So, why do the monks haunt this area? Well, it has been suggested that the Round House was known as a ‘counting house’ during the monk’s occupation of the priory, and by all accounts it had been ‘tampered with’ in some way. Unfortunately, my source does not go into details as to what happened there, but categorically states that, ‘As if to protest this sacrilege, the ghosts of the monks have taken to haunt.’
THE BATTLE OF EDGEHILL, WARWICKSHIRE
On 23 October 1642 the Battle of Edgehill took place in Warwickshire. Twenty-four thousand men fought against each other, with many men perishing on the battlefield. The ironic thing is that that particular battle had no victors, with both armies eventually making off in their respective directions after camping out on the battlefield after the fight. The battle was fought between Charles I – who had 11,000 men – and the Earl of Essex – who had 13,000 men – on the sloped banks of Edgehill over-looking the Avon Valley, south of Warwick, and it marked the onset of the English Civil War.
Sixty-two days after the battle, on Christmas Eve, the sounds of battle cries, galloping and neighing horses, and the thud of far-off drums being beaten were heard by three wandering shepherds and many other locals. Then, out of the blue, the two armies appeared in phantom form in the skies over Edgehill, battling out once more the fight that had recently occurred there. This spectral scene was reported to have lasted for many hours before it slowly faded into the ether, leaving the skies over Edgehill silent once more.
Those who saw the spectral forms on 24 December 1642 rushed off to sign declarations to bear witness to what they had seen. This resulted in many people gathering at the site the following night to see if the phantom soldiers would return once more. December 25 1642 saw the Battle of Edgehill being played out once more in spectral form, giving many more people a chance to see, and verify for themselves, these ghastly visions of brutal warfare. Many people continued to return to the site to see for themselves what everyone was by now talking about but for the next four of five days the vision failed to appear. It was almost a week later (some suggest 31 December) when the ghost armies appeared once more, much to the delight of those who were awaiting them. Interestingly, when King Charles I heard about the visions, he sent some of his men to see the spectacle. It is reported that a number of these men saw the re-enactment and actually recognised some of their fellow comrades while doing so. They all testified this on oath to Charles I.
The following evening, the phantom soldiers took to the battlefields (or battle skies in this case) for one last time before fading away into the atmosphere, never to be seen again. However, it is said that for many years after the Battle of Edgehill, on 23 October, the sounds of the battle could be heard as though it was being played out yet again, only this time no visions appeared. Peter Underwood comments in his book The A–Z of British Ghosts that within the space of twelve months of the battle being fought, a small pamphlet was published that described the spectral re-enactment of the armies that fought each other on that fateful day back in 1642. It is thanks to these writings that the story of Edgehill remains in our modern-day literature, and is a testament to the fact that these types of visions do indeed occur.
Why the phantom battle was seen over two nights at Christmas and another two nights a week later and not on the anniversary of the actual battle like the auditory phenomenon was, I guess we will never know for sure.
THE CHRISTMAS GIFT … OF LIFE, TAUNTON, SOMERSET
A newspaper clipping from the Somerset County Herald, dated 18 December 1948, carried a fascinating story of kindness, love, sadness, death and joy. This tale of a friendly and warm presence really epitomises the ‘Christmas ghost’.
It was 1730, and one Henry Transom MA arrived in Taunton, Somerset, to begin work at Taunton Grammar School. His specialised subject was ‘Classics’. Henry Transom was a single man aged forty, and rented a number of rooms in a large Tudor-style house in East Street in the town. He was a devout Christian and regularly attended services at his local church, St Mary’s.
Farmers at this time complained that they could not sell their grain due to the lack of demand so the government stepped in with a new, but not so clever initiative. They suggested that the farmers having trouble selling on their grain should begin to brew and manufacture their own alcohol – especially Gin – and pledged to cancel all the taxes on its production, and the need for a licence to sell it. Now, people couldn’t get enough of their share of the grain. It had gone from one extreme to the other. Of course it wasn’t just the quality beverage-makers making the drink; a great deal of cheap, crude and very badly made alcohol was also produced. Many people were made ill with the ‘dodgy grog’ and health took a serious turn for the worse. Dirty streets, insanitary houses and rotten drinking water helped to pave the way for a widespread outbreak of small-pox and cholera. The death rate, especially in young children, was high.
