Profane Spooks!
Extraordinary Pranks.
Mysterious manifestations.
Particulars of a series of extraordinary and mysterious manifestations which have set the inhabitants of Clonmel all agog for some time past are sent us by our correspondent in that Tipperary town, who states that the singular occurrences which he relates are at present the subject of investigations by the local police, who have so far failed to find a solution to the uncanny affair.
The mystery, says our correspondent, concerns the residents in two business houses adjoining in one of the chief thoroughfares in Clonmel, and it manifests itself in rapping on the walls and the use of “terrible language” – of which separate complaints have been made to the police by both parties – together with pilfering, upsetting of goods and household fittings, locking and unlocking of doors, and other inexplicable happenings.
Prior to these manifestations anonymous letters of an extraordinary nature were received daily by the residents aluded to, the missives being dropped through the letter-box into the hall. A watch was kept on one occasion for over three hours by one of the householders, and nothing occurred; but no sooner had the watcher left the hall than a note was slipped through the letter-box stating: “There is no use in your watching; you won’t catch me.”
On another occasion parties of police were stationed, unknown to one another, in the two houses at the same time, and some extraordinary things came under their notice. They both heard the rapping and unspeakably foul language uttered in a disguised female voice.
Immediately after they left a mysterious letter was dropped in through the letter-box giving a detailed account of the conversation that had passed between the owner of the house and the police, while the same female voice bade the R.I.C. men welcome when they came and good-bye when they left, and inquired of the tenant in a mocking tone why he did not ask them to have tea, having kept them so long.
Complaints are continually being made of goods in shops being pitched about, furniture overturned, beds tossed, and water thrown on them. Meat is also taken out of the safe and only the bones left. It is altogether an extraordinary and most unpleasant affair, and it is hoped that the mystery will be soon and satisfactorily cleared up.
Irish Independent, 29th May 1906.
A Clonmel Mystery.
Ill-spoken Ghost’s Antics.
No Respecter of Saints.
The Dublin “Herald” publishes a strange story of the doings of a “ghost” in some houses in Clonmel. The supernatural visitor, it is stated, makes its presence known by a loud rapping on the dividing wall between two houses, and the use of exceedingly bad language, in a disguised female voice. The tenants of both houses made complaints to the police. Patrols were sent to each place, and they both distinctly heard the disturbance and the voice, but each thought it proceeded from the other house. In one of the houses, which is a business establishment, it is asserted by the owner that goods were flung about the shop, and many things pitched into the cellar. Furniture upstairs was upturned, food was taken out of a locked meat safe and only bones left, doors that had been locked were immediately afterwards found open.
In addition to the pilfering of the meat, it is asserted that soap was found in the kettle and salt in the teapot; beds that had been made up were immediately afterwards found tossed and water poured over them; the owner’s day shirt was thrust into a ewer of water while he was in bed; statues of saints and pious pictures were removed from brackets and walls and defiled – all this on the authority of the people themselves, who are at their wits’-end to find a solution of it.
At one time it was thought that someone was coming into the house through the chimney, and traps were set, but without result. A strange things about the whole affair is that anonymous letters are being continually received, in which full particulars are given of every move made by the parties to solve the mystery, and stating that their efforts are useless.
Belfast News-Letter, 31st May 1906.
A frolicsome spook puzzles police and people.
The Clonmel ‘spook’ mystery, the story of which was told in Tuesday’s “Independent,” still continues to excite extraordinary interest in that town. On Tuesday night hundreds of people blocked the street where the “haunted”houses are situated, and a large force of police, in charge of District Inspector Tweedy and Head Constable Brady, were on duty up to a late hour moving them on.
As already stated, the trouble takes the form of a loud rapping on the dividing wall between two houses, and th euse of exceedingly bad language, in a disguised female voice.
IN addition to the pilfering of the meat beforementioned, it is said that soap was found in the kettle, and salt in the teapot; beds that had been made up wwere immediately afterwards found tossed and water poured over them; the owner’s day shirt was thrust into a ewer of water while he was in bed; statues of saints and pious pictures were removed from brackets and walls and defiled – all this on the authority of the people themselves.
