A Coalville ghost story.
The voice of the dead.
Searching for a buried treasure.
By one of our staff.
It seems that the superstitious, like the poor, we have always with us, and some of the people in Coalville so afflicted, have, during the past few days, been not a little concerned about strange nocturnal noises which are said to have been heard at a house in Berrisford Street.
Ghost stories are usually confined to literature, but when we hear of the apparition having actually made its appearance nightly in our very midst, the thing at once becomes interesting. I can imagine that many of my readers, even at the suggestion of anything of this kind, will be inclined to smile. And well they might! But it seems that some of the residents have been foolish enough to let this ridiculous story make such an impression that a sort of terror has taken possession of them, and the thing has become the town’s talk.
The tenants of the particular building referred to, and also fresh applicants, have, in consequence of these silly rumours, given the house a wide berth, and it has suddenly sprung into notoriety by the title of the “Haunted house of Coalville.” The ill-fame thus attaching to the house was, of course, detrimental to the owner’s interests.
Accordingly, the agent, Mr J. Farmer, determined to solve th emystery, and on Tuesday night a small party was organised to keep vigil, with the object of ascertaining the cause of the disquietude – in other words, to “watch for the ghost.” I was invited to make one of the party, and being attracted by the novelty of the situation, I agreed. Before relating our amusing experience, I will deal with the events leading up to it.
The house was occupied by a young married couple, and according to their statement, the noises were first heard about a fortnight ago. Their nightly slumbers were disturbed thereby, but at first, little or no notice was taken of the occurrence. As the noises continued, however, the tenants became alarmed and had someone to stay with them for one or two nights to allay their fears. The company, however, were likewise impressed, adn the story of the haunted house thus was soon spread.
The result was that the supposed ghost was left in sole possession, the tenants locking up the house at night and sleeping at a friend’s. But the knocking afterwards seems to have become louder, and the alarm of the tenants also began to be shared by the next-door neighbours, who declared that they were disturbed nightly by the uncanny sounds.
Ultimately, a gentleman, who professes to be a spiritualist, was called in, and it was in this connection that the most savoury part of the story comes in. Whether this individual believes in his own proclamations as much as some of his hearers seem to have done, I cannot say, but I should think that in all probability, the spiritualist himself has enjoyed the joke as much as anybody. There formerly lived in the house a man named Blockley, and the spiritualist claims to have had communication with the dead man’s spirit, by means of the rapping, which came at times varying between the hours of twelve and two. Blockley’s spirit, said the interpreter, had come to inform them of a buried treasure in the garden at the rear of the house. This, said the spirit, was what was troubling him. If a search was made, the sum of £12 would be found in a tin canister, seventeen yards from the door, and four yards from the palings, buried three feet five inches in the ground. This sum represented 23 years’ savings of Blockley during his lifetime.
The garden was accordingly dug over – every inch of it, I am told – but, needless to say, the money was not found.
A second time the professor held his strange communication with the spirit of the departed, and the reply to a “statement” that the search had been in vain, was that the diggers had not gone deep enough by about an inch; they would be sure to find the money if the search was continued. Again was the soil upturned, even till clay was reached, but, alas! with no better result. Some of the persons who accompanied the spiritualist also stated that the table upon which the answers were rapped was observed during the operation to be raised by some unseen power, but this, like the whole thing, must have been mere imagination.
The party on Tuesday night took up their positions in the house shortly before eleven o’clock and thus the curious quest commenced. We had a couple of good dogs, which knew how to treat a rat which might come their way, and we also had a stick each, not that we had any apprehension, but sometimes one hears of ghosts appearing in the flesh, and then a “little thing like that is very handy.”
I ought to state also that an aged couple, the gravedigger and his wife, relatives of the deceased, were present. They had come for satisfaction, as the old lady remarked, while her aged spouse observed that it would be a pity for any money to remain buried. After waiting for an hour or more, we distinctly heard three raps at the rear of the house. “There,” exclaimed the old lady significantly, “that’s it; they say it knocks three times,” and looking at the clock, which the out-going tenants had not then removed from the wall, she added: “It’s just twelve o’clock.” The clock had indeed, just chimed the midnight hour. She could scarcely be convinced that it was the work of some tricksters, the whistling of the wind smothering the noise of their footfalls, but if she had been in the street a moment or so later she would have been more assured.
We had, of course, prepared for this. A noise was made at the back door, as if someone was about to leave the house, this having the desired effect of causing the intruders to make a hasty retreat down the entry, and on emerging into the street, they only just escaped a soaking from a bucket of water thrown by one of the party who had stationed himself at the front bedroom window. Evidently, this was enough for them, and they made themselves scarce. We stayed for some time afterwards, but heard nothing more.
The whole thing, of course, is all “moonshine”; it is ridiculous in the extreme, and the wonder is that people can be so foolish as to be so impressed by such nonsense. The “midnight watch”, it may be added, was successful in its object. Although numerous applications made previously for the house had been withdrawn, the agent has now found a tenant.
A fitting sequel to our novel tour of discovery is that the former tenant, who was scared away from the house, has since expressed the desire to go back again. I am also told, by-the-way – though I will not vouch for its correctness – that the dramatic company now occupying the boards at the Coalville Public Hall, intend devoting one night or more shortly to the new and sensational drama, “The haunted house of Coalville; or, searching for ghosts.”
Coalville Times, 6th October 1899.