Embracing the Spirits: True Stories of My Encounters With the Other Side

by Barbara Parks

  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-