would fire up again. This was particularly true when work
was being done on the property, as the ghosts seemed to disap-
prove of the homestead being changed in any way.
Paul recalls one particularly unsettling episode which was
precipitated by some trenches being dug in the backyard. The
job was besieged by countless unforeseeable problems, as one
hiccup after another seemed to halt the project in its tracks. It felt as though they were being sabotaged.
Finally, against the odds and despite all the hurdles, the digging was complete. It seemed that the ghosts were not happy,
and wasted no time in conveying their displeasure.
The sight which greeted Paul the following morning made
his heart skip a beat, it defied all logical explanation. As he entered the grand dining room, he was met by a scene of utter
chaos. All of the furniture had been piled in to the room’s
centre; no mean feat when one considers the vast number
and weight of the room’s antique pieces. The illogicality of
it made it all the more sinister. There was no doubt that Cliffside’s ghosts were ticked off.
Yet another of Paul’s recollections took place in the infa-
mous dining room. Paul had recently been on a trip to Mel-
bourne, during which he managed to indulge his love of
antique shops and collectibles. Whilst scouring through some
old memorabilia, he chanced upon an old 78 record and was
instantly drawn to it. It was an original recording of When Cliffside 215
Smoke Gets In Your Eyes, in amazingly good condition. Paul immediately thought of the young man who had killed himself in his dining room some forty years earlier, this very song playing in the background.
The significance of chancing upon the old recording on the
other side of the country wasn’t lost on Paul, who wasted no
time in securing his purchase. Actually listening to it though was another matter, somehow it just didn’t feel right. So the
record sat silently in the cupboard with a pile of other 78’s, waiting to be played.
It was some time later that the family decided to have a
little party; just the four of them, the old gramophone and
their stash of 78 records. Their joviality was soon to come to an abrupt end, as Paul went to retrieve the 78’s from the cupboard.
There amongst the pile of records, one of them had inex-
plicably shattered into countless tiny pieces. Without even
looking at its cover, Paul knew which record it was straight
away. Smoke Gets In Your Eyes was never to be played in that room again, the ghosts had made sure of it. Not surprisingly, all the other records had remained intact.
Over the years the ghosts continued to announce their
presence, usually benignly but sometimes dramatically. One
visitor remarked upon the old woman who was sitting on the
front porch upon his arrival, and wondered why she had got-
ten up and silently walked into the house when he approached.
Another asked about the silent man who seemed to be trailing
his friend throughout the homestead. There were of course
no old woman or young man staying in the house at the time,
prompting those present to presume the ghosts were visiting
once again.
216 Cliffside
Given the homestead’s tragic history, it was likely that the
ghosts were unable to find peace. It seemed that they were
trapped by the intense emotions they had endured there in
life, or perhaps they couldn’t come to terms with the fact that they were dead and that Cliffside was no longer their home.
There was too much grief imbedded in its ether; they were
earthbound and unable to move on.
The Websters felt that they needed to help the trapped
souls cross over, as much for the ghosts’ sakes as for restoring peace in their home.
They arranged for a priest to make the trek from East
Fremantle, to cleanse their home and offer mass for each of
Cliffside’s lost souls. The family began to view the ghosts as spirits who needed help, rather than as entities who wanted to frighten them. As they prayed for the salvation of their souls, the atmosphere at Cliffside began to progressively lift.
Paul and his family are convinced that Cliffside’s ghosts
eventually moved on, as the last two years that they lived
there were uneventful. These days it’s billed as an idyllic country retreat, a peaceful escape from the rigours of city living.
As well as rooms in the main house (named after the original
family members who lived there) there are small cottages on
the property which are available for those who would like to
stay.
As Paul’s appointment concluded, I was struck by how
the most incredible of stories can spring up seemingly out of nowhere; and how the amazing lies just beyond the expected
and the mundane. I am also becoming increasingly aware of
how abundant true ghost stories are; perhaps as abundant as
the ghosts themselves.
Cliffside 217
Just before he left, Paul suggested I take myself off to Cliffside, as I would no doubt appreciate its grandeur and beauty.
His suggestion of staying overnight initially made me shud-
der; whilst the brave, investigative part of me thought What a great idea!
I couldn’t help wondering if any of the old ghosts still
check in from time to time, and what better way to find out
than to stay there myself.
My decision was pretty much cemented the following
morning as I checked the mailbox. Paul had slipped in a post-
card of the beautiful homestead, together with a Cliffside bro-chure. It was even more breathtaking than I’d expected.
