a drink - if you listen carefully as you part with your money, you might hear the ghostly chuckle of the late David Pritchard. For the record, the village name is actually derived from that of a Christian missionary called Celert (or Cilert) who settled in the area in the 8th Century. Right: A tranquil view of Beddgelert.

Man Without A Face

Twenty five year old Janine Munro who had lived all her life in a house close to Loch Lomond in Dumbartonshire had a good friend, Chloe, with whom she spent a lot of time with in the 1990s. They’d been friends for ten years. The pair of them loved anything to do with the outdoors; riding, quad-biking, going for walks and canoeing were all on their list of ‘things to do’. One summer’s day the girls decided to spend time at the loch side. They put up a tent in the woods. They hadn’t seen a soul since they’d arrived, so after a couple of hours they became bored with their own company and decided they should head for home to see what their boyfriends were doing. As they prepared to leave, they heard a noise and looked round to see a man dressed in an orange boiler suit standing a few feet away. He was facing away from them and seemed to be looking out across the loch. They were a little taken aback by the man’s presence as they hadn’t heard him approaching, but they supposed he was one of the forestry workers that worked in the area and went back to packing their belongings away. However, a few moments later, they sensed someone close behind them and looked round to see who it was. It was then that they screamed.... the man was only three feet away...and he had no face! Instead, where his face should have been, was a moving grey mass. Janine said: “We started running away; we ran and ran, until we reached my house. We were shocked and couldn’t believe what we’d seen. There was a grey cloud-like shape where his face should have been. We were so fazed that we never spoke to each other of what we had seen until the next day. When I saw my friend the following day, I asked her “did that really happen?” I was hoping that she would say that I had imagined it, but she said just the opposite! She told me “It did happen and neither of us will forget it for the rest of our lives!”

The Enfield Poltergeist

Ghosts and hauntings tend to be associated with museums, castles, mansions and similar imposing establishments; however, what is regarded as one of the most spectacular poltergeist cases ever recorded, the Enfield Poltergeist case, took place in a council house in North London and lasted from August 1977 to September 1978. During this time a woman and her four children, living in a council house in Enfield, London, experienced every poltergeist phenomena ever identified. Over 1,500 phenomena were recorded, beginning with unexplained sounds and ending with alleged possession and other disturbing occurences. In one instance, a ‘Lego’ brick was said to have materialised out of thin air, flown across the room and hit a photographer on the head. Various items caught fire of their own accord, whilst metal objects such as cutlery and candlesticks bent and twisted out of shape. Most disturbing of all, was the apparent possession of twelve-year-old Janet, from whom eminated a deep gruff male voice on many occassions, saying its name was Bill and that he was the spirit of someone who had lived in the house many years before. The entity sometimes communicated with the family in other ways - rapping on walls and tables answered questions that they put to it - although Bill’s presence was far from benign, as Janet was frequently levitated out of bed at night by an unseen force which trapped her against the ceiling. In the midst of the disturbances, during an interview in the family’s home, a photographer snapped a shot just as the telephone handset suddenly flew off the hook and snaked around in the air whilst Janet screamed in panic nearby. When the photo was printed in a newspaper the following day, a media frenzy ensued as TV crews and newspaper reporters from across the country descended on the house, hoping to witness manifestations of the supernatural. In the autumn of 1978, more than a year after they had begun; and despite allegations in the press of trickery, the disturbances ceased as suddenly as they had started. Top right: The newspaper photo that caused a media furore - Janet screams as the phone takes on a life of its own. Bottom right: The terrified youngster is thrown into the air by an unseen spirit.

