Ghosts at Christmas Read online

  Once again, she glanced around the room and finally spotted a pan of skimmed milk. She picked it up and hurled it across the room. The milk landed on the hand and put out the flames in an instant. At that point everyone in the inn woke up and quickly made their way downstairs to see what was going on. The robbers were caught red-handed and were subsequently arrested. By first light they were all in jail awaiting certain death. The grim relic, the hand of glory, was taken away and buried underneath the local gibbet post.

  This is a bizarre story, yet it was taken very seriously by the locals who, for many years after the event, swore on oath it was true. But is there really any truth in the legend? Well, in the mid-fifteenth century it was believed that the preserved left hand of a hanged man – which was known as a ‘hand of glory’ – could send people in the close vicinity to sleep if the fingers were lit up like a candles. It is thought that the hand would have to be soaked in a number of substances. Perhaps this was what the would-be-robber poured down the fingertips before setting fire to the fingers? Two of the substances thought to have been used are vervain and mandrake – both of which have amazing anaesthetic qualities and can put you to sleep in a matter of minutes. So, there may be some scientific basis behind the idea, as fumes from these two plants could have sent the residents of the Old Spital Inn into a deep slumber. However, keeping the slumbering residents fast asleep in the rooms upstairs, well, I am not too sure.

  The Old Spital Inn is now long gone now, but some folk suggest that the Bowes Moor Hotel, which is located midway across the A66 from Scotch Corner, is the actual building that was once known as the Old Spital Inn. Others suggest that the Bowes Moor Hotel was built upon the foundations of the original Spital Inn. Whatever the case, the hand of glory legend lives on.

  In Whitby Museum one particular exhibit has created mass interest and is possibly the most popular piece in the museum. It is, of course, a hand of glory. Is it the hand from Scotch Corner and the Old Spital Inn? No one knows for sure. One thing is certain though; when you see it through its glass case, it certainly sends a shiver down your spine. If you are ever in Whitby and have time on your hands (pardon the pun), I would suggest you pop in and take a look at it.

  KIRKSTONE PASS INN, CUMBRIA

  The desolate and windswept pub known as the Kirkstone Pass Inn is located on Patterdale Road, on the Kirkstone Pass, near Ambleside in the picturesque Lake District. The inn dates mainly from around the seventeenth century, although some parts of the building go back to the fifteenth. The inn is one of Cumbria’s highest public houses, standing at 1,489ft above sea level. The views you get from this area are spectacular, with the Lakeland mountainous ranges and untamed wilderness reaching out far before you in almost every direction. The acclaimed poet, William Wordsworth (1770–1850) visited the inn during many of his Lakeland adventures and penned the line ‘who comes not hither ne’er shall know how beautiful the world below’.

  The Kirkstone Pass Inn was formerly known as the Travellers Rest, which was an apt name, for many weary travellers and visitors to the area would stop off here to rest their tired legs and take in some much needed refreshment. Of course, being the ancient building that it is, it is not surprising to hear that this public house has not just retained its charm and character, but, by all accounts, a few of its former patrons too – in the form of resident ghosts.

  Many people over the years have reported ‘strange occurrences’ within the walls of this old drinking den, including much violent poltergeist-like activity. Doors are said to open and close on their own, glasses are thrown from behind the bar and staff and visitors alike often feel an eerie presence. These disturbances are put down to two alleged ghosts. The first is that of a lost hiker who, for whatever reason, decided to vent his aggression in this old building, and the other is a grey lady.

  Some folk suggest that these two ghosts are not responsible for this at all, and blame a phantom child named Neville. He is thought to be responsible for the movement of furniture and picture frames. Neville, according to Richard Jones in his book Haunted Inns of Britain and Ireland, was alleged to have been killed outside the inn when he was run over by a coach and horses.

  The area outside the inn is reputedly haunted too. Nearby, there is a tree that is known as the ‘hangman’s tree’ – no prizes for guessing what happened there in days gone by. Stories persist of a harrowing spectral form seen around the hangman’s tree. The spectre is thought to be that of a former innkeeper from the 1700s, who was accused of brutally murdering his children after they disappeared from the inn without any warning.