And whilst I haven’t quite built up the courage to pick up
the phone and book myself a room, I have no doubt that I
eventually will. Especially since there is an old song urging me to do so, by playing itself over and over in my head; the hauntingly beautiful Smoke Gets In Your Eyes …
chapter twenty-five
N e w N o r c i a
The town of New Norcia feels as though it’s in the middle of
nowhere. Small yet striking, it is little more than a few buildings on a lonely stretch of northbound highway. It was settled by Spanish Benedictine monks in 1847, and has the distinction
of being Australia’s only monastic town.
What the town lacks in size, it more than makes up for
with the grandiosity of its buildings; they are the opposite of what one would expect to find nestled in the Australian bush.
They are majestic, Spanish-style monoliths, dominating a land-
scape of barren scrub. There is also a sprawling old cemetery; its headstones rising up from the parched, red earth.
New Norcia’s history is rich and varied, having served many
purposes over its one hundred and sixty five years. As well as housing the monastery, it has in turn served as a mission, a
boarding school and most recently, a place of spiritual retreat.
It was during its incarnation as a boarding school that my friend Liz’s ghostly encounter took place.
219
220 New Norcia
I met with up with Liz for a lunch date, as she knew I’d
recently returned from a trip to New Norcia and she was keen
to compare notes. The children and I had driven there for a
day trip just a fortnight earlier.
The first thing which struck us about New Norcia was the
/>
beauty of its buildings, followed almost immediately by the
feeling of isolation. There is no main street and other than a service station which sells fuel and the bare necessities, there are no shops to speak of. Other than the five of us, the streets were empty. The children asked if we had come to a ghost
town.
We edged our way to the grand hotel, originally built to
accommodate the parents of the boarders at the College.
There wasn’t a soul to be seen, nor a sign to announce that this was indeed the town’s hotel. At first we weren’t even sure if
we were permitted to pass its threshold. The Latin word Salve engraved into the tiles beneath our feet was the only clue; a
subtle but reassuring welcome.
Before we went inside, I took photos of the children on the
hotel’s stone staircase. The spirit presences were palpable and I wondered whether I would be able to photograph any orbs.
It was only later that evening as I downloaded the photos that I realized I’d captured more than I had hoped for. It appeared that a black-robed figure was hurling itself off the upstairs balcony; it’s body defined by a fuzzy blackness. It was surrounded by an aura of pale luminescent light; my first thought being
that it was the ghost of a monk!
Unable to be sure of what I’d captured, I decided to post
the photo on my Facebook page. I was keen to get some out-
side opinions on the ghostly apparition. Of course there were
New Norcia 221
some who presumed I had somehow tampered with the
photo, whose ill-founded comments I instantly dismissed!
Others commented on the famous ghosts of New Norcia,
which until then I had been unaware of. They spoke of The Blue Nun and a ghostly monk; both of whom were reported to show themselves with reasonable regularity.
Her recollections spurred by seeing my strange photo-
graph, Liz was eager to share her experiences of New Norcia
and its ghosts.
Liz admits she was a typical teenage tearaway; an irrepress-
ible livewire who seemed to have her parents frequently on
edge. In addition to a healthy dose of defiance, the final straw came when young Lizzie found herself a boyfriend. Despite
being only thirteen, she began seeing an eighteen year old. To make matters worse, she had also started socialising with an
unsavoury group of friends.
Her parents were of course mortified and at a loss as to
what they should do. The headstrong Lizzie refused to end her
new-found love affair, so before she knew it, she was shipped
off to boarding school in New Norcia. Her parents reasoned
that as well as protecting her from the clutches of her much
older boyfriend, Lizzie would be shielded from the negative
influence of her rebellious friends. All the while she would be receiving a solid education whilst nurturing her Roman Catholic faith.
As it turned out, it was the best decision possible. Once she’d settled in, Lizzie thrived in her new environment and the long-distance boyfriend was soon forgotten. Her years at New Norcia were to provide her with a solid foundation to last throughout her life. And indeed even through her adult years, Liz would
222 New Norcia
occasionally go and stay at the Monastery, particularly when life wasn’t travelling smoothly and she needed some respite.
Liz tells me that she and her fellow students were always
aware of New Norcia’s ghosts. So much so that she and a few
friends decided to try and contact the spirits they were con-
vinced they shared their school with.
Over the course of several days, the girls carefully con-
structed a Ouija Board. They hid it away under one of their beds until it was ready. The girls were well aware that should their project be discovered, they would be in all manner of trouble.
As Roman Catholics they were committing a cardinal sin; they
were summoning up the dead, or worse.
But the thrill of their clandestine project outweighed their
concerns, and the girls secretly worked on their creation whenever they had spare time. It wasn’t long before the Ouija board was ready and they couldn’t wait to try it out.
