by Bill Jessome
Chapter Five
Haunted
Holiday Spots
The Ghost of Haddon Hall
T here are people who believe that there is activity in the spirit world, and that spirits are, if you will, reluctant to give up the ghost. Spirits often come back, some never leave, because of a strong attachment to their home. If this is so, let this journey begin in a place where a ghost keeps a nightly vigil—a place where both humans and spirits cohabitate.
In the peaceful setting of Chester, Nova Scotia, sits an inn high on a hill overlooking Mahone Bay and its many islands.
Haddon Hall was built around the turn of the century and changed hands many times before it eventually fell into disrepair. It was rescued in 1993 and was restored to its former grace and beauty by its new owners.
Today, Haddon Hall is a warm, bright, and friendly place—visitors who stay the night agree, with one exception. When night falls, there is a dark side to Haddon Hall; there are peculiar sounds in the darkness, and for good reason, Haddon Hall, we are told, is haunted.
One morning while a maid was in the bathroom cleaning the tub, she was poked from behind. She knew she was alone in the room. When she told the other maids of her encounter with whatever it was, she was surprised to learn that they, too, had had similar experiences but each had kept it to herself. They all agreed that the place must be haunted and when they brought their suspicion to Cynthia O’Connell, the inn’s manager. She merely smiled and told them, “yes, I know. I too have been contacted by the spirit.” She told them to go about their work and not to be afraid; the ghost was a friendly spirit and means no harm.
Soon after, while one of the maids was making a bed, she felt the presence of a ghost in the room. Summing up all the courage she had, the maid turned around and said to the ghost, “I am here only to do my job and nothing else. Please leave me alone.” From that moment on, she was never bothered again.
On another occasion, Cynthia O’Connel, who lived in an apartment in the back of the inn, awoke one night from a deep sleep to the sound of knocking on her bedroom door. When she went into the inn to investigate, thinking perhaps a guest had lost a key, there was no one at the door. When she returned to her apartment, she went into the living room to check on her pet dog, and her cockatoo bird. She found the bird lying on the cage floor nearly frozen to death. The portable heater she kept on to keep the bird warm had turned itself out and she was able to save the little bird just in time. To this day, no one can convince Cynthia that it wasn’t the ghost who alerted her to the problem.
Another Chester resident who was a frequent visitor to Haddon Hall is Reverend Allan Gibson, now retired but knew the lady in question. There are skeptics of course, people who are hard to convince; but do keep an open mind. Reverend Gibson is convinced that the former owner of Haddon Hall, whom some believe is the ghost, was too nice a lady to actually scare anyone.
Ghosts, so we are informed, come in all shapes and sizes. After all, where they not like us at one time. Some have the power to appear or remain invisible. To be heard and understood or to remain silent. The Haddon Hall ghost makes her presence known in other ways.
On a personal note; when cameraman Jim Kevamman and I first arrived at Haddon Hall we were taken on a tour of the Inn and when we came out of this room we stood by the open door discussing the direction the story would take when suddenly the door slammed shut. We immediately opened the door and checked inside—no one was there. The windows were closed. The innkeeper’s response, “Nothing unusual about that.”
The Spirits of
Grand Manan Island
S omeone asked for the binoculars. Someone else said, “I don’t believe it!” Another responded, “Oh my, oh my, you can believe it. That inn is haunted by ugly old women dragging behind them old men in chains!” Someone added, “And all through the night you can hear the dragging of chains over the floor and the moaning of the dead!” Another exclaimed, “I’m not staying there!”
We sailed past the rocky cliffs of New Brunswick’s Grand Manan Island just as the fog was rolling over it. For better or worse, we were all registered at the inn that night. The inn is set back from the main road, and as you approach this gothic setting you feel as if you’re being watched; it has a sinister and threatening look to it—an ill-feeling that’s hard to shake off. And the place does have a questionable and shady past.
Someone explained: “Back in 1898, a Captain Jim Pettes sat down with a few of his cronies for a hand of poker. Either luck was on his side, or something was controlling the flow of cards his way. The old captain put down a royal flush in spades and left the card table with the deed to the inn—and maybe a curse on his new winnings from a poor loser!
