The Cookstown Ghost. (From our reporter). Cookstown, Saturday.
Cookstown has lately been singled out for the attention of a visitor whose freaks and doings have caused no little wonderment and anxiety. Were the times a little further advanced the narrative of the manifestations which have so completely upset the ordinary tranquility of this community might be embodied in a fairly exciting Christmas story. It would abound with mystery and weirdness and incomprehensibleness. The story, however, would lack the orthodox moral; it would be wanting in an end; the inexplicable would remain unexplained for the simple reason that at present it admits not of solution.
The stranger has not as yet made himself visible to any eye, but his presence is too obtrusively indicated by uncanny acts, to be either unnoticed or uncared for. The absolute identity of the unseen is, therefore, a matter of grave conjecture, public opinion being strongly divided as to whether he is a ghost, a spirit, or simply an atom of depraved humanity indulging in a fanciful and certainly much-to-be-condemned form of amusement. According to all preconceived notions of ghostdom, a form from that land of shades should assume a spectral, faintly-illumined human aspect, having a peculiar predilection for the witching hour of midnight, “when churchyards yawn, and graves give up their dead.” Such is not the case in this instance, for in no shape or entity is our unquiet friend ever observable, while neither cock crow, the sun at noon-day, nor the hush of twilight, exercise controlling power over his actions.
If a ghost then he be, he has undoubtedly got a dispensation freeing him from all the thraldom of his kindred genius. By some, who have sufficient nerve and courage to become facetious on the subject, it is asserted that a spirit has broken loose from the mystic store-room of Mrs. Guppy – one w hich disdains the further confinement of dark seances and the undignified monotony of table-rapping. There are others again who are quite incredulous, and hem and baw, and hint and declare, that the thing is not so ghostlike or mysterious as it seems; that, in fact, if they just had their way Cookstown would soon resume its wonted serenity, and be no more troubled with this paradoxical invisible apparition.
Whatever the agent may be though, certain it is that the household selected for its scene of operations, has been put to infinite pain and annoyance. And not all the sympathy and kindness, and assistance of friends and neighbours are all able to relieve them from suffering unpleasantnesses which, seemingly trivial in themselves, are yet perfectly torturing in their recurrence and strangeness. The unknown is of the most evil and malign disposition, with a well-developed tendency to destroy and to revel in mischief pure and simple. If it be a ghost, or a spirit, at liberty to wander “fancy free,” an unaccountable partiality is shown for one habitation, and a very petty perverse propensity for interfering with the delf, the cooking and other domestic matters. In fact the spirit seems most at home in the kitchen, as if it were the shade of some departed scullery-maid, whom “habit’s iron law” had compelled to return to earth, but whose sole remembered capacity was the smashing of the crockeryware.
The haunted house is situate, on Old Town Hill, and is occupied by a Mr. Allen, who carries on a respectable business as a grocer. If not exactly in the sere and yellow leaf, Mr. Allen is somewhat stricken in years. Intelligent and candid in his walk of life he has gained the esteem of all who know him; and the fact that he should be the object of such bewildering occurrences, as have and are almost daily taking place, creates all the more comisseration, and a feeling very much akin to indignation in the town.
The manifestations of something unusual, and untoward, first became noticeable some eighteen months ago. The phenomena were then mainly confined to breaking the windows. It may be thought there was nothing very extraordinary nor ghostlike in such a procedure; but there was. When several panes were broken, and the how and means escaped attention, a strict watch was put upon the windows, but all was useless; the cause was still undiscoverable. Sometimes stones were used as the media, but by whom or what nobody could see; and more frequently again the glass broke, apparently of its own accord. Even the frames began at last to get abused, more especially at the rear of the house, and the strictest and most constant guard could make nothing of it.
The house, by the way, is a small two-story building, with three windows behind, and the ordinary shop and front windows before. The yard is small, and surrounded by a wall ten feet high, from whence extend the open fields. All the glass at the back of the premises having been repeatedly broken, and every effort at protection avoided, one of the windows was barricaded with a shutter, to which was affixed a bell in such a position that if the shutter were moved the bell must ring. Men were also placed at each window with loaded guns, so that it was impossible for any individual to approach wihtout being at once observed and in their power. Notwithstanding this, the shutter was taken down, the bell simply noting the fact when it was accomplished, and that in such a gentle, tinkling monotone as to be almost unheard.
