The Ghosts of Cambridge.
Surely if we are to believe in all the reports we hear, there has been a revolution in some grave-yard, and some of the most captious have been exciled; if so, the sooner they return to their proper sphere the better for the tranquility of a very large part of the population of Cambridge. There is scarcely a locality without its ghost: every gossip would appear to have his or her own darling ghost. If we are to believe what we hear a frisky ghost nightly disports itself in Barnwell Old Church, ‘making the night hideous’ by holding up a hand at the windows. Then there’s the New Town ghost again walking in the air like a thing of life; then there’s a ghost at one Collins’, a terrible fellow – not Collins, but the ghost; dancing, prancing, jumping, and thumping, as though it were in a terrible fever from some unrepented crime.
But the GHOST – the generalissimo of all the Cambridge ghosts, is his ghostship who has taken up his quarters at Haggis’s farm, behind the collegges. Never was a ghost more talked of – or ever produced more consternation (except poor old Hamlet’s). Haggis’s ghost is one of your real, genuine, unsophisticated spirit-rappers; hundreds have been to see, perhaps to catch him, and he may depend upon it that if he be caught, he will be taken up and made to answer for disturbing the peace of our Sovereign Lady the Queen, and hundreds of her liege subjects.
To catch this Tartar-ghost, scores are on the alert; the police are brought into requisition to take it into custody, but if it should fall to the lot of some enterprising individual to secure he prize, he and Barnum (now in England on “the look out” for a progidy) would make “a good thing” of this unsubstantial hero – the one would achieve wealth, the other redeem his broken fortunes; but, we fancy, we hear his ghostship say, “no catch me, no have me;” and certainly a more tantalising, impudent ghost we never heard of.
But to be serious and to give a solution of this strange visitor –
Last Tuesday week, about six o’clock in the evening, the family of Mr Haggis were startled by three (three is the mystical number) violent and distinct raps at the back door; on “answering” the summons, the noise was found to proceed from that important individual Mr Nobody; this rapping having continued at intervals, for many hours on several succeeding nights, the inmates became puzzled, and the female branches, of course, alarmed.
Superstition is inherent to poor humanity, and rumours were soon afloat of mysterious visitations at Haggis’s isolated and celebrated farm. As snowballs gather in bulk the more they are rolled, so remarkable occurrences soon swell into the terribly marvellous; it became therefore necessary for some of the plucky friends of the family to lend their aid to unravel the matter. As the rappings generally commenced about six o’clock, they were in readiness; they placed themselves in such positions that if the knocks did proceed from some foolish persons, they must have been immediately pounced upon.
The rappings were repeated, in the twinkling of an eye the door was thrown open, but no one was seen; not only once, but many times, on succeeding nights, was this system practised, and with the same effect.
No persons, however, in their common senses, unless they be the veriest victims to superstition and ignorance, will conceive for one moment that these rappings proceed from any other than natural causes; either from some echo or other reason, which the savans of Cambridge have not yet been able to discover.
That these rappings do take place it would be idle to controvert; we have it on the testimony of respectable persons who have heard them, who have been the watchers to discover the cause, who have been unsuccessful, but who would scorn to lend themselves to an idle tale to pander to superstition, to provoke alarm, or thoughtlessly amuse themselves at the expense of others.
We give the truth as it is, as we have stated it, from persons who have heard the mysterious raps; we need only name, among others, two of the family – Mr Milward, of the Crown, Jesus-lane, and Mr Haggis, of the Stamp-office, have too high a notion of what is due to truth and propriety than to lend themselves to a vulgar fraud.
But these rappings are not of recent date. It is well known that at Finedon, a year or two ago, a similar circumstance occurred, to the wonder, and naturally so, of the inhabitants. If we mistake not, it was at Rochester, also, that a like “knocking at the door” occurred; finally, they ceased; and in all probability the mysterious knockings at Haggis’s will ere long be “knocked out of time.” And the sooner the better for the comfort and rest of the family, and the allaying the perhaps pardonable curiosity of an over-excited and wondering public.