  The final ghost – the one that ties the Kirkstone Pass Inn to the theme of this book – is the ghost of Ruth, who haunts the area every Christmas time; around the anniversary of her tragic death. The story goes that, one inclement night, she decided to set off with her newborn baby into the darkness to see her ill father. During her efforts to reach her father’s house, she was caught up in a winter blizzard. The blizzard became so severe she began to worry about her child. She took off some of her garments and wrapped the baby up so the child would be warm.

  Ruth then forced her way forwards, heading on into the driving snow, eventually succumbing to it. Freezing cold, she dropped to the ground. It was not long before Ruth died of exposure, but happily the baby survived and was found soon after. Ruth’s sad ghost is said to be seen around Christmas at the dead of night as she endlessly searches the area in vain looking for her beloved child.

  THE SKULLS OF CALGARTH HALL, LAKE WINDERMERE, CUMBRIA

  Calgarth Hall stands imposingly on the shore of Lake Windermere, and is one of the oldest buildings in the surrounding area. Allegedly, the manor house was once subjected to a haunting connected to the unjust killing of two innocent people.

  Kraster Cook and his wife Dorothy lived on an area of land which was very much sought after by one of the locals, a man named Myles Phillipson. By all accounts, Pillipson was a wealthy, influential man who was used to getting his own way. However, the Cooks refused to sell him their land and no amount of money or persuasion would convince them to part with their precious house. Phillipson wanted the land to build upon. He had designs to build a grandiose manor house and nothing would stop him in his venture … nothing.

  Christmas time – the season of good will to all men – was approaching and Phillipson had hatched a plan. He turned up out of the blue at the Cooks’ house claiming that he wanted to make piece with them and forget their differences. He told them that he had no more fancy ideas about ‘gaining the land’ and that they had nothing more to worry about. During his impromptu visit, he also invited the Cooks to his house for ‘Christmas Dinner’, to which Kraster and Dorothy reluctantly accepted. They had a sneaky suspicion that Phillipson was up to no good; perhaps they should have listened to their ‘gut feelings’, as they turned out to be chillingly correct.

  The Cooks turned up on Christmas Day at Phillipson’s house and were pleasantly surprised at how courteous and friendly their host and the other guests were. However, as they felt out of place amongst so many affluent people, they stayed only a short while before thanking their host and leaving. Kraster and Dorothy Cook’s suspicions about Phillipson’s intentions were soon confirmed when the following day (Boxing Day) a troop of soldiers turned up at their home and arrested them. After carrying out a search of the premises, they just happened to ‘find’ a silver bowl that had been on display during the party at Phillipson’s house on Christmas Day. The insinuation, of course, was that the Cooks had stolen the silver bowl during the Christmas gathering.

  The astonished couple were carted off to prison whereupon, after a week in captivity, they were put on trial. Of course, all the witnesses were the associates of Phillipson and they testified against the Cooks – the couple never stood a chance. They were found guilty of theft and sentenced to hang. Prior to their unjust execution, and out of desperation, Dorothy Cook lost her temper and flew off into a rage. She raised her hand, pointed at Phillipson and,
through gritted teeth, uttered a chilling curse:

  Watch out for yourself, Master Phillipson! You might think you have done a fine thing, but that tiny scrap of land you lust for will prove to be the dearest a Phillipson has ever bought or pinched. Neither you nor your breed will ever prosper on it, and whatever plan or scheme you take up will wither in your hand. Whatever cause you set your arm to will always a loser be. The time will come when no Phillipson will own so much as an inch of land, and while Calgarth walls stand, we will haunt them night and day. You will never be rid of us!

  The Cooks were hanged by their necks until they were dead. Even before the bodies of Kraster and Dorothy Cook were taken down from the gallows, work had begun on Phillipson’s new and lavish home. Their little cottage was torn down before their bodies were even cold. A magnificent new dwelling of infinitely grander proportions was planned. Phillipson had got his way, as usual, but it wouldn’t be long before he regretted his actions; the Cooks were, quite literally, coming back to haunt him.