The Ghost That Throws Tantrums

Stoke-on-Trent is world famous for its pottery and no visit to the area is complete without a tour of the city’s Gladstone Pottery Museum, a working museum which shows how pottery and china tableware were made. A pottery has stood on the site since 1787, giving a glimpse of the conditions that the adults and children, involved in this trade, worked in from the 18th to mid-20th centuries. This museum opened in 1974 after the closure of the pottery and is located in Longton at the of the southern end of Stoke-on-Trent, in the area known as ‘The Potteries’ - for obvious reasons. Visitors are lead around workshops, factory rooms and bottle kilns by guides who relate tales of yesteryear, telling how the pottery operated in its heyday. Staff at the museum openly admit that they have been taunted by spirits. One night, whilst on duty in an upstairs room, a security guard heard loud, fast-approaching footsteps which traversed the room below before stamping up the stairs towards him. Hearing the commotion and wondering who was making their way towards him with such haste and determination, he opened the door at the top of the staircase and was left peering down an empty - and now silent - flight of stairs. There was nothing, and nobody, visible that could possibly have made that sound. Manifestations such as running footsteps and doors being violently flung open are widely reported around the site. Such events have attracted many psychics and ghost hunters to the Gladstone Pottery Museum. Although the Museum promotes family oriented historical education, at night the building really begins to become alive. One much-reported phenomenon is that of of an old man. This is thought to be the spirit of a potter who was killed whilst working here, but arguably the most spiritually-active part of the Museum is the ‘Colour Room’, where glazes for the pottery were developed. It appears that the spirit of a worker from earlier days still views the room as their own personal domain and has an animosity towards those who have been brave enough to rearrange the paint pots as some have fallen victim to a tantrum from this very particular poltergeist. Objects left in this room have been known to be hurled against the walls. Those who have adjusted paint pots have met the assault of a barrage of objects thrown by invisible hands. The Gladstone Pottery Museum is a real step into the past during the day, but during the night, the past frequently steps forward to meet those brave enough - or foolish enough - to find themselves there.

Glamis Castle: The Queen Mother’s Haunted Home

Glamis Castle is the historic seat of the Bowes-Lyons Family, who received the lands as a gift from Robert the Bruce in 1372. The family still own the castle as the Earls of Strathmore. Family members include the late Queen Mother, who was born here and gave birth to Princess Margaret here. The main keep of the castle dates from the 14th century, and the majestic towers and turrets were added in later years. Despite its fairy-tale appearace, Glamis is one of the most haunted castles in Britain, with the family chapel being haunted by a Grey Lady, who is said to be the unsettled spirit of Lady Janet Douglas, burned at the stake as a witch on Castle Hill, Edinburgh in 1537, for plotting to poison the King. It is likely that the charges were fabricated for political reasons. Lady Janet’s apparition has been seen relatively recently in the chapel by a number of witnesses. Her ghost is also said to appear above the Clock Tower. The ghost of a woman without a tongue is one of those said to haunt the grounds. She has been seen looking out from a barred window somewhere within the castle. She is reported to roam the extensive grounds pointing at her mutilated face. There is no suggestion as to who she might be. A young boy, the ghost of a Negro servant who was badly treated around 200 years ago, haunts a stone seat by the door of the Queen's bedroom. One of the more infamous ghosts is known as ‘Earl Beardie’, otherwise known as Alexander, Earl Crawford. Allegedly he was a cruel and wicked man. His spirit is said to wander the castle and there have been reports of children waking to find his figure leaning over their beds. Probably the most resounding piece of folklore that crops up, is the story of a hidden room somewhere within the castle that harbours a dreadful secret. At one time a towel is said to have been hung from every window in the castle, but when the castle was viewed from the outside a window without a towel was visible, suggesting a hidden room.This secret room has many tales about its origin; the most popular is that it holds a ‘monster’. In 1821 the first son of the eleventh Earl is said to have been born horribly malformed. To hide this fact the story was circulated that the boy had died. Although, if legend is to be believed, the infant was locked up in a secret room within the castle. The malformed boy survived, and in time a second son was born, who was told of his older brother when he came of age. In some stories the boy grows to become incredibly strong, and lives for over a hundred years. The secret of the hidden room had to be passed down to each heir on their 21st birthday.

The 'Mad Earl’s Walk' on the castle ramparts is said by some to have been the place where the malformed Earl was exercised. There is a story concerning a workman who is said to have accidentally broken through a wall while making alterations to the castle, revealing the passage into the secret room. He was given a large sum of money to leave the country and keep silent about what he had seen. In another tale the room is said to hold the bodies of men who were enemies of the Bowes-Lyon family and were captured, walled up and starved to death. One popular explanation for the ‘secret room’ tells how, one Saturday evening, Earl Beardie was guesting at the castle. After a heavy drinking session with the Earl of Glamis, one which ran into early Sunday morning, he was in a drunken rage shouting for a partner to play him at cards. In those days, playing cards on the Sabbath was taboo, so nobody accepted his challenge. Finally he raged that he would play with the Devil himself. Inevitably there was a knock at the door, and a tall man in dark clothes came into the castle and asked if Earl Beardie still required a partner. The Earl agreed, and they went away to a room in the castle, slammed the door shut, and started to play cards. The castle was rocked with the sounds of swearing and shouting from the room and one of the castle’s staff, giving in to curiosity, peeped through the keyhole. A bright beam of light blasted through the keyhole, blinding the servant in one eye. The Earl hurried out of the room and yelled at the servant for spying on him. On returning to the room Earl Beardie found that his card playing opponent, who was - of course - the Devil, had disappeared... taking along with him the Earl’s soul, which he had forfeited in the card game. The Earl is said to be damned to play cards with the stranger in that walled up room for all eternity. Visitors who are lucky - or unlucky - enough to get the right tour guide when they visit Glamis Castle are sometimes shown the exact spot where they can put their ear to the wall in order to hear the slap of phantom playing cards being laid down.