Since Lizzie was a music student, she had free reign of the
soundproof music room. She and her fellow music students
were permitted to use it at their discretion, as a quiet alternative to the usually bustling dormitories. The girls decided that it was the ideal location to hold their séance, especially since it was located directly across from the graveyard.
They gathered on a quiet weekday afternoon, giggling ner-
vously as they seated themselves around the Ouija board.
Since Lizzie was pretty much the ringleader, her friends
urged her to begin. She cleared her throat.
“Who is my father?” she asked nervously.
Being adopted, it was something Lizzie had often won-
dered about.
Without hesitation, the glass abruptly made its way to NO.
New Norcia 223
“Ask again!” urged her friends, scarcely able to believe what
they’d just witnessed.
They moved the glass back to the middle, and Lizzie
addressed the board for a second time; this time a little more loudly.
“Who is my father?”
The glass shot to NO once again.
“Tell me who my father is!” said Lizzie.
There was a momentary pause and then all hell broke loose.
The soundproofing began shooting off the walls, panel after
panel falling into the centre of the room.
The terrified girls scrambled over each other in a frantic
bid to escape. They were screaming as they made their way
into the daylight, attracting the attentions of everyone within earshot. It was obvious something was very wrong.
Unable to articulate what had just happened, the girls indi-
cated towards the music room. The nuns rushed in to find the
debris of the soundproofing littering the floor, in the middle of which sat the discarded Ouija board. They were of course
furious.
Once the nuns composed themselves, the girls were rep-
rimanded for their foolish behaviour and reminded that their
actions were akin to summoning evil. The nuns were scandal-
ized, not to mention frightened on the girls’ behalf. The girls’
punishment was yet to be decided, but there was no doubt it’s
severity would reflect on the seriousness of their transgres-
sion.
The punishments were however the least of the girls’ con-
cerns, they were too focused on their terror. And as darkness
fell it intensified.
224 New Norcia
St Gertrude’s sleeping cubicles ran off a long, narrow hall-
way; with each bed screened off by a flimsy floral curtain.
Despite being just a few feet away from each other, the girls
felt isolated and alone. Lizzie decided to sneak into her friend’s cubicle and seek refuge in the spare bed.
The nun on duty bid them all goodnight, perhaps lingering
a little longer than usual to ensure they had all settled down.
But soon after she left, the ghosts fired up once again.
It began with an unearthly wind whistling down the cor-
ridor, despite the fact that the windows and doors were shut.
The curtains began to flail frenetically at the opening of each cubicle and the girls began to scream. Then almost as if
orchestrated for maximum impact, the curtains all whipped
open in a de
ft and synchronized motion. It was more than the
girls could stand.
The nun rushed in to a scene of unbridled chaos. It was
impossible to calm the girls down.
“Get dressed now,” she ordered. “We’re going to the Mon-
astery!”
The entire population of Saint Gertrude’s was marched
up to the Monastery; a terrifying ten minute walk through
pitch darkness which skirted the town’s graveyard. Once there, Lizzie and her cohorts were taken to Confession, so that they
could show contrition for their folly in summoning up the
dead. It was thought that if the girls showed their remorse and sought forgiveness, the restless souls would once again be at
rest.
Thankfully that is what seems to have happened, as Liz
tells me there were no further disturbances at Saint Ger-
trude’s. The experience has now faded into a distant memory.
But sometimes, as when Liz came across my photo, the mem-
New Norcia 225
ory bubbles up and intensifies, until the terror comes rushing back.
There is no doubt that New Norcia has its ghosts, but
whether I captured one on film remains to be seen. I’ve been
told that I need to experience New Norcia after nightfall, as its numerous ghostly presences are particularly active at night. If and when I do, I will be sure to steer clear of Ouija boards. It seems that at least one of new Norcia’s resident ghosts has a particular dislike for them and I would hate to rile them up.
But then again, wouldn’t it make interesting reading for a follow up chapter? Perhaps I need to give it some thought …
chapter twenty-six
E l l i o t t
So many of the spirits I have connected with have come to
me through my podiatry practice. Likewise some of the
most amazing stories of spirit contact have sprung from my
patients’ mouths. It sometimes seems as though my clinic is
an endless source of ghost stories; whether they be my clients’
experiences or my own.
Melanie was one such patient, who came with a slew of
stories about her experiences with the other side. The word
around town was that she was quite a character as well as
being a gifted medium; she was the sort of person people
gravitated to. Our mutual friend Angie had relayed some inter-
Embracing the Spirits: True Stories of My Encounters With the Other Side Page 19