  Once the house was built and Phillipson had moved in, the paranormal activity began. Doors would slam shut, furniture moved around when no one was near it, and chilling screams reverberated through the residence, keeping Phillipson awake almost every night. However, the most harrowing event was the discovery of two grinning skulls, found resting on a banister rail. The skulls, ironically, were discovered on Christmas Day – one year to the day since Phillipson had set up the Cooks so that he could take their land.

  A terrified Phillipson ordered the skulls to be destroyed. But, after they had been disposed of, they were found back in the house in the same spot where they were originally found grinning macabrely. Phillipson was not so smug now. He even had the skulls weighed down and thrown into Lake Windermere, but, yet again, they found their way back into the house intact. Whatever he did to try and rid the household of Kraster and Dorothy Cook’s ghastly skulls … they kept on returning. Eventually, he accepted the fact that he could not get rid of them, and left them where they were found in the house, on the banister rail. Dorothy’s prophecy had come true – Phillipson would never be rid of them. Phillipson now knew for sure that this was the work of the Cooks. They had come back to haunt him, with a tormenting vengeance. The two skulls remained inside Calgarth Hall, grinning menacingly at Phillipson each time he walked past them. In fact, the Cooks haunted the house – and Phillipson – until the day he died, as they said they would.

  THE SCHOONER HOTEL, NORTHUMBERLAND, 25 DECEMBER 1806

  The Schooner Hotel is allegedly one the UK’s most haunted hotels. This seventeenth-century coaching inn is reputed to have over sixty ghosts including a spirit called William, who is said to have murdered his family where rooms 28, 29 and 30 are now situated. This area is the oldest section of the hotel and at one time was one big living area. Split into three many years ago, all three of these rooms reputedly have their fair share of paranormal activity.

  The ghost of Parson John is said to meander the ground floor of the hotel in the month of September. Killed accidentally while opening a cask of his own special brew ale, the ghost is said to be seen holding the tap high above his head for all to see. The tap had ‘fired off’ and hit him on the head, so the story goes, but recently I was informed by a former employee of the hotel that the ghost of Parson John was nothing more than an elaborate hoax to try and ‘drum up business’ for the hotel, which, at that time, was not doing too well.

  I, however, have investigated the building on nearly fifteen occasions now and can testify to the fact that strange things do indeed go on there. I have personally seen doors open slowly, before slamming closed very loudly, I have heard footsteps in corridors when no one else was with me, I have found previously locked doors to be open (when I was the only person with the key) and have witnessed objects moving on their own.

  The Christmas story I wish to relate to you from this wonderful old establishment dates back to 1806. It was Christmas Day when Alnmouth witnessed one of its worst storms in history. In fact, the storm was so severe it changed the actual course of the river. As the rain lashed down and the wind howled outside, a small family huddled inside, around a huge burning fire in what is now the hotel’s ‘Chase Bar’, the youngest girl sleeping on her mother’s knee. They were eagerly awaiting the return of the head of their family – a devoted husband and father who was out in the North Sea trawling the stormy waters in search of fish. Suddenly, the door to the inn burst open, allowing the treacherous wind and rain to blow furiously inside. A number of fishermen entered the inn carrying a body. It was the corpse of the husband. He had been killed while out at sea. The mother quickly rose to her feet with her hands over her mouth, horrified at the sight of her dead husband. As she stood, her daughter, who had been sleeping on her lap, fell into the roaring fire, hitting her heard upon the hearth in the process. She was immediately pulled from the flames by her family but she was badly burned and subsequently died of her injuries. She was just six years old.

  Her ghost has been seen and heard in the hotel’s Chase Bar. One witness said that while she was sitting in the restaurant area of the hotel, she heard the sound of a young girl coming from around the corner. We don’t know if the sounds that she heard were sounds of laughter or the sound of sobbing, but, knowing the bar was empty, she decided to venture around and have a look. As she turned the corner – still hearing the girl – she was astonished to find the room completely empty. Not only that, but as soon as she turned the corner and ventured into the room, the noise of the girl immediately ceased, leaving an eerie silence in which one could hear a pin drop.