Henry Transom noticed all of this occurring, and it bothered him. Being the kind of man he was, he decided to try and help the poor and needy. He was inspired by the Greek physicians of ancient history who gave freely to the poor. These Greek healers, who employed the Hippocratic concept of therapeutics, used means such as diets and medicinal herbs, which, it was thought, attained a high level of positive results. This was in stark contrast to the early eighteenth-century methods of treatment such as using bleedings and drugs.
He was prompted into action one night when he came across a sentence in the Bible which read, ‘I was sick, and ye visited me’. He pondered long and hard over the sentence, which seemed to ‘light up’ as his eyes fell across pages. From that point he made regular gifts and donations to his local infirmary – which included seven parcels of delicacies being sent to the convalescents every Christmas. His good deeds won him a place in the hearts of the poorest of people. It was also his goal to build a hospital in Taunton; somewhere for the sick to go. He visited the poor and unwell all over the community, taking gifts and offering prayers for them. In half the cases, it is said, he believed that ‘people needed prayers more that they needed pills’, and ‘meditation, more than they needed medication’. In 1758, after many years of tending to his people, and not realising his dream of the local hospital, he contracted small-pox and sadly died.
Transom’s close friends and colleagues duly paid their homage to him after his death, but noticed something rather odd while visiting his former rented accommodation on East Street. ‘It had seemed,’ they said, ‘that even after his death, his very essence, his very being, had soaked into the surrounding walls. The warmth of his personality seemed to survive in the rooms,’ they claimed.
Forty-three years passed and in 1801 a corn merchant named George Marshall purchased the property, which included Transom’s former rented rooms. George had a son, an only child, who attended the Grammar School in Taunton. His bedroom was the same one which once housed Transom all those years ago and, coincidentally, he too was called Henry. Some time after moving into the new house, the night before Christmas, Henry became ill. He had contracted pneumonia, so his father had quickly contacted a local nurse, who immediately came to the young boy’s aid. Arriving at the house on Christmas Eve, she hurriedly ran upstairs into the boy’s room to tend to him.
While upstairs, the nurse experienced what she described as ‘two extraordinary phenomena’ happening. She saw a luminous patch mysteriously appear on the bedroom wall in which she saw the distinct outline of a rod and serpent (symbols that were often associated with the Greek physicians). Then, from out of nowhere, appeared a man’s figure across the room. It glided silently past her before placing its hand on to the sick boy’s forehead. A man’s voice then uttered, ‘I was sick, and ye visited me’, before the figure stood upright, and then walked off through the wall. The nurse claimed that the room felt as though it was filled with a ‘gracious presence’ and reported that, from that point on, young Henry began his miraculous road to recovery; a very welcome Christmas gift, to say the least.
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nbsp; Those that knew Transom believed that it was his spirit which had came back to save the life of young Henry, continuing his good work in the afterlife.
Things were not the same in that house from that point. A barrage of weird occurrences were documented, indicating that Transom was indeed still there, making his presence known. For example, a roll of bandages appeared from nowhere one day. On another occasion the family Bible was found open at Matthew, chapter 25, on the page where the sentence, ‘I was sick, and ye visited me’ occurs. Pencil markings began to appear on the walls from time to time, with one scribbling in particular reading the word latros, the Greek word for physician. All these incidences supported the idea that Transom was back; but why?
In 1810 work began on the Taunton and Somerset Hospital, resulting in immense progression being made in regard to the health and care of the people of Taunton and Somerset. From the moment the foundation stone was laid on April 11, the spirit of Henry Transom was laid too. No more accounts of ‘odd happenings’ were reported at the house in East Street and all fell quiet in Taunton. Henry Transom was evidently so passionate about seeing his much-wanted hospital built that he had to come back from beyond the grave to see it.