Ol’ Cap’n Pettes loved the inn, but not the location, so he had it moved next to the Marathon Inn. The new addition would be known as “The Annex.”
Was there a curse put on the place? And who is haunting the Inn? From what we’re told, and as you can read in Dorothy Dearborn’s Book of Ghosts and Demons, three of the workmen involved in moving the inn were accidentally or mysteriously killed. According to the employees, at least one, or even all three of the dead workers haunt the inn.
Those who have spent a sleepless night there tell of strange sounds in the room. One guest just up and left in the middle of the night because something was trying to chase her from her bed. Lamps were turned on and off, and even thrown across the room. When her securely locked door flew open, that did it. They found her in the morning at the ferry terminal asleep in her car. She couldn’t wait to get off the island.
A short time later, a biologist from Pennsylvania retired for the night, and discerned a distinct whiff of lavender in the room. She kept still in her bed listening and waiting. Suddenly the bed began vibrating violently and the blankets flew across the room.
On another floor of the inn, a young husband and wife were kept awake all night while the taps in the sink and tub were being turned on and off.
Late one evening another guest, on her way back to her room, felt she was being followed. When she turned around, she saw the shape of what looked like a young man standing there watching her. Then he, or whatever it was, vanished.
The owner of the inn has yet to encounter the apparitions—at least that’s the story he’s sticking to. One thing he doesn’t do is scoff at what guests tell him about their experiences with whatever it is that haunts the place.
When you leave Grand Manan and the Marathon Inn there is a feeling of relief. A feeling of escaping whatever it was that kept you awake.
The Ghost of Keltic Lodge
E ven a ghost is entitled to a holiday. And where else can you find a better setting than the famous Keltic Lodge in the highlands of Cape Breton? Some believe it’s the rarefied air that brings back, time and time again, the spirit that haunts the lodge. Others say it’s the isolation. The romantics believe it is love that keeps the spirit alive, or at the very least, active.
Not so long ago, a tourist who stayed at Keltic Lodge said she felt a strange feeling come over her the moment she stepped out of her car. Something she couldn’t explain forced her to look up, and there in the window she saw a man staring down at her. The visitor said she couldn’t shake the feeling the whole week she stayed at the lodge. One night when she was in the dining room with her husband and friends, she had to return to her room for something she had forgotten, and while hurrying down the long narrow corridor, that strange feeling grew much stronger. When she looked down the hall, there standing in the doorway was the same man she had seen when she first arrived. Needless to say, the lady did not go to her room; she turned on her heels and ran. When she told management about the stranger, she was informed that her description of the stranger did not fit any one on their staff, or for that matter any of the lodge’s guests, but she was told the description did fit the original owner, who had died in the United States in the early 1930s. The lady exclaimed, “Then you have a non-paying guest! You have a ghost sta
ying here!”
This is how this touching ghost story began and ended.
Deep and true love is forever. It crosses dimensions; it knows no boundaries. The ghost in this story fell in love with another ghost! It is a tender tale from the highlands.
In the late nineteenth century, Henry Corson of Ohio was told by the family doctor that his wife was suffering from tuberculosis. If she was to survive, she must move out of the city to the country, where there was plenty of clean, fresh air. Accordingly, young Mr. Corson took his wife on a long and leisurely holiday that included a visit with their friend Alexander Graham Bell, who lived in Baddeck, Nova Scotia. Mr. Bell took the Corsons on a trip over Cape Smokey. Once they arrived at the top of the highlands, and took in the breathtaking view, the Corsons noticed a point of land jutting out into the ocean and they immediately knew they had found their paradise.