Cambridge Independent Press, 21st February 1857.
The Cambridge Ghosts.
The sensation created during last week by the freaks of Haggis’s ghost has not yet subsided. Up to last Friday the ghost had confined its “knocking at the door” between the respectable hour of six and ten; a legitimate ghost, however, should confine his visit to the “witching hour of night,” and vanish at the “crowing of the cock;” but, after reading the Independent Press of last week, this ghost, seeing his own importance, became bolder, and now raps away day and night, giving the residents no peace.
It is a great pity that this ghost cannot find some better employment than devoting so much valuable time to the annoyance of a respectable family. If he or she (whatever the sex may be) have anything to communicate, it would be far more creditable to at once a “tale unfold,” without thus “making each particular hair stand erect, like quills upon the fretful porcupine” on the heads of the Haggis’ family.
The following, as another ghost story, may be relied on. One night last week, as a carter was driving his team on the Madingley-road (near Haggis’s farm) he was surprised at his horses coming to a direct stand still; they snorted (with their noses, no doubt); they pawed the earth (with their feet, beyond question); the driver went in front, and behold! there was a ghost! No wonder the horses were frightened, for “No nose it had, nor e’en an eye, / Nor mouth to eat its bread; / And would you know the reason why? / Alas! it had no head.”
The carter cracked his whip, and the ghost was “off in a crack.” He went home dreadfully alarmed, and “took to his bed” two days.
Another of these “ticket of leave” ghosts has been sadly misconducting itself on the East-road, to the great annoyance of the residents of the house. A well-known auctioneer states that for months he has been annoyed by a female sprite, who actually removes the pillow from his head; sometimes (he says) it is dressed in green, at other times it varies its attire; but the banging, slamming, shaking noises are such as to render his abode the reverse of pleasant. Surely it must be some low female ghost, looking for another £5 note.
If these ghosts continue their antics, it will be a sad loss to the landlords of the houses where this friskiness is carried on, for no one will live in them, unless the rents be lowered.
Cambridge Independent Press, 28th February 1857.
Under the heading “The Cambridge Ghost” a paragraph appeared in these columns a fortnight ago describing some strange knockings at a house on the Burton-road: these knockings, according to the Cambridge Chronicle, are louder than ever, although every means have been tried to discover the cause of this mysterious circumstance.
Lincolnshire Chronicle, 13th March 1857.
The Knocking Ghost at Barton.
Upholland is more famous now in consequence of its “haunted” house, than ever it was, perhaps, in history. It has been made the peg upon which to hang many a tale of ghostly manifestations, as I have already shown in this column. The latest story that it calls up is that of the “Knocking ghost of Barton.” Thus “Postmaster” writes to an evening contemporary as follows:-
“In your issue of the 29th ult. it is reported that the Upholland ghost has resumed its operations, and that even the double patrol of police cannot stop these mysterious visitations. The incident calls to my mind one of these supernatural mysteries with which I was well acquainted forty years ago. I believe it continues to this day; it certainly did seven years ago [1897]. It was called “The Knocking Ghost of Barton.”
Barton is situated three miles south-west from Cambridge. Haggis’s Farm, Barton, had been built about three years, and was then in the occupation of my grandfather and my uncle, the nearest house being at the toll-bar gate half a mile away. In August of 1864 my grandmother, uncle, aunt, cousin and sister were having their supper, when there were three loud raps at the kitchen door. My uncle immediately went to the door and called out, ‘Who is there?’ Getting no reply, he opened the door, but could see no one, though the night was almost as light as day. He went in, thinking someone was playing a trick. He had no sooner sat down than three more knocks came, much louder. He called out as before, ‘Who is there?’ but again no reply, and he again he opened the door, to find no one about.