THE GHOST GIRL OF WESTOE, SOUTH TYNESIDE
During my research into ghosts associated with the festive season, I happened to stumble upon a Christmas Ghost story which has to be one of the most heartbreaking tales I have ever heard and allegedly resulted in one of South Tyneside’s most unhappy ghosts.
A colleague, Violet, recalled a tale that was told to her by her mother, who in turn had the story told to her by her mother. This is how the classic ghost story survives through the years; but having said that, it is also how the ghost story can become distorted and potentially embellished, so we must be careful here.
Dating back at least to the mid-to-late nineteenth century, this tale, which is quite well known by the Westoe folk in South Tyneside, begins one Christmas Eve when a young lady, seemingly a housemaid or a domestic worker, had a ‘night out’.
She worked in one of the ‘big houses’ at Westoe and, it seems, was instructed by her master not to partake in local Christmas festivities. However, these strict instructions were blatantly disregarded by the servant girl and she proceeded to put on her ‘glad rags’ and ‘hit the town’. Like most folk, she wanted to go out and celebrate the festive season with friends. She quietly crept out of her master’s residence and made her way to one of the local inns. Not knowing the exact year, it’s difficult to say just where she may have ended up, but in all probability it would have been the Westoe Tavern, or the now long-demolished Mariner’s Arms. However, she may have journeyed a little farther and downed a few at the Vigilant Inn or the Ship Inn at Harton Village nearby.
After her night out at the inn, she merrily made her way back to her master’s house and tried to gain access. However, she was met by her master who was furious with her. Not only did he seriously reprimand her for refusing to comply with his orders, but he also told the girl never to darken his door again. He closed the door and locked it behind him, leaving her out in the cold. Now she was in big trouble, for not only was the master’s house her place of employment, it was also where she lived.
It was a bitterly cold winter’s night and thick snow had fallen across the land. The servant girl had nowhere to go, so she began banging on the doors and windows of her master’s house, pleading with him to forgive her and let her back in, but he refused. In desperation, she began banging on the doors of the other houses in the neighbourhood, but to no avail. The only thing she was met with was the twitching of the curtains at the windows, and the occasional individual peering from inside the warm and cosy abodes. All she could do now was attempt to find some shelter for the night. Frantically looking around, she spotted a large hollow tree, so she hurriedly scrambled over to it. As she climbed into the hollow, she sobbed uncontrollably. She curled herself up in a ball, and tried to keep warm. The following morning she was found, still inside the tree, frozen to death. My colleague tells me that the ghost of the young woman has been seen in Westoe village on Christmas Eve, still searching desperately for shelter.
I wanted to know more about this sad tale so I contacted Mike Hallowell; for the last twelve years Mike has penned a weekly spooky column called WraithScape (formerly Bizarre) in the Shields Gazette. He was very much intrigued when I asked him about the tale but admitted that he knew nothing about it. However, Mike did make a suggestion. With the information I had collated, he would write the story up in his column and, at the same time, make an appeal to the good folk of Westoe – or anywhere else for that matter – to contact me if they could shed any light upon the tale.
What was the servant’s name? Where exactly did she work? Where was she from? Did she really exist? Could we trace anyone who had actually seen her ghost? The piece went in the paper on Thursday, 28 January 2010 and only one response was received thereafter. In a letter addressed to Mike Hallowell, a lady claimed that 200 yards down the lane that runs next to the Westoe public house stood a tree trunk that had been filled in with black pitch. Rumour had it that someone had been murdered and then stuffed into the hollow tree: she wondered if this was, or could have been, the same girl. The plot, it seems, begins to thicken! Further investigations are being carried out by both Mike and myself in order to try and get to the bottom of the ghost girl of Westoe – watch this space.