At that time, a large log home was built near where Keltic Lodge now stands. The Corson estate soon became famous for its trees and orchards. Young Mr. Corson was also an astute businessman; he raised cattle and owned and operated a thriving dairy farm. But nothing lasts forever. Apparently the Highlands did agree with Mrs. Corson, who was not only cured of her illness, but outlived her husband. Loneliness and the pressures of business, however, forced the widow to return permanently to her home in Akron, Ohio. Just as well, because in the mid-1930s, the strong arm of the government reached and expropriated Corson’s property to create parklands. Local legend maintains that when Mrs. Corson died, her spirit came back to her beloved highlands to be with the spirit of her husband. Some ask why only the ghost of old Henry haunts the lodge. Perhaps he’s still looking after his investments, and then again, maybe he’s angry over the government’s land grab!
The Ghost of Oscar Wilde
I f someone is there, show yourself. Please don’t scare me so!” That’s what the lady from Massachusetts told the desk clerk she had said to the strange figure who’d appeared in her room the night before she checked out.
“Did you actually see anyone?” asked the clerk.
“Of course I did. He was tall. Wore a wide-brimmed hat and a cape over his shoulders and he was reading from a book he had in his hand.
His lips were moving, but I couldn’t hear him.”
“Oh, him,” said the clerk, “that was Oscar.”
“Oscar? Oscar who?” asked the lady.
“Oscar Wilde—I mean the ghost of Oscar Wilde.”
That incident supposedly happened sometime in the mid-1980s. And there have been many similar reports since then.
It was a hundred years earlier when poet and dramatist Oscar Wilde first arrived on our shores. Halifax and Saint John were the first two cities scheduled on his North American tour. And yes, while in Halifax, Mr. Wilde did indeed stay at the Waverley Inn on Barrington Street. For a hefty fee, Mr. Wilde would visit your home and entertain you and your friends by reading from his poetry.
Oscar must have been quite a sight to see walking down Barrington Street. He was one of the most outrageous dresser of the Victorian age, often wearing green velvet pantaloons and gold buckle shoes.
Following his whirlwind visit to Halifax, Oscar promised his new friends that he loved the city and its people so much, that he would return one day. That promise was never kept—or was it?
Some companies will go to any lengths to promote their business interests. However, the staff and management of the Waverley Inn have never actually said they’ve the ghost of Oscar Wilde in residence. In all fairness, it’s the weary traveller who says the inn is haunted. But the descriptions they give of the ghost fit Oscar right down to his pantaloons.
There is, in his honour, an Oscar Wilde room at the Waverley. Should your sleep be interrupted by this lively spirit, fear not—he’s probably just looking for an audience; loves to hear his own voice reading from one of his own works.
The Moxham Castle Ghost
I t was after midnight when I checked in at Sydney’s Holiday Inn. Next morning at breakfast, the waitress greeted me with a smile, a much welcomed cup of coffee and a question. Actually, it was more of a statement than a question: “You know, Mr. Jessome, we have a ghost right here in the inn.” Hmmm, I thought. So, while I sipped my coffee, she told me the story of the mysterious ghost. Being a romantic, the waitress believed the motel was haunted because the ghost had supposedly stayed here for part of her honeymoon. She added; “And who knows, maybe the husband died or was killed and when the wife died, her spirit returned to the place where they had been happy young lovers.” As an after thought, she said, “Then again, maybe there’s a connection with Moxham Castle.” The castle had once stood on the site of the Holiday Inn. That observation sparked my interest, so I agreed to investigate.
According to the housekeepers and waitresses I interviewed at the Holiday Inn, the ghost in residence wanders aimlessly in the long and narrow corridors of the lower level of the inn. She has also been seen passing straight through the walls and doors into rooms.
One housekeeper in particular was singled out by the ghost. Debbie Macdonald remembered encountering the spirit while doing housekeeping duties on the lower level. Debbie said she felt a strong presence when she came out of a room to get clean linen from her cart. Although she couldn’t see anyone, she was certain that whomever, or whatever, it was, was standing there watching her. Debbie tried to shake the feeling, but it became much stronger. In the end, she gathered up enough courage to confront the spirit. “Please tell me what is it you want and who you are. Tell me, or leave me alone!” Debbie Macdonald was never bothered again. However, she did leave the Holiday Inn for a similar job at another motel.
