Why do Christmas ghost stories in the field of entertainment have such a profound effect upon us? It isn’t hard to figure out. Although ghost stories and Yuletide enjoy a very happy marriage, Christmas is supposed to be the time when, if only for a few days, we enjoy ‘peace on earth and good will to all men’. Nothing is supposed to go wrong at Christmas or disturb our sensibilities. A Christmas ghost disturbs us all the more, then, for it is set in a misleading context. Film makers are well aware of the shock value of putting something evil in a benign setting, for it emphasises the bad all the more. Movies such as Black Christmas (1974), Silent Night, Evil Night (1974), Christmas Evil (1980) and Don’t Open Till Christmas (1984), all assault the senses with unspeakable horrors, they’re just horrors draped with tinsel and lights, that’s all.
But not all Christmas ghost stories are so graphic and obvious. Sometimes, it is what you don’t see that frightens you. Just when you’re getting to the last paragraph of the tale and sanity seems to be returning to the world within the pages of the book, something terrible happens. In the last sentence – or perhaps dying seconds of the film – the door creaks open, the footsteps in the attic start again or the face returns to peer in at the window. And then you know it isn’t really over. You may be terrified, but at least you can console yourself with the knowledge that the author/playwright/director has left the way open for a sequel. If your nerves can stand it, of course.
Christmas is a crowd-puller in the entertainment world, and so are ghost stories. Together they make a potent mix. Of course, there is also plenty of evidence to suggest that the connection between ghosts and Christmas is not just confined to the world of fiction …
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GHOSTS AT CHRISTMAS
CHRISTMAS EVE KITTY, BLACKPOOL
On Christmas Eve 1919, the lifeless body of Kathleen Breaks – or Kitty as she was known locally – was found amongst the sand dunes near Lytham Road not far from Blackpool. Early indications showed that Kitty had been shot; not once, but three times at point-blank range with a revolver. Kitty had been seeing a local man, Frederick Rothwell Holt, and, by all accounts, their relationship was a rough and ready one. The element of danger, along with the thought of making out with a ‘bad boy’ appeals to some women. But a lot of these relationships end in tragedy – just like this one.
A fight or an argument must have ensued during their last night together. What it was about we can only speculate. Perhaps Kitty pleaded with Fredrick to sort himself out and ‘go straight’ so they could set up together properly and honestly? Perhaps Kitty had told her lover she was pregnant, which could have brought on fear and resentment on his part towards Kitty, with the only way out for him being to get rid of her … and the baby. No one knows for certain, but, whatever did occur that fateful night, it resulted in the brutal murder of the young woman.
It is said that Holt’s bloodstained gloves, along with his service revolver – the one used to fire the fatal shots – and a footprint that matched his footwear, was discovered not far from where Kitty was found. This incriminating evidence led to the subsequent arrest of Holt and his execution shortly afterwards. Over the years many holiday makers and Blackpool locals have claimed to have seen the miserable itinerant spectre of this young woman, usually on Christmas Eve (the anniversary of the discovery of her body), as she meanders slowly along the sand dunes in a dazed and bewildered fashion. Her bullet wounds drip with fresh blood that stains her dirty clothes, sending chills down the spines of those who encounter her.
THE GHOST OF NORTH ROAD STATION, DARLINGTON
North Road railway station in Darlington was the scene of a spectacular ghost apparition that occurred one freezing cold December night. The railway station, which is now a popular museum, once served the Darlington to Stockton rail service and has had a reputation for being haunted ever since that fateful night.
A suicide is believed to have taken place there sometime between the late 1840s and 1890. It is thought that one Thomas Winter took his own life by shooting himself in the head in the gents’ lavatory, and it is his spectre that is now said to haunt the station. Winter’s body was found in the station by railway staff, whereupon he was taken to the on-site cellars where he was laid until they were able to move him to the local mortuary or some other place of rest.
One cold winter’s night in December 1890 a man was observed coming in and out of the cellar area by a night-watchman who was on duty at the time. The night-watchman described the intruder as ‘wearing old-fashioned attire, including an old style hat and coat’. ‘With him,’ he stated, ‘was a large black dog.’ The night-watchman decided to approach the intruder and challenge him, but something was to occur that would change the life of the watchman and give the station its ghostly reputation.
What happened next no one knows for sure but it was reported that the mysterious figure, for some reason, took a swing at the night-watchman and knocked him to the ground. The watchman got back to his feet and quickly took a swing back at the intruder. To his utter shock, he found that his fist and arm went straight through the mystery man. The punch connected not with the stranger’s face, but the wall behind it, resulting in bruised and scrapped knuckles; he was not having a good night!
To make things worse, the spectre, or whatever it was, set his fierce canine companion upon the night-watchman and stood gazing by as it bit and mauled him savagely. After what seemed like a lifetime for the watchman, the mystery figure called the animal off, whereupon they both walked away and straight through the cellar wall. The night-watchman picked himself up, brushed himself down and headed back to the office to recuperate from his terrifying ordeal. Upon telling his story he was ridiculed and scorned, with people suggesting that he was merely drunk on the job. It was only when they discovered that the night-watchman was a devout teetotaller and a god-fearing man that his story was taken seriously.