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Please make any donations payable to MS Ayrshire & Arran Branch and send to: Nick Smalley, SOTN, 3 Five Roads, Kilwinning KA13 7JX

Edinburgh Vaults

An account by Carolyn MacIsaac

Beneath Edinburgh’s Cowgate area, under the South Bridge, you will find a network of underground vaults believed to be the haunting ground of a number of restless spirits. The South Bridge was built in the 18th century to improve access to the city. It consisted of nineteen arches built over the Cowgate ravine. The land below the bridge was excavated to make dwellings; large and small rooms that became known as ‘The Edinburgh Vaults’. When it was finished in 1788 it was decided that the Bridges’ eldest resident, the wife of a well known and respected judge, should be honoured by being the first to cross it but, unfortunately, several days before the grand opening, the judge’s wife passed away. However, promises had been made, and the city fathers felt obliged to honour their original agreement, and so the first “body” to cross the South Bridge crossed it in a coffin. The locals were horrified! Their new bridge was now cursed! The majority of the townsfolk refused to cross the bridge for many years, preferring instead the awkward and impractical route through the deep valley of the Cowgate. The 18th century inhabitants of Edinburgh may seem overly superstitious to us today, but over the following centuries it slowly became apparent that they might, in fact, have had a point… Merchants and craftsmen who had businesses on the South Bridge used the vaults for storing wine, dairy and other goods. Families lived in some of the rooms of the vaults in appalling conditions; no sunlight, no ventilation, no sanitation and often housing as many as seven, or even ten, people in a room the size of a small bedroom. Flooding eventually caused some of the vaults to be abandoned. Commercial tenants were replaced by poor families. Disease and criminal activity were rife. Some even say that the area was a source of corpses for the body snatchers, Burke and Hare. Some years later the vaults were filled in but 200 years on the vaults were rediscovered and excavated. Several tour companies will invite you to join them to meet the ghosts and ghouls of Edinburgh. A tradesman, a sick old man and a murderer are only a few of the ghosts mentioned by visitors to the vaults. They are said to appear in many ways; poltergeist manifestation, on photographs and even face-to-face.

On a tour of the vaults, one tour guide was telling how life was lived in the subterranean rooms; what businesses had grown there and what types of articles were found after the excavations started. After the tour, the visitors were shocked when they looked at the digital photos they had taken in one of the rooms. They thought they were simply photographing the guide telling the story of the room, while the rest of the party of visitors looked on. In fact the photo showed the ghostly form of a cobbler, reclining with his arm outstretched as if listening to the stories. No matter how the photographer tried to touch up the picture, in order to remove the reflection, it merely sharpened the image. Perhaps he had captured the image of a friendly ghost, amused to think that people are interested to hear about his life, hundreds of years ago. Not all of the ghosts are friendly. Reports of shifting dark shadows, sensations of being touched, grabbed and even burned are described by visitors to some of the vaults. We should remember that this area housed the very poorest and most disreputable sections of society at one point. The population of the area included Highlanders seeking refuge from the clearances, mercenary landlords, and even body snatchers! With so many people packed tightly, living on top of each other we must realise that life was dangerous and for a lot of them very unhappy. Perhaps this explains the restless spirits who roam these vaults.

Despite the pleas of her tour party, this tour guide refused to enter a certain room in the vaults following a previous encounter with a malevolent entity in the room.