  Another witness claimed to have seen a young girl disappear in front of her eyes while she was having a drink in the bar. The girl, it is said, silently ran into the bar area from around the corner, whereupon she stopped dead in the room. She glanced up at the woman and then vanished into thin air, right in front of her.

  THE SCOTIA HOTEL, SOUTH SHIELDS

  Another phantom who makes his presence known at Christmas time is ‘Tommy the Cellerman’, who haunts the Scotia Hotel, a quaint little old pub that sits more or less in the centre of South Shields’ busy shopping precinct, on King Street. This one-time spit and sawdust alehouse became so popular with the South Shields locals that an extension had to be built. Eventually, due to more and more people drinking there, the alehouse was completely demolished and a much larger pub took its place. This wonderful ‘Victorian Long Bar’ still does a rip-roaring trade, even after many years of business.

  Tommy the Cellarman was said by some to have died on the premises of the Scotia Hotel back in the mid-1970s, although this is not certain. What is certain is that Tommy walked with a distinct limp, and was quite often seen hobbling around the pub with his trusty old walking stick. After his death, staff at the pub often reported hearing the shuffle of footsteps accompanied by the tap, tap, tap of a walking stick.

  What makes the staff believe this is the ghost of Tommy is the fact that these eerie sounds are heard as they make their way up and down the cellar steps, the steps which Tommy used almost everyday while he was alive. It is said that a former landlady once took a photograph of some staff members one Christmas and, when the picture was developed, there was Tommy the Cellarman alongside everyone else, bold as brass. Why he should make his appearance at Christmas is anyones guess. Perhaps Christmas was his favourite time of year, and he simply wanted to join in with the seasonal festivities. I have attempted to track down this elusive photograph, but so far my efforts have sadly proved fruitless.

  Tommy can still be heard on occasions as he goes about his usual business – up and down the cellar stairs – tap, tap, tapping as he goes. It seems that Tommy has no plans to leave the pub anytime soon, so who knows, maybe this Christmas, or perhaps the next, he might show up in another festive photo as the staff and patrons celebrate the Yuletide.

  THE STOGURSEY MONKS OF BRIDGWATER, SOMERSET

  An article in the Somerset Herald, dated 27 February 1927, states tha
t the area known as Monkswood in the village of Stogursey was once subjected to a haunting. A man going by the initials of B.T. stated that, ‘I have brought to memory something I had not thought of for the past forty or fifty years.’

  B.T. goes on to explain that he remembers from his boyhood the ghost story attached to that area and states that any youngsters that happened to pass an area known as Monkswood, when it was getting ‘dimpsy’ (one presume he means dark), had a very real chance of seeing the ghosts. He goes on to mention that one day, near this area, a coach and pair had a terrible accident. The coach belonged to one F.W. Meade-King and was being driven by a local coachman named Mr Tremlet. Mr Tremlet, declared that the accident was no fault of his own and stated that one horse ‘saw something’, resulting in it becoming very frightened and knocking the other horse over. A roundhouse at the local priory, he also claimed, had an underground tunnel that led to the nearby castle. This was the area where the ghosts would ‘take shelter’ during bad weather.

  This first letter prompted the response of another reader, dated 6 March 1927, who remained anonymous, to recall his memories of growing up in Stogursey:

  As an old Stogursey boy I can well remember the accident to the vicar’s carriage at Monkton Wells owing to one of the horses seeing a ghost. As mentioned by ‘B.T.’ in last weeks Herald. As regards to the ghost of a monk recently seen in the Roundhouse, well many years ago the ghost of a monk used to be seen disappearing towards the quarry adjoining Monks Wood. I was once told by a very old workman, who had worked at the Priory in his younger days, that on Christmas Eve at midnight the monks could be seen walking down the steps leading from the upper room of the old Roundhouse, and making their way towards the priory barn.