The Incorporated Society for Psychical Research (SPR) were convinced that the story held some validity and sent an investigator up from London to document the case. After interviewing the witness and conducting his research, he left the North East of England convinced that what went on that cold, dark December night was a bona fide paranormal incident. To the best of my knowledge, this spectral apparition has never been seen again, although ghost hunters in the North East insist paranormal activity still occurs at the station from time to time.
And maybe it does; after a visit to the station in late February 2010 with Mike Hallowell, and after a lengthily chat with the museum manager, Dave Tetlow, we discovered that the museum is not just host to one ghost, but three. A man in red is said to have been seen by many children in the engine compartment of the Tennant 1463 locomotive. He is said to look at the controls of the engine before disappearing into thin air. The third ghost is a female and is known as the Third-class Carriage Ghost. She is seen sitting in the back of a third-class carriage that was built in 1865. This Victorian spectre is thought to be responsible for many strange noises that seems to emanate from this area of the museum.
The museum is fascinating to say the least and my trip there was very enjoyable. However, the cellar ghost has certainly left its mark on the building, leaving me in no doubt that this particular Christmas ghost is one of the most frightening I have ever come across.
THE PHANTOM BUTTERFLY OF BATH
The Theatre Royal in Bath is said to be the most haunted theatre in Britain. This beautiful Georgian theatre was built over 200 years ago and is home to a phantom butterfly that flutters around the theatre during performances at Christmas.
The first sighting was around 1948, when a new production was being performed. The dancers in the show were all dressed as butterflies and were doing a ballet number when all of a sudden a butterfly appeared from nowhere and fluttered about the stage, much to the joy and surprise of the audience. Over the years the phantom butterfly has appeared on countless occasions during productions and shows, fluttering around the theatre and then simply disappearing. The butterf
ly has become something of a good luck charm and is said to appear before certain productions, indicating the show will be a great success.
The theatre is also home to two other ghosts. A lady in a grey dress is said to walk the halls and passageways of the theatre after she killed herself in the 1880s, after discovering that her husband had killed her lover, and the ghost of a doorman in eighteenth-century garb is often seen. No one knows who he is.
THE GHOST CHILDREN OF BRAMBER CASTLE, SUSSEX
Not much is left of Bramber Castle. In fact, apart from infinitesimal traces of the curtain wall in the north-east area of the location, the wall of the gatehouse tower is the only segment of the castle that survives. Rising almost 75ft in height, it stands alone in a secluded beauty spot, surrounded by forest and grassland, not far from the village of Bramber. The word Bramber derives from the Saxon word Brymmburh, meaning fortified hill.
The castle was built to safeguard the large port that was situated on the River Adur and continued to do so until the castle was attacked and subsequently destroyed by the Parliamentary forces. William De Breone or Braose owned it during the reign of King John and, after William fell from the king’s favour, John ordered that William’s children should be taken from him and held captive at Windsor Castle. When William heard that King John’s men were on their way he quickly fled to Ireland with his family, in the hope of a peaceful life, but it was not to be. They were soon captured and returned to Windsor Castle and, as punishment to William (and an effort to deter anyone else from betraying the monarch), the king imprisoned William’s four children and starved them to death.
Of course, local legend claims that the area surrounding the castle and the village is haunted, and it is believed that it is the wretched ghosts of William’s children that haunt the area. They are said to be sad and gaunt-looking as they scramble around the place in search of bread. On Christmas Day they have also been spotted begging for food, although why they appear to beg on 25 December nobody knows.
THE CARLISLE DEVIL DOG
Devil Dogs or Phantom Hounds are said to roam the country from John O’Groats to Land’s End. Wherever you are in the UK (or abroad for that matter), you can be rest assured that there is a traditional local name for the hell hound that frequents the area. In Scotland ghost dogs are known as the Muckle Black Tyke. In Wales they are Gwyllgi (meaning dog of darkness). In the Midlands the black dog ghost is known as the Hooter, and in Yorkshire it is a Barguest. In Staffordshire it is known locally as Padfoot, while in East Anglia (more specifically Norfolk) it is Black Shuck, or Old Shuck.
In the nineteenth century, a blacksmith by the name of John Carter made the decision to depart from his London home and move to Carlisle, where he had the chance of much better-paid employment with a job that also had good prospects. The chance to better his own life and that of his wife seemed too good to miss, but it was a decision he would later come to regret. The Carter family arrived in Carlisle on Christmas Eve and rented a coach to take them to the nearby village, where they would live. They were hoping to be settled into their new home in time for Yuletide. As the coach, driven by a rather well-dressed gentleman, took off through the countryside, John Carter noticed how incredibly foggy it was becoming.
The fog came in thick and fast, but this didn’t seem to bother the driver, who appeared to have a preference for riding at breakneck speed. At one point the carriage almost careered off the road as it manoeuvred round a sharp corner, but still the coachman used his whip to drive the horse on ever faster. Carter, very much alarmed at this point, shouted for the driver to slow down.
‘Nay, sire! I daren’t! Should I slow the coach now a bad thing will befall us, and no mistake!’