The Girl with no Hands An account by Jim B. Cameron

There's an element of 'Romeo and Juliet' about the following story. It is said that Cumming of Rait hit upon the Machiavellian scheme of lulling his arch-enemies the Mackintosh clan into an ambush by inviting them to a grand banquet at the castle at Rait, under the guise of ending the acrimony that existed between them and establishing a more friendly relationship. The Mackintoshes accepted the invitation believing its sincerity. But in truth the plan was for the Cummings to rise up and slaughter the defenceless Mackintoshes at a given signal during the feast.. Each member of the household gave a solemn oath not to speak of the plot to anyone, but unbeknown to Old Cumming, his daughter had a lover, young Mackintosh. The couple met by a large boulder some distance from the castle and it was to this boulder the daughter told her tale, knowing all along that the young Mackintosh lay hidden behind it, listening to every word. That is why to this day it is known as, 'The Stone of the Maiden'. Having received the warning the Mackintoshes still chose to attend the banquet, but with the added precaution of a hidden dirk upon their person. The celebration got underway, and the castle walls echoed with the sound of merriment. As the night wore on Old Cumming proposed a toast, 'The Memory of the Dead'. This was the signal for the Cummings to rise, draw swords, and dispatch their guests. The Mackintoshes, however, had been waiting for this, and drawing their knives from their finery, thrust their blades into the Cummings, killing them almost to a man. Amongst the few to escape was Old Cumming himself, who fled to the upper chambers where he found his daughter. Brandishing his broadsword he blamed her for the treachery, having been aware beforehand of her secret tryst. Realising his intent, the daughter made to leap from the window, but before she could, with a swing of his sword, the old man chopped off both of her hands. From that night on, the halls of Rait have remained empty. Locally it is told that the ghost of the girl with no hands still haunts the ruins.

Are you there Jeannie? An account by Walter Blackley

Having lived, been educated and worked in the Garnock Valley for most of my sixty years, I like to think I have heard more than my fair share of ghost stories concerning North Ayrshire. Having become disabled in my late forties I decided to fill my time with one of my hobbies, the history of the Garnock Valley. This led to me to becoming a member of the Garnock Valley Heritage Society based in the Stables Museum, next to the Walker Hall in Kilbirnie. Of course the museum was run by a voluntary staff and, as in all things voluntary, I soon found myself sitting alone while manning the museum. This didn't bother me as I always enjoyed my own company and didn’t think I was of a fanciful or suspicious frame of mind. I had heard of a ghost that was supposed to haunt the Walker Hall next door. This was, so the story went, the spirit of an old hall keeper who, upon dying, decided to get his own back on the youth of the next generation. Having spent most of my callow youth in the Walker Hall I thought it best not to antagonise even the oldest of spooks, although as a youth, I delighted in pulling the odd prank on figures of authority. But, to get back to the theme of this tale; as I said I enjoyed being on my own in the museum and at the start I was too busy putting hard copy down on my computer for further reference. There was a part of the museum panelled over and this roused my curiosity. I just had to see what was behind the panelling and decided to take some panels down. I enlisted the help of my eldest son, soon bringing it to a pile of wood and splinters. Behind the panel I found the oldest part of the museum, namely the stables themselves. These, I was informed at a later date, were the finest example of old Scottish architecture that a historian friend of mine had ever seen. Soon after that I got back to the historical documentation I was involved in. As stated before I've never been of a fanciful nature but, I nevertheless began to see things out of the corner of my eye. This further compounded itself when I began to feel light brushing sensations against my left cheek. Thinking about this rationally - which I thought was the best thing to do - as there was no one else there we had to have a ghost in the museum. Having had more than the odd dalliance with members of the opposite sex when younger - much to the embarrassment of my children - I decided to name the ghost Jeannie.

As soon as I did this the strange occurrences ceased, apart from the odd movement seen out of the corner of my eye. Should anyone ever have visited the museum during these times they would have probably thought me unhinged to say the least, as I would have been seen talking to fresh air. I worked away for many years in the company of Jeannie, documenting historical data from the past; but everything has its time to run and through withdrawal of funding the museum had to close, unfortunately. It was a sad time for me to leave the museum but I did take copious amount of museum material away with me to work on at home. I often think of the museum and Jeannie. Would I be welcome back there, or did Jeannie follow the things I took from the museum? I now enjoy the most tranquil of lives, so maybe Jeannie is not so far away.

There is nothing to be afraid of, it is only the wind changing to the east, it is only your father the thunder your mother the rain In this country of water with its beige moon damp as a mushroom, its drowned stumps and long birds that swim, where the moss grows on all sides of the trees and your shadow is not your shadow but your reflection, your true parents disappear when the curtain covers your door. We are the others, the ones from under the lake who stand silently beside your bed with our heads of darkness. We have come to cover you with red wool, with our tears and distant whipers. You rock in the rain's arms the chilly ark of your sleep, while we wait, your night father and mother with our cold hands and dead flashlight, knowing we are only the wavering shadows thrown by one candle, in this echo you will hear twenty years later. Margaret Atwood

Something of the Night has been published by the author on behalf of Ayrshire and Arran branch of the Multiple Sclerosis Society. All rights reserved. If you have enjoyed this ebook, please feel free to forward it to others.