The anonymous letters, which, as previously stated, have been received, have been handed over to the police, who are worked off their feet in connection with the matter, and have failed, so far, to find a clue to the origin of the strange occurrences.
Irish Independent, 31st May 1906.
Mysterious Ghost.
A spook, believed to be feminine, is disturbing the Tipperary town of Clonmel, and its language is described by the oldest inhabitants as “dhredful intoirely.”
The residents in two houses adjoining one another in the main thoroughfare have been the victims of the visitor. It raps at their walls, and uses appalling language rolled out with a feminine brogue. It steals the household goods, eats the meat in the safes, leaving only the bones, upsets the furniture, overturns the beds, and empties the water-jug on the blankets.
Before it came it announced its arrival by letters dropped through the letter-boxes of the two families it visited. One householder kept a watch for three hours, and the moment he left a note fell through the letter-box saying “There’s no use your watching. You won’t catch me.”
Parties of police have been stationed in both houses at the same time. They heard the raps and the language and distinctly recognised a feminine brogue. Soon after they left a note was dropped through the letter box of one of the houses, giving a detailed account of a conversation that had passed between the owner and the police. The spook also bade the police welcome when they came and good-bye when they left, and asked the tenant why he did not give them “a wee dhrop iv potheen.”
East and South Devon Advertiser, 2nd June 1906.
Has the ghost been laid?
After over a week’s quietude, Clonmel was again alarmed by an occurrence on Saturday and Sunday of the inexplicable manifestations which have recently puzzled the local police and people.
A quantity of clothes which were hanging in a yard of one of the houses which have been the scene of the strange happenings were missed, and were subsequently discovered in an adjoining premises rolled into a bundle. The police have again been making investigations and claim to have solved the mystery, but no particulars are given as to how they have reached that conclusion.
Irish Independent, 5th June 1906.
Tommy O’Brien talks about ghosts, handballers and records.
Our picture shows you Clonmel’s O’Connell Street as it was about fifty years ago. Unfortunately it does not show you the “Haunted” House which brought such excitement into the town just about that time – as well as reporters and photographers from the Dublin daily papers. Perhaps the local man who took the picture wanted to shroud it in an aura of mystery. Anyway, it was – and still is, of course – beside Tylers’ boot shotp.
It all began one summer night when the occupants of the tiny drapery shop – Mr Walsh, an organist, his wife, a thin, bespectacled lady who did a good trade in small drapery goods, a female relative of their s from England and the servant – reported having heard strange noises and still stranger voices in various parts of the house. Worse was to follow before – well, before Walsh’s ghost finally gave up the ghost. As the nights went on, the nocturnal voices were heard by neighbours weirdly screeching, screaming and laughing, articles of furniture were knocked about and bed-clothes thrown through windows.
Bad enough as that was, it was nothingto the reports which told, with obvious relish and in ever-growing minute detail, of apparitions of all shapes and sizes, now here, now there, then hey, presto, nowhere. They knew nothing, those good people of Clonmel of half-a-century ago, of queues or queuing. But form up in line they had to each evening on the pavement opposite The House of Mystery, front seats being in particularly keen demand by elderly females, one of whom was curtly shushed into siilence when, wishing to add to her already extensive catalogue, she plaintively enquired: !But what sort of ghost is it?”
Well, it went on for weeks and weeks, each week bringing its own still more lurid report. The R.I.C. went on the job, prowling and poking. And at least one Dublin daily sent down a reporter and photographer to specially cover the story. National and international topics of the day faded into insignificance before the query that was heard on all sides: “What’ll the ghost do next?” And then – there came silence. As suddenly as it had begun operations, the “ghost” apparently decided to call it a day – I mean, a night.
Barring the gabble-gabble of the disappointed queuers, there was no more midnight wailing; and Clonmel resumed its leisurely life. The police turned to trailing tose who made it a habit to ‘dud’ orchards and fruit gardens, those miscreants who had no lights on their donkey-carts and other matters of grave import. Of the ‘ghost’ they would say nothing – well, all of them except one. Plagued one evening by a lady who showed unmistakeably that she would not take no for an answer, he confided: “Ma’am, it was all a family matter.” There he left it… and so must I.
Munster Tribune, 9th November 1956.