Carter, however, kept shouting at the driver, insisting that he go slower and, eventually, the man agreed, but told the blacksmith that the result would be upon his own head.
Not long after the coach had slowed down, Carter was horror-struck to see a terrible dog-like creature racing alongside the carriage. It was a large, black dog with ‘evil, glowing eyes and a lolling tongue’. Every now and then the hound would rear up on its hind legs and paw at the carriage, as if trying to get inside.
‘Go faster! Go faster!’ cried the terrified blacksmith, as his wife shrieked with fear.
‘Do you see now, sire? Do you see why I did not want to slow down the carriage?’
John Carter could see all too clearly and now fully understood. Now, instead of going slower, he begged the coachman to speed up as much as he could.
Mile after mile the carriage thundered through the Cumbrian countryside and the thick, nauseating fog. On occasions, the spectral dog – for that’s what it was – would fall behind, but only moments later it would, to their horror, catch up again. Eventually the coach approached a river and the driver attempted to guide it over a narrow bridge. Alas, the coach was too wide and became stuck on the bridge, causing the driver to shout, ‘Now we’re done!’ Without hesitation, the howling, slobbering dog began to paw at the carriage door with such strength that it was only a matter of time before it shattered. In desperation, the coach driver cracked his whip at the beast, causing it to fall from the bridge into the frozen river.
The coachman, blacksmith and his wife watched in relief, as the demonic spectre was washed away in the ice-cold current. Eventually the coach was freed from the narrow bridge and continued on its journey. Neither Carter nor his wife ever went near that bridge again, in case they should encounter the ‘hound from hell’ once more. The driver told the blacksmith and his wife that the phantom dog had roamed the area for generations, and that locals were so frightened of it they were forbidden to mention the beast in public. That was why he set off on the journey with such tremendous speed.
Tales of eerie dogs with glowing eyes are very common indeed, and there are more bona fide accounts of phantom black dogs than you may think. Of course, it’s easy to take them all with a pinch of salt, but, who knows, Hooter, Black Shuck, Padfoot, Barguest, whatever he is called, he may be waiting for you, my friend, the next time you decide to venture out on a dark winter’s night.
THE GHOST OF GRAINGER STREET, NEWCASTLE-UPON-TYNE
William T. Stead’s Real Ghost Stories (1891) tells the fascinating story of a north-eastern man who was so desperate to see his pictures, which were taken at a photography shop on Grainger Street in Newcastle-upon-Tyne, that he actually went and attempted to pick them up. That doesn’t sound so strange does it? But, he seemingly went to the store and asked for his pictures while he was lying on his death bed 7 miles away! Let me explain …
The story begins on one bitterly cold afternoon in December 1890. Some versions suggest it was on 6 December, while others that it was 16 December. Whatever the actual date, we can be sure that the event occurred during the run up to the Christmas of 1890.
A certain Mr J.T. Thompson arrived at the shop on Grainger Street to have his picture taken by the local and renowned photographer James Dickinson. Dickinson suggested that, as he was not busy at that moment, Thompson could sit for his photograph there and then, as opposed to arranging another time slot for the sitting.
Thompson was led into the photography studio, promptly shown to his seat, and a selection of six photographs were taken. After the sitting, Thompson left the shop to all intents and purposes a satisfied man. He had chosen one photograph that he liked and had subsequently placed his order.
A few weeks later, on 3 January 1891, James Dickinson arrived at his shop to open for business. It was his first day back after the Christmas and New Year break and he was eager to get started. An employee of Dickinson had telephoned him earlier to explain that he was ill and unable to attend work, resulting in Dickinson arriving at his store one hour earlier than he would have usually done. Had he turned up at his normal time of 9 a.m. instead of 8 a.m., he would have missed his chance of being a key witness in one of Victorian England’s most bewildering ghost encounters.
As Dickinson was preparing for the day to co
me, a young man entered the shop. ‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘I have come to see if my photograph is ready.’
‘Good morning, sir,’ replied Dickinson, ‘and your name is?’
‘Thompson, J.T. Thompson.’
‘And what is your address?’ asked Dickinson.
‘William Street, Hebburn, Tyne and Wear.’
Dickinson asked the man if he could see his receipt, to which Thompson replied he did not have it with him. However, Thompson had enough identification papers with him to satisfactorily prove to the photographer that he was who he said he was. Dickinson then asked Thompson if he could come back in a few hours, when his assistant would be in, as he was extremely busy. Thompson replied in the most strange way, saying, ‘Look, I have been travelling all night to get here and I cannot come back.’
Thompson looked wretchedly ill and very tired to say the least; because of this, Dickinson decided to offer him a compromise. But, before Dickinson had a chance to say anything, Thompson had turned around and stormed off.
‘Can I post the picture to you?’ Dickinson asked the man as he left the shop, but he received no answer. Thompson left the shop, slamming the door behind him, and disappeared into Grainger Street. Dickinson decided that he had better do something to appease the man in order to keep his custom. A good customer is a happy customer, so they say, so Dickinson decided that he should post out Thompson’s photograph to his house, without charge for the postage or his picture.
Ghosts at Christmas Page 2