Remembering the waitress’ comment about a possible connection between the ghost and Moxham Castle, I looked for a possible connection and found one!
At the Holiday Inn, speculation about the ghost is rampant. “Could it be the ghost in question is the lady of Moxham Castle, Mr Jessome?”
“Don’t know.”
“Maybe, Mr. Jessome, her spirit is haunting the motel because she missed the castle so much that when she died, her spirit came back and finding the castle gone, she is forever lost in the Holiday Inn?” Who really knows.
I said my goodbyes and checked out. On the drive to the airport I wondered who the ghost really was. The next time you visit my fair city and you need lodgings for the night, the Holiday Inn may offer you something more than a good night’s sleep.
The Dueling Ghosts
T he Royal Bank of Canada in Annapolis Royal was built on the property where an inn once stood. It was a popular inn especially for travellers and the military. The inn was constructed in the early 1800s and before it was torn down, was the domain of not one, but two lively military spirits.
This is what a young army officer who stayed overnight at the inn told his fiancée the following day: No sooner was he comfortably in bed when he heard something strange outside his door. It was as if something or someone was trying to push through the door, which was bolted from the inside—whomever it was would have to smash it down to get in. Even so, he was afraid. Suddenly, the door burst open and two ghost-like figures wearing the uniforms of officers began dueling. The young man sat there transfixed, listening to their heavy breathing and the crashing of steel against steel. The duel went on all night until one of the officers plunged his sword into the chest of the other. The young man watched in horror as the officer severed the hand of the dead soldier—the hand that held the sword. He then lifted the body and hurled it through the open window to the courtyard below.
There is a further connection between the inn and the bank. In 1870, when the foundation was being dug for the bank—known then as the union bank of Halifax—the skeletal remains of an army officer were uncovered. Was it the body of the officer who was thrown out the window of the inn? Some say the right hand of the skeleton was missing! A coincidence?
Nelson’s Ghost
T his Maritime Mystery comes from Pleasant Point, Nova Scot
ia. It’s a peaceful place where the waters of Musquodoboit Harbour wash up on its shore—so pleasant a place that the ghost of Admiral Horatio Nelson decided this was where he’d find companionship and eternal rest.
Ivan and Mildred Kent, who operate a bed and breakfast in Pleasant Point, knew they had a ghost living in their lighthouse, but didn’t know for a long time who it was.
Ivan claims there’s a family connection between his family and Admiral Nelson. Ivan’s great-grandfather, William Thomas Kent, was born in England, and joined Nelson’s flagship as a navigator. He was aboard the Victory when Nelson was mortally wounded in the battle of Trafalgar, and escorted the admiral’s body back to England.
Following a distinguished career in the British navy, Lieutenant Kent immigrated to Canada and was, until his retirement, governor of Melville Island Prison in Halifax. Kent then moved his family to a home he built at Pleasant Point.
In the early 1900s, the old homestead was torn down and a lighthouse was built on the site. End of Nelson’s ghost? No, it simply moved into the lighthouse. But Ivan and his wife Mildred didn’t know who the ghost was until a psychic visited the area. While exploring the grounds one day, the psychic’s visit to the lighthouse was cut short. No sooner was she about to climb the steps to the top, when she quickly left, telling her companion that the place was haunted. Sometime later, the Kents received a letter from the psychic telling them that the ghost was none other than Admiral Horatio Nelson. That letter awakened in Ivan the exploits of his great-grandfather, and his connection with Admiral Nelson.
Ivan, with his back to the famous lighthouse, paused and smiled as he remembered the story that was handed down from one generation of Kents to the next: “When Nelson’s spirit returned to Portsmouth, it realized his body was going to be taken up to London for a hero’s burial. “What the hell was the point of me going up there with that miserable body of mine? It only had one eye and one arm anyway. Instead, I’ll join my navigator friend, William Kent, who’s still a young man with a lot of sailing left in him. And that’s what the ghost of Nelson did until his shipmate retired and immigrated to Nova Scotia.”
