A House that was “Haunted”.
Another ‘strange’ story comes from Sandbank.
By a “Daily Record” staff reporter.
Sandbank, Monday.
Sitting in her little, old-fashioned and one-time “haunted house” here this afternoon, 84-year-old Mr Annie Chalmers told me of strange experiences recalled to her mind by reading in the “Daily Record” of the happenings recently manifested in Sandbank naval laundry.
Mrs Chalmers’ house, where she lives with her neice, Miss Effie Wilson, stands in Somerville Place, and overlooks the Holy Loch. Here is her story:
One Saturday morning in the spring of last year, a lady came to her door and asked for “digs.” She was made welcome, and on the following morning the first of a train of mysterious and inexplicable happenings occurred. Mrs Chalmers, Miss Wilson and the “mystery” woman were in the kitchen. Suddenly, and without anyone being near it, a jar of dripping fell to the floor. A few minutes later the woman was standing with her elbow on the mantelpiece when the clock fell to the hearth, with the glass intact. Miss Wilson returned it to its place. Next minute it was lying on the middle of the floor.
Both she and Mrs Chalmers began to feel a little uneasy by this time. Half laughingly she turned to the woman, still leaning on the mantel-piece, and said, “You must be a witch.” The woman turned white, drew back and gasped, “Oh, don’t say that.”
Throughout the day the strange train of events continued. Cups smashed to the floor and other articles moved about the rooms of their own volition. Mrs Chalmers saw a glass dish rise from the table and float down to the floor. Another time a ladle flew from its hook, struck the “mystery” woman on the head, and then floated into the room.
“What was your explanation at the time?” I asked. “It’s hard to say,” she said. “Looking back, it’s difficult to believe that all those queer things really happened – but they did. At the time I never really thought seriously of the supernatural. I thought it was a trick. But now —“
As the strange happenings went on all that Sunday, the “mystery” woman, who was young, pale, and very nervous, appeared to be just as frightened as Mrs Chalmers and her neice. The old lady sat up all that night, but nothing happened while the woman was asleep. Next morning, when Miss Wilson put on a pair of old shoes, a new pair flew across the room as if in protest.
Occasionally fingering a string of black beads that hung down over her bright floral dress, grey-haired Mrs Chalmers continued her story: “I knelt down to clean the hearth,” she said, “I put the washing cloth by my side and turned round. The next thing I knew it was on my back. I jumped to my feet and said to the woman,’I must go out for a few minutes.’ Immediately, my hat floated across the room and came to rest on my head.”
Next morning the mystery woman left. That was the last Mrs Chalmers saw of her.
Daily Record, 13th June 1945.