In the front of the premises glass was broken with the same security and freedom from observation. Fear now commenced to grown into serious alarm, which in no way decreased, as other incidents, equally, if not more, bewildering in their character, became of daily occurrence. Bowls took a fancy to rotate, with various degrees of swiftness, upon the tables, and then, as if smitten with the same idea of self-martyrdom, shot off at a tangent, ending sharply and for ever their symmetrical usefulness upon the floor. Coats, which formerly hung with all staidness and propriety upon their respective pins, now shivered and fluttered, as if seized with an ague, and again expanded in all their proportions, as if each were enveloping an invisible Falstaff or an aspiring Claimant. Hats took unto themselves wings, and bodily flew away.
In sooth, the natural order of affairs in the house were completely deranged, and the more agitated became the inanimate articles, the more excited became, naturally enough, the members of the family. Every conceivable project that could be devised for elucidating these mysteries failed utterly in pointing out a cause which could be understood. Even the potatoes boiling in a pot on the fire became mashed, and leaped behind the fire. And when ten or twelve were entered for boiling, a tot up in a few minutes revealed the startling fact that several had altogether and unaccountably disappeared, though many pairs of straining eyes were watching with almost painful eagerness every motion of the immovable pot.
Latterly, also, large stones, weighing on an average about three pounds or three pounds and a half, have rolled slowly down the stairs, bobbing with leisurely ease from step to step. These have been sometimes damp and wet with clay, as if just removed from a ditch or roadway, and at other times, dry and clean, as if preserved from the weather for a considerable space of time. No persons have been in the upper portion of the house where such events have happened, and not the vaguest shadow upon which to found a belief in the collusion or complicity of any parties in the causing of them has been at all afforded.
These manifestations will serve to show the cruel and persistent manner in which Mr. Allen and his family have been afflicted, though they are far from exhausting the minor details of a system of persecution as vexatious and hard to be borne as it is strange and unexplainable both in cause and result. The family consist of Mr and Mrs Allen, two sons, and a daughter. One of the male branches, a young man of twenty-two or thereabouts, resides constantly with his father, and is said to be an apt student of the art of legerdemain. Rumour will insist on mixing him up with the occurrences, but they have been known to take place when he was away working on the farm.
Mr Allen has ceased to accept, or even to listen to any interpretation or explanation of the facts. He is not by any means a nervous man, nor superstitious in his way of thinking; but having seen these things occur, and being utterly unable to assert a reason for them, he would at the present moment be an easily manipulated disciple of the most ardent spiritualist. The whole affair in its recital might seem quite a ludicrous matter, were it not for the very great pain suffered by those most concerned.
That the people of the town are much excited by it and anxiously awaiting its denouement is unquestionable. The usual morning salute in meeting a friend is now invariably accompanied by the query, “Anything new from the ghost?” “Is all quiet at Allen’s?” And not alone in Cookstown but in all the district for miles around the doings of the ghost are canvassed and criticised with the greatest interest. It has been shrewdly suggested that a Belfast detective might soon purge the premises of the spirit, but Mr. Allen scouts the possibility of such aid as not only useless but absurd. Perhaps he is right; but in all human probability I think he is wrong. This being the market day the great topic was, of course, actively discussed, and theories beyond number asserted each as the true and particular explanation of the whole business. Meanwhile the ghost is not yet laid, but more of him anon.
Belfast News-Letter, 16th November 1874.
Supernatural Scene at Cookstown.
(From a correspondent).
Cookstown is at present the scene of an amusing tragedy, and if the rumours be true (most of which I have from reliable sources), it is causing much consternation among the intellectual and superstitious inhabitants of the town.
It is caused by some queer phenomena (supposed to be supernatural) or spirit medium, and making itself truly heard, seen, and felt – striking terror into the inhabitants, more especially the occupants of one habitation whose abode it haunts. It defies and overpowers the wonderful “Tom King” spirit medium, which Spiritualists now-a-days write about, outvieing the performances of the world-renowned Spiritualist, Miss Fox.
I leave your readers to judge for themselves what this invisible visitor may be, while I relate a few of its daily performances, whose conversation is in parlour, shop, or street, midst whispers or serious talk. – “Have you seen the ghost?” It has the curious power of being everywhere in and around this dwelling – “Up in a balloon,” or “Down in a diving-bell,” “On the housetop, or in the cellar,” always in, around, and about the habitation it haunts, and can give forth from its supernatural organs a series of sounds in themselves a mystery.
Its powers of strength are almost equal to Samson’s, although it has not run away with a sidewall of the mansion it haunts yet; but it has rolled with ease stones of 56lbs. weight down the stairs of its abode, much to the annoyance of the inmates, while its motive propelling powers are invisible to those whom curiosity has called thither. It causes the knives and forks to play “Dish run after the spoon,” although no one laughs to see the sport, and go through marvellous scenes, much to the astonishment of the nervous on-lookers, and puts the learned professor and Wizard of the North’s magic tricks in the shade.