Then as he was locking the door three more knocks came, as if from a sledge-hammer. My uncle’s hand was not off the handle of the door. Fulling it open quickly he looked out, but no one was to be seen. The knocking continued until after midnight, the weight of the blows seeming to make the panels bend at each blow. There was no going to bed that night. Each succeeding night saw a repetition of the phenomena. Of course an occurrence like this could not be kept quiet.”
The councillors of Upholland are not the only people of responsibility who have tried to solve the mysterious, as “Postmaster” tells, in connection with this “knocking ghost of Barton,” as witness. He continues:-
“The land belonged to Downing College, and the Master, Professors, and Fellows not only from Downing College, but every other college in Cambridge, came to try to find out the cause. I must add that it was a very accommodating ghost, for with professors, clergymen, and friends inside the house, and strangers outside, it still continued its tapping.
After months of rapping at the kitchen door it turned its attention to the inside of the house. The drawing-room door, the dining-room door, and the door belonging to a closet under the stairs in the hall were its favourite places to hammer on. Later on it was not particular where it went, but it did behave itself; it never went upstairs.The coal cellar was one of its favoured places for its rantaning. The door was a battened one, with an ordinary latch, and not fitting very tight you can judge of the rattle it made.
One night the knocking was intolerable. Foreman “Dilly” stationed himself in the dairy with a double-barrelled gun, and let fly with both barrels. The college and other experts suggested that the kitchen door, where the knocking first came, should be studded with nails with very sharp points projecting outside, so close that nothing could hit the door without bending the points of the nails. This was done, and these experts had the pleasure of hearing the sledge-hammer blows, seeing the panels of the door bending, yet on examining the points of the nails not one was turned.”
There is one aged resident of Upholland, a man approaching four score years, who declared to me quite solemnly that he remembers similar manifestations at the so-called haunted house at Upholland sixty years ago. That was in the days of his youth. “Postmaster” draws upon a similar coincidence in the case of the “Knocking Ghost of Barton,” which he tells us is knocking after an interval of forty years. He continues:-
“Seven years ago, out of curiosity, I visited the old farm, and the present tenant kindly allowed me to look round. I said I should like to look at the dairy and coal cellar. As soon as I had seen both doors I turned back. The farmer said, ‘Rather a curious request of yours, to see the dairy and coal cellar, and when you get to the outside of doors you turn back. Had you any reason for doing so? I told him of the incident of Dilly firing through the door, and asked, ‘Do you ever hear anything of the knocking now?’ He replied, ‘Hush, please don’t speak,’ and led me into the garden. He then said, ‘Yes, we occasionally hear it. We don’t take much notice of it, and you will oblige me if you will not mention it in the house. We have an excellent servant now. If she stays over this month she will stay her year, but if she gets to know anything about this knocking we shan’t keep her, so please don’t mention it. We never can keep one a month.’
This knocking was a mystery when it commenced, and at the end of forty years it is a mystery still, and certainly no human agency could accomplish a mystery like this for so long a time.”
[some more regarding Upholland].
Wigan Observer and District Advertiser, 7th September 1904.
This Barnwell story recalls the mysterious knockings at Barton years ago. Many an old inhabitant recalls the “Barton Knocking Ghost,” as it was known at the time. Frequently during the night, and the day too, a succession of thumps were heard in a particular farmhouse, and many skilled ghost-layers were at their wits’ end for an explanation. All the known devices were tried in vain, and affairs wore a serious face until the real reason was hit upon by accident.
Near at hand was a stable, and beneath the floor of the stable a disused iron pipe, which, though unconnected with the drainage of the buildings, ran under the farmhouse. When the horse kicked upon the floor, as even the best-behaved horse will, teh sound was communicated to the house, but so muffled and mysterious that no other cause than the supernatural was supposed. The Barton Knocking Ghost had a good run before being run to earth.
Cambridge Daily News, 30th September 1907.