THE BETSY JANE
Upon perusing the Christmas edition of Paranormal Magazine, I discovered an article dedicated to ghostly goings on around Christmas time which had been written and submitted by John Stoker. One story in particular caught my eye and I contacted John to ask him if I could re-print the story – entitled, ‘On Christmas Day in the Morning’ – and he very kindly obliged.
In the days of the slave trade the Betsy Jane was returning to England having sold its human cargo and was approaching the Solway Firth. It was Christmas Eve and the crew could hear the church bells on the shore. The captain was now a wealthy man and boasted that the sounds of coins were sweeter than any church bell. His words were cut short by the sound of shattering timbers as the ship hit the Giltstone Rock. The vessel sank within a few minutes with the loss of the entire crew, leaving no sound but the peal of the church bells of Whitehaven. The following Christmas the Betsy Jane was seen again from the shore and has continued her ghostly voyage ever since.
THE RECTOR’S SPECTRE – ST PETER’S, DORCHESTER
It is said that the Revd Nathaniel Templeman, who was the rector of St Peter’s Church in Dorchester, died in 1813 and his body was subsequently buried in the church itself. By all accounts he was a strict member of the clergy and was known to have kept a close eye on his parishioners.
On Christmas Eve the following year two of the church wardens were in the church preparing it for Christmas and decorating the aisles. When they completed their tasks they decided to have a rest and drink a sly glass or two of the communion wine that was being stored in the vestry. As they got comfortable on the wooden pews, they suddenly felt that they were not alone.
Before they had a chance to get even one mouthful of wine, they were confronted by the ghost of Nathaniel Templeman. He thundered his way down the church aisle, hands raised and a displeasing look upon his face. Although it was clear that the rector was shouting and yelling at the men, no sounds emerged – a bit like watching the television with the volume turned off. One man dropped to his knees and began to pray, and the other just simply passed out. The phantom rector then made his way to the altar before disappearing into thin air.
The rector was obviously very much annoyed with the two wardens for stealing the communion wine. Making the point in the way he did ensured that these two opportunists would think twice before helping themselves to Church property again.
CAR CRASH AT CHRISTMAS
Many years ago, a couple from South Tyneside went to stay with some of their family in South Africa for the Christmas and New Year period. When t
hey got there, they were told a chilling ghost tale which, by all accounts, was true. The story was relayed to the family on Christmas Eve, days after the actual event.
It was their grandchild who told the story. It appears that he had gone to visit a friend whose parents had decided to go out for an evening drive. Left with the house to themselves, like most teenagers, the two friends had plans for an evening of partying.
However, their plans were short-lived because, shortly after the parents had left, they returned home in a very distressed state. When the boys asked what was wrong, the two adults wasted no time in explaining what had had occurred. They were out driving when they decided to stop somewhere for a bite to eat, and so headed to a pub they knew that sold good food. This pub was ‘out in the sticks’ so to speak, so they were forced to drive down an old, deserted country road.
About halfway down the road the couple noticed a woman standing at the roadside. At this point she must have been about 200ft away. The car approached the woman, who was waving at the car, trying to get them to stop. She looked distressed so the couple pulled over to see if they could help in any way. The husband got out from the car and walked around to the distraught lady. He asked what was wrong but the woman could not speak. He asked again, but still no words came from the lady’s mouth. He asked one final time and, yet again, she uttered no words. She must be in shock, he thought to himself.
Then the woman pointed towards a copse of trees about 50ft away from them. As he looked in the direction she was pointing he noticed something. Upon taking a closer look he was stunned to see the wreckage of a car that had obviously careered off the road and had crashed into the trees. He told the distraught woman not to worry and rushed back to his car to ask his wife to phone for help. When he returned to find the lady, he was dumbfounded to see that she had vanished from the scene altogether. He stopped and thought for a moment, wondering where she could have got to, but then realised that there was no time to lose; if there were injured people in the car they would need medical assistance, and quickly.
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