Its powers as a ventriloquist are past conception.
It belongs to a species of Pachydermachia, or thick-skinned tribe, and can resist the powers of a Snider rifle, and people fancy it could have walked with ease during the Franco-Prussian war.
It has a liking for window-smashing and moth destroying, for it can, and does, destroy without any consideration as to tailor’s bills or cost of material. What the queer phenomenon cannot do remains a mystery.
Can any of the learned of Coleraine or elsewhere, or the believers in Tyndall’s atomism propound some receipt for the removal of this most “wonderful of mediums?” We hope that Mr Burns, Dr Sexton, Mr Morse, or some other Spiritualist may allay this troublesome stranger.
Londonderry Sentinel, 17th November 1874.
Further Particulars.
A correspondent of the News-Letter, writing on Thursday, says:-
At all times a common question among newspaper readers is “how do the editors obtain all the news?” And just now, throughout Cookstown we hear the same inquiry put, only in a more particular form – namely, “How did the News-Letter hear of our ghost?” It has been amongst us for a long time, and we had begun to look upon it as our exclusive property, a something the outer world had no knowledge of, and were enjoying the luxury of the treat, and revelling in the thought how neighbouring towns, if they knew of it, would grudge us the high distinction of being the possessor of perhaps the only ghost out of chains in Ulster, when all of a sudden “our reporter” steps in, and in his sly, insinuating way worms the facts out of some person, and robs us of our secret by publishing to the world the romance of the “Cookstown Ghost.” A few “travellers,” indeed, knew that something extraordinary was going on, and were found loitering about the haunts of the visitor from the nether world at the time of night which tradition has fixed for such beings holding their revelries, in hopes to glean something to carry with them and retail on their journey, but to little purpose.
But had we known on Saturday last that there was “a chiel amang us takin’ notes” about our ghost, the probability is we would have reminded him of the existence of such a thing as vested rights, and that he would not have had the privilege of “prenten'” them for some days to come. We may now, however, make a virtue of necessity, and announce as an established fact the existence of a ghost, popularly so called, in our midst. At least, we must admit that we have something which, for want of a more descriptive name, the public calls a ghost, and which has formed the main topic of conversation among us for many weeks, and has, I regret to say, entailed on one family, at least, an untold amount of anxiety, alarm, and trouble, apart from the loss sustained by the destruction of a large quantity of goods.
This goes on forever. It reads like a joke really. I am confused.
To say, however, that we have a ghost amongst us is, I think, not strictly correct, as nothing, not even any of those shadowy forms, flitting along through dark corridors, and disappearing in a solid wall, or sinking suddenly into the ground, which is the stereotyped programme of all respectable ghosts, nor any other approved “appearance,” through the medium of which such unwelcome visitors are supposed to show themselves to mortals, has as yet been seen by anybody; but we are aware that an unseen agency is at work in our midst which defies all our efforts to unravel. We cannot even get a glimpse of a retiring figure in white; we hear no unearthly sounds, no blood-freezing noises; not even the rustle of an unseen garment; in fact, nothing that is said to indicate or designate the presence of a spirit from the world of the “departed dead.” Some think it is not a ghost at all, but a conglomeration of atoms which became unmanageable in the hands of Dr. Tyndall during some of his experiments in Belfast; but this solution of the matter is considered doubtful.
Clergymen, doctors, elders, churchwardens, and business men, of all grades and degrees of ability, have tried their hand at lifting the veil, but all with the same result, leaving the matter as mysterious as they found it.
The general impression just now seems to be that the manifestations as we have them, are the work of a satanic agency, evoked by some person or persons unknown; that the agent has now the whip hand of his employer, and that things are to go on as at present ad infinitum, or till a more practised hand reduces him to obedience. That this notion is gaining ground is not to be wondered at, inasmuch as, of the hundreds of mysterious things which have happened, not the most remote clue has been found to connect a single one of them with any human being; and the supposition that these were the result of human agency has long ago been discarded by the sufferers, and is fast dying out in the minds of the public generally.
When anyone suggests that a clever trickster might, by a skilful manipulation, execute all that has been done and escape detection, that possibly a detective might be able to throw light on the mystery, or perhaps refuses to believe the possible intervention of Satan in such petty household matters, some of our wiseacres look grave, make quotations from Scripture, not forgetting the witch of Endor, and instances multitudes of cases of a similar kind, as either coming within their own experience, or as related by their fathers or grandfathers, all corroborative of the possibility of these things occurring through supernatural agencies.
Be this as it may, during a period of nearly eighteen months the most unaccountable proceedings have been going on, and at the present time we seem to be no nearer a solution of them than at the commencement. During this time an immense quantity of wearing apparel has been cut up into fragments, said to be value for upwards of £60 – in one particular case to the amount of £4 10s. One time a new hat would be cut round and round and found lying out in the street a few minutes after having been used without the apparent possibility of any person having done it. Coats, trousers, vests, blankets, shawls similarly destroyed without a shadow of suspicion resting on any person.
This continued at intervals till within the last two months, when the work of destruction assumed another form, which brought it into public notice. The window smashing then commenced – first the front windows were demolished, not all at once, but leisurely, generally one pane at a time. At first it was thought some miscreants were at work, but the premises were so closely watched that this idea was dismissed, and especially as the glass was frequently broken under the eyes of the watchers, when it would have been utterly impossible for the perpetrator to escape instant detection. Shutters were then put on, and the work of demolition immediately commenced in the rear of the house, and continued till nothing but the bare sashes remained.
Several plans were tried to discover the supposed actors in these scenes; but, despite the presence of a watcher at each window, and the protection of shutters on the outside, the glass-breaking went on, and no clue obtained. Not even the prints of a foot or mark of any description could be discovered within a reasonable distance; in fact, the whole circumstances were of the most inexplicable description, and completely excluded the whole work from the bounds of human possibility.
It is worthy of notice, at the same time, that the ghosts took exactly the same means to break the windows that an ordinary mortal would adopt, namely, by flinging a stone through it; but with this striking difference in the result – as a rule the fragments of glass were found on the outside, and the stone in the inside; in a few instances both on the inside, and in fewer cases still no stone could be discovered. This phenomenon, I think, would baffle the sagacity of even a Belfast detective to comprehend.
Meanwhile, if possible, a darker mystery enveloped the proceedings inside. Of course the house was searched again and again – every corner minutely examined from roof to floor, but without the slightest discovery of a suspicious character being made. And, notwithstanding that the upper part of the house was thoroughly secured, and no means of communication with the outside practicable, sounds as of weighty bodies falling on the floor above have frequently been heard when all the inmates of the house were positively known to be down stairs, and when the place was examined with the view of discovering the cause, no signs of anything unusual could be seen.
Stones, varying in size from a small paving-stone to one weighing twelve pounds, came downstairs at intervals, and at various times of the day, without apparently any greater impetus than what would be acquired by their own weight, and sometimes several have been found on the topmost step, piled up one on top of the other, so delicately balanced that the slightest touch would cause them to topple over. Where these came from is the mystery. About the stones themselves there is nothing remarkable. They are invariably such as might be found at any time convenient to the house, or in any old ditch in the fields adjoining.
Eleven potatoes are counted into a pot, the lid tied down, and intently watched; but, behold, when the contents are examined, in a few minutes after only six are to be found. A crock of cream of its own free will and accord splits open without being handled, and the contents run out.
It is said a spirit-charmer, when on the premises a few days ago, had a very important part of his pants cut away, and the back part of one of his boots lopped off in a twinkling.
For some time the shop was free of the intrusion of this troublesome visitor, but now no corner is free from some disaster. Only a few days ago a churn filled with milk was, for safety, locked up in the shop, and the keys taken by one of the members of the family to her bed-room. In the morning, however, the churn was found standing bottom upwards, and the floor covered with its contents.
About the same time a quantity of new cloth was cut up, so as to completely destroy it. The cuts had the appearance of having been done by a keen, long-bladed knife, forming clean wavy lines, passing through several folds at the same time.
Scores of transactions of this kind might be enumerated, but the outline just given will afford some idea of the perplexing nature of the proceedings, and for so far the perfect impossibility of elucidating them.
I need not say that these astonishing things are regarded with the utmost concern by the people of Cookstown, or that the universal feeling abroad is one of sincere sympathy with Mr. Allen and his family; for, however one may be inclined to dispute the cause, the results are the same, and these undeniably point to an agency of some kind as malignant in design and execution as the parties concerned are powerless to understand or prevent its operations. One thing is certain. If these proceedings are being inflicted on a man who has the respect and esteem of all who know him by human agency it is a reproach on the town that the perpetrators have not been unmasked; and, if by supernatural means, who will undertake to explain it?
And, now that the matter is fairly made public, it is possible some person may be able to advise us how to exorcise the Cookstown Ghost, as we are heartily tired of its pranks, and would willingly make a present of it to Moneymore or any other neighbouring town which feels inclined for the attentions of such a visitor.
Belfast Weekly News, 21st November 1874.
The Cookstown Ghost. (From our correspondent).
This far-famed unknown continues to hold its revels in the same scenes, and, from its activity, shows no symptoms of removing to greener fields or newer pastures, but bits fair to hold its present locale strictly in accordance with the terms of its first announceement – namely, for the space of a year and a day. By the way, this notice was affixed to the door of its habitation for the time being, and consisted of a slip of paper, on which the handwriting bore an unmistakeable resemblance to the caligraphy ordinarily done by an expert human hand. Shortly after the appearance of this intimation, it would seem as if it had changed its ghostly mind, as a similar scrap of paper, fastened on the door of a house nearer the centre of the town conveyed the dismal tidings to the terrified occupants that it purposed taking up its quarters with them; but up to the present time the promise has not been redeemed. No doubt it will keep its word, and when cast abroad upon the world from its present abode will hold them in dutiful remembrance.
A few days ago a circumstance, or, to speak in spiritualistic language, a manifestation occurred which some imagine confutes the idea of a ghost altogether. A wearing coat and a pair of boots were locked up for the night to make certain of their perfect safety for the next day’s use, as far as lock and key could guarantee it. When produced in the morning and examined no marks of their having been tampered with were apparent. The owner, as any other person would do, I presume, thoughtlessly laid out one of his boots by his side on the floor while he drew the other on, but, lo! when he lifted it again the upper part was cut away.
The coat had been thrown on a chair to wait its turn, but when taken up was found to be minus a sleeve. The inference from this is, that so long as anything is well secured it is out of danger, or when it is out of the reach of human hands the ghost does not hurt it. But most people reason about it in this way. Any clumsy ghost could perform the mutilation at its leisure in a room by itself and secured against intrusion, but to cut and hack in broad daylight and in the twinkling of an eye, shows the exalted grade of the unearthly visitor. This is no skulking, cowardly ghost that is only fitted for a paltry hole and corner business, but a chief among his fellows, a master in his line, who could cut off an eyebrow and you looking at him without knowing that anything has happened.
The Royal Irish Constabulary imagined when the window-breaking commenced they would handcuff the delinquent, no matter in what form or of what species. But, by some process of reasoning known only to themselves, they came to the conclusion that, so long as they wore the Queen’s uniform nothing would appear. Two of them consequently assumed a non-official garb, and in the attire of a couple of inoffensive, innocent-looking peasants, took up their post under a tree in close proximity to the haunted ground, a soft damp sod beneath their feet, and a clear frosty sky above their heads, to await the hour that would perhaps immortalise them. Here they waited with the patience and persistency which characterise the race, from dark till the dreaded hour when beings beyond the ken of mortal knowledge are let loose on the earth to frighten sleeping humanity; but nothing offered itself to their fraternal grip. Nothing daunted, they kept their stand till cock-crow, and still nothing for the hungry handcuff, not even anything that “made itself air, into which it vanished.”
A very simple but, as it turned out, not efficatious plan was suggested by an old woman, a few days ago, to prevent the stones from making a promenade of the stairs. To effect this desirable object she affirmed that it was only necessary to reverse the operation – namely, by throwing one of them up again, when she hoped it would vanish into thin air at the top of the stairs – a preliminary incantation, of course, preceding the performance. Some party, however, who disbelieved in the virtue of the charm prepared warm work for her by heating the stone, and the instant she touched it she declared it was not five minutes out of the pit. The rest of the work remains unfinished.
Meanwhile, up to the time I write, the work of destruction proceeds as vigorously as ever, setting at complete defiance all efforts to discover the cause. A slight rustle is heard in the sitting-room, and it is discovered that a pair of window curtains is destroyed, as if a handful had been torn from the middle of each. A hat is laid down, and in a few minutes it is found with the brim cut through to the band, and torn away on each side. A pair of boots is missing, and discovered in the garden hacked into pieces.
The natural consequence of the continuance of this miserable business is that people seem to be relapsing into old superstitious notions of a hundred years ago. Old ghost stories that used to entertain our grandfathers when they were children are revived and circulated, and children run from the deepening gloom of the evening and take up their stations in the chimney corner. Only a short time ago such books as “Cornelius Agrippa” were supposed to have become completely obsolete, and, indeed, when mentioned at all, their existence at any time was by many considered extremely doubtful; but now it is somewhat astonishing to see the numbers of hard-featured, squint-eyed old fellows who appear in town, and not only admit that they have seen the book and read it, but even profess to know by means of it how the ghost might be laid by the heels.
They confidently say it is evidently some person very young in the science of spirit rapping, who, though successful in evoking the spirit, has not sufficient experience to compel its return to the precincts of its own dominions.
The small party who still stick to the opinion that other than ghostly agencies are at work are getting into disrepute, and the feeling is strengthening that it is unsafe to jest about so serious a matter, or make any remarks derogatory to the character of a depraved spirit. In the face of this, nevertheless, the chairman of a meeting, consisting of nearly one thousand individuals, a few nights ago, had the temerity to state publicly that if he had possession of the house for one week, he would undertake to purge it of its present visitor. Yet the manifestations are so confounding on the one hand, and the disposition to shrink from the belief that any wicked man may carry out a scheme of revenge by raising up a spirit from the land from whose bourne, it is said, no traveller returns, that another section of the community are just on the balance, ready to renounce their former cherished opinions, or to see them confirmed beyond dispute. Hence the great interest felt in the issue of the present unparalleled proceedings in this part of the country.
Belfast News-Letter, 23rd November 1874.
Home-made Ghosts.
At the present season of the year it is generally understood that the writers for leading London serials are preparing for us literary enjoyments to be perused in the course of the Christmas holidays. Speaking from the experience of the past, it is exceedingly probable that these effusions will be mainly composed of weird narratives which, time out of mind, have formed attractions at the firesides of the rich and the poor. The ancient baronial ghost has made himself famous, and, instead of having disappeared, he is found to be as lively as ever on the pages of Christmas books. To the story-teller he provides a flood for imagination as extraordinary and as full of interest as captivated our great grandfathers, and caused their children, when, far into the depths of midnight, to listen to ghostly relations with wonder and unflagging attention.
Whether the ancient ladies and gentlemen believed in the accuracy of their own accounts it would be unkind to consider. We incline to the conclusion that they were true and good pictures; that the spectres they glowingly depicted were not the creations of imagination for the mind’s eye, but they were all good, substantial, and genuine ghosts. They were generally divided into three or four classes. There were the lordly ghost and the distinguished lady ghost, who had lost their lives by the means of some diabolical act of treachery. The former was gnerally represented stalking abroad after midnight, and he made disappeance exactly as the first indications of morning were heard from the leader of the farmyard. If a soldier, he was incased in armour; his helmet was adorned with a black plume – just as he had gone forth to his last fight – and he grimly pointed to the good sword of his fathers.
When the apparition was a lady, she generally wore garments of white; there was pallid sadness upon her cheeks, and she walked through long galleries in an airy, pensive mood that brought tears and dread from ancient retainers. The next class of these visitors did not belong to so high a rank. They were to be met with in the village churchyard about the hour of twelve o’clock p.m. It is admitted that these have been the worst of all ghosts. They lay behind tombstones, and no amount of whistling from young or old schoolboys could keep the courage up. It was solemnly asserted that they had the whole and employed the entire furnishings of cemeteries in order to heighten their effect; it was never forgotten.
There are other ghosts, belonging to the skeletons which, we are told, find a place in everybody’s closet. These are, however, it should be said in their favour, a class of conscientious people who occasionally lecture us to some purpose.
But the modern ghost, and a ghost with whose habits we have not the slightest approval, is this Cookstown fellow. There is evidently nothing of gentlemanly behaviour about him. He is a ghost of mean, low mischievous habits. His conduct is completely contrary to all ghostly behaviour. He has condescended to play some tricks that would make the most ghostly of angels weep. What sense is there in it to disturb the chattels of a house, to spoil crocks of cream, and nightly create alarm by silly noises. We could understand the business of the ghost of a celebrated Irish novelist who, when the President of the “Hell Fire Club” expired, took possession cellar of the club-house as the representative, and was brought into the light of day by the sprinkling of valuable water from the old Parish Priest. This ghost, after having asked forgiveness for the consumption of innumerable quarts of good liquor, received the clerical absolution.
But his Cookstown representative is evidently a despicable and degraded character. His fashions are not the fashions of gentlemen. He condescends to meanness. We declare it a deliberate opinion that he is altogether unworthy of a place in a Christmas book. The public should have nothing to do with him; he is a quack, and he is utterly unable to give a high class of the ingenuity of a ghostman. The grandmothers of the future will not assuredly hand down his name to posterity, nor is it probable that he will contribute much to the permanent celebrity of Cookstown.
But what are we to think of the intelligence of a community who have so long permitted this outrage upon common sense and the best of education to prevail among them? The inhabitants of Cookstown [illegible] take [?] with some of the best of provincial towns in Ulster. Yet, in this instance, they have tolerated a most outrageous and scandalous farce to be transacted before their eyes. Why has not this ghost been discovered during the present week? Why is the present sensational cry allowed to prevail towards the injury of a thriving town? Was there nobody prepared to exclaim after Hamlet –
“Angels and ministers of grass defend us! / Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn’d. / Bring with thee sirs from heaven or blasts from hell / Be thy intents wicked or charitable, / Thou comest in such a questionable shape, / That I will speak to thee.”
Why, was not the Cookstown ghost addressed in the language of the Prince of Denmark by some respectable inhabitant? Are there no blackthorn sticks in Cookstown, and no people with sufficient muscle to apply them? There should be no doubt as to the question of the shape of the manoeuvre which has been going on; but, it is being played out, and the ghost has made his dupes, and he escapes public justice. There was, apparently, nobody to address the Cookstown visitor according to the manner in which he should have been received. He was left to play his pranks in his own particular manner. His drolleries are likely to come to a speedy termination. It is a sad fact, however, that the “fasting girl of Wales” should find a parallel in the case of the Cookstown spectre.
It is said that the ghost has left for Markethill. Perhaps his pranks may see the light of day in that direction. At any rate, it is full time the silly delusion should be completely exploded.
Belfast Weekly Telegraph, 28th November 1874.
The Cookstown Ghost.
The “ghost” at Cookstown has become an institution. “Special reporters” from morning and evening contemporaries have, after the manner of our American cousins, sought on more than one occasion to “interview” this celebrity. But they have either presented themselves at unseasonable times, or his ghostship was not in proper form for ministering to their curiosity. Apparently like “Whang the Miller,” he loves to choose his company, as, save to a few especially privileged individuals, neither himself nor his manifestations have been exhibited to the ordinary and general public, who frequently visit the scene of his operations, courting closer acquaintance. However, judging from hearsay – even the hearsay of which Mr Allen himself is the medium – the performances of this now distinguished visitor are of a most versatile and realistic description, quite out of the way of what our childish ideas fashioned as ghostly antics.
At one time this ghost, whom we have taken the liberty of classing as of the masculine gender, delights in trindling stones of various shapes and sizes down the stairs of the house, but, so far as we have been able to ascertain, no record is given of his reversing the performance by pitching them up again. This must be some oversight on his part, and it is to be hoped the hint will not be thrown away. At another time boots, hats, coats and various other articles of clothing are cut into shreds, potatoes in the pot in which they are boiling, give practical illustrations, it is said, of how the rule of subtraction can be exemplified, by disappearing unaccountably, and being subsequently found elsewhere. Still depending on hearsay, we find bowls filled with stirabout placed on the kitchen table frequently take to executing queer gyrations, which usually end on the floor.
The honesty of the gentleman is, however, unimpeachable. Nothing is said to be lost or to absolutely disappear; mutilation seems to be the predominant passion. One of his latest performances was the inverting of a churn filled with milk; but – a strange way of exhibiting a capacity for the supernatural – the milk spilled. The only circumstance apparently strange is connection with this is the fact that the pantry where the churn was kept had been securely locked, and the keys placed in the keeping of, we understand, Mr Allen himself. Our inquiries have not, however, been able to satisfy us that duplicate keys are unknown in that locality. Incidents of the foregoing nature might be multiplied on a hundredfold, yet their cause is but a matter of speculation.
A few persons, chiefly of the credulous class, whom Professor Owen, or others of that ilk, would have prized as no small acquisition in the mediumistic line, will have the performances as being the result of supernatural agency. To hint anything else is looked upon by these persons as bordering on irreverance. In support of their theory, the Witch of Endor and other high authorities are quoted. But their numbers are comparatively limited and are chiefly of that class who might be expected to place implicit credence on the reality of the legendary creations of Crofton Croker.
Much sympathy is felt by every person in the twon for Mr Allan, who is a gentleman of the most inoffensive character, on account of the cowardly system of annoyance to which he is and has been subjected. The general opinion is that the penetration of such reprehensible proceedings should not be placed to causes supernatural; and while much indignation is felt that one of the most respectable inhabitants of the town should be made the victim of such malicious proceedings, the opinion is freely expressed, that if proper facilities were afforded, the origin of the apparently mysterious but cowardly practices would speedily be unravelled. – Norther Whig.
Drogheda Conservative, 28th November 1874.
In the little town of Cookstown, in the north of Ireland, lives one Mr Allen, a grocer, who for the past eighteen months has been annoyed by a mischievous and good-for-nothing spirit. It has broken his windows, cut to pieces his clothes, old and new, smashed his furniture, rolled huge stones down his staircase, and played all sorts of wanton tricks.
The Royal Irish Constabulary – “Are wise and full or lore; / But here they were not sage, / They saw but knew no more.” Armed men have been put on the watch, but to no purpose; the marauders not being of the earthy, earthy, laughed at their precautions. Now, ghosts used to be respectable beings, never descending to such shabby tricks as this one, who actually makes sway with the food before it is half-cooked. But, in the body or out or it, the Cookstown man likes a potatoe, the article of food which disappears in this case.
Fancy, if you can, the ghost that appears to Julius Caesar or Hamlet’s Father being guilty of such low acts. No, the ghosts of those days were more enlightened, or at least they were better minded. Mr Allen is a man of unblemished character, and there seems no reason why he should be singled out of the 4,000 inhabitants of Cookstown to be annoyed as he is. Unless, perhaps, he is an Orangeman, and the ghost in question formerly inhabited the “corpus” of a Roman Catholic, or vice versa. We know from Virgil that gods and goddesses, or, if you like, ghosts and ghostesses, can be very vindictive, and can keep their anger for any length of time.
But what is to be done? What would Mr William Howitt recommend? In fact, this case throws Peckham in the shade altogether. The Daily Telegraph recommends that the spirit should be questioned politely by means of a medium and a table. The “Spiritualist” thinks a scientific committee ought to be formed, composed of such men as Professor Tyndall, Dr. Carpenter, the Mayor of Belfast, and others, to investigate the matter, and no doubt in the hope of converting them to its own faith.
The fact is, all things proceed from natural causes. Either this Cookstown marvel is the work of human agency, or it is what is generally called a freak of nature. And when we hear of stones being thrown, and furniture knocked about by ghostly agency, if we were to investigate the matter in a scientific spirit, no doubt a rational explanation of the phenomena would be arrived at.
American Register, 5th December 1874.
Another Ghost in Cookstown.
A local contemporary of last week gives publicity to the following: – “The “ghost” still hold undiminished, though not undivided, away in Cookstown. A second claimant for ghostly honours, and the notoriety consequent on ghostly exploits, has – as aspirants for material favours are accustomed to declare – come forward, “hoping to receive a share of public patronage.”
The vagaries of No. 1 continue as previously described – daily bouts at the stone-throwing and clothes-cutting operations; but, contrary to all preconceived notions of what a ghost should do, he puts himself on his good behaviour at night, goes to sleep like a sensible gentlemen, and dreams, perhaps, of further mischiefs for to-morrow.
But, as if ashamed of this libel on ghostdom, a second chap has “manifested.” This new arrival is none of your sill, make-believe ghosts going about making a fool of himself by endeavouring to have sensible people believe that a properly qualified ghost would so demean himself as to cut capers with bowls of stirabout and churns filled with buttermilk, spilling their contents awkwardly about the floor. A ghost that would deal in such a way with the material should have his credentials cancelled.
But with the new candidate for the marvellous there is none of this shilly-shally, slipshod work. All the necessary and usual conditions for a properly qualified ghost are fully developed – shape, the inevitable dog; colour, the most perfect sable; time of appearance, the “witching hour”; mode of manifestation, sundry rollings and tumblings about a room, in the most approved dog-like fashion accompanied with deep sepulchral growls, of the regulation tone.
As this latest addition to the cause of sensationalism in our town has pitched the theatre of his perfromance in the immediate vicinity of where his precursor blunders at “ghosting,” it is asserted with some show of probability, that the rival establishment has been started for the purpose of putting Ghost Number One out of the market. Be this as it may, number two disports himself nightly, and insists on having his hsare of a bed that is occupied by a man and his wife. Sundry bruises and discolorations are exhibited, not on the ghost, but on the woman, against whom the assaults are said to be mainly directed, as the result of these repeated struggles for the possession of the bed.
Gossip is busy assigning a reason for all these manifestations, but gossip at best is but an unreliable authority. It may be stated, however, that the woman has, twice in her lifetime, appeared as a principal at the altar of Hymen – a circumstance which is said to have some unexplained connection with the attention she is now receiving from the sable visitor.
Newtownards Chronicle and Co. Down Observer, 5th December 1874.