Despite this reading like a fictional story, it seems ‘Silverton Abbey’ was actually Goldington Grange, now demolished (see https://bedsarchives.bedford.gov.uk/CommunityHistories/Goldington/Goldington-Grange.aspx )
A “Haunted” House.
Strange Modern Ghost Story.
A correspondent signing himself “Bruggeling” writes to the Standard giving an extraordinary account of a haunted house, and commenting on the manner in which the English law declines to recognise psychical phenomena of this class. He says: –
In the Nineteenth Century ghosts are obsolete, but they are costing me two hundred pounds a year. I have written to my lawyer, but am told by him, rightly or wrongly, that the English law does not recognise ghosts, and that I must go on paying two hundred pounds a year, while my lease lasts, for a house that no one will give me fifty pounds for. I have already wasted three hundred pounds over it. I will call the house Silverton Abbey, though that is not its name.
Some time ago I left India on furlough, and, being near the end of my service, looked out for a house that should be our home for a few years. After four months’ vain search I was told of Silverton Abbey. I found the house in most respects what I wanted, but the gardens were a scene of utter desolation. Weeds three feet high grew everywhere. The rent, two hundred pounds, was the full value of the house, if everything had been in order. My furlough was passing away. My time was hanging heavily on my hands. No other place offered. It would amuse me to get the garden into order. Asking why the garden was so desolate, I was told that my landlord was the most cantankerous person in the county. Before any lease could be signed a quarrel had arisen and the papers had been torn up, in one case after the would-be tenant had sown his seeds in the garden. The house had been empty for four years. No one said word about the house being haunted. My landlord, who had been frightened out of the house, was silent on this point. It takes two to make a quarrel. I never began one in my life. So I took the house for five years, hoping that my landlord would not quarrel with me. I was mistaken – but that has nothing to do with the ghosts.
The first thing that we noticed was that servants fought shy of us. No sooner was Silverton Abbey mentioned than the servant broke off negotiations. In some way we struggled on short-handed. Still, no one said anything about ghosts. Summer turned into autumn, when one evening a violent rattling at one of the windows sent off the parlourmaid, a girl from the village, into hysterics. I ran outside, but found no one. After being comforted by a glass of port, the girl sobbed out that it was well known that Mr. — walked. She told a long story, which was afterwards corroborated, of past events connected with Silverton Abbey. It was not a pleasant story, and as it affects persons still living I will give no details.
As soon as we began to ask people about what the girl had said, mouths hitherto shut were opened. Silverton Abbey had always been known in the nearest town and all around as the Haunted House. I may say that I am not physically nervous. I have been under fire repeatedly, have been badly wounded in action, and have been complimented on my coolness when bullets were flying about. I was not then afraid of ghosts, as far as I knew. Besides, I suspected trickery. I had been often in places where my revolver had to be ready to my hand. A light was kept burning in the upper and lower corridor all night. A lamp and loaded revolver were by my bedside every night. No one could have entered the house without being detected, and probably shot. As winter draws on, and the nights began to lengthen, strange noises began to be heard. Night after night have I gone over the house, with a lamp in one hand and a loaded revolver in the other, but never did I find anyone about. Furniture had never been disturbed, though I could have sworn it was being moved. No living being had been in the places from which footsteps had been heard. The governess used to complain of a tall lady, with black, heavy eyebrows, who used to come as if to strangle her as she lay in bed. She also described some footsteps, which had passed along the corridor past her door, of some one, apparently, by his or her actions, intoxicated. But, in fact, no one had left their rooms, and no one had been intoxicated.
A German parlourmaid and housemaid had been induced, on receipt of very high wages, to come to Silverton Abbey. They were old friends and occupied the same room. They and the English servants did not agree. They never went into the village, and never cared to gossip. We never told them of any ghosts. One night the housemaid, according to her account, was terrified by a tall lady with heavy dark eyebrows, who entered the room and bent over her bed. After this the housemaid took up hot water to the bedrooms and dressing-rooms, in the evenings, by the front stairs. The other servants went upstairs after dark in pairs.
One night we had driven into the town to a concert. It was nearly midnight when we returned. Our old Scotch housekeeper, who admitted us, a woman of iron nerves, was trembling with terror. Shortly before our arrival, a horrible shriek had rung through the house. To all our questions she only replied, “It was nothing earthly.” The nurse, who was awake with a child with whooping cough, heard the cry, and says it was simply horrible. It was, she says, in the lower corridor. Now there was no one in the lower corridor.
One night, lying awake, I distinctly saw the handle of my bedroom door turned, and the door pushed open. I seized my revolver, and ran to the door. The lamp in the long corridor was burning brightly, no one was there, and no one could have got away. We had become much attached to the neighbourhood. We decided to spend our winters on the Continent and the summers at Silverton Abbey. We had children to educate. Our idea turned out to be an impossible one.
We decided to let the house. I put the matter in the hands of local agents, but failed to let it furnished. I sold off the furniture, and tried to let it unfurnished. I failed again. I tried a London agent, who, after sending a man down, frankly told me that the house was said to be haunted. I instructed him and the local agents to take even fifty pounds or sixty pounds for the house. Even then they failed. Now I have received an offer of one hundred pounds for the two and a quarter years remaining of my lease. One hundred pounds to be paid for two and a quarter years’ occupation of a house with sixteen bedrooms, large reception-rooms, a garden with plenty of fruit, and 14 acres of pasture, which pasture lets for about £22 a year. Taking away the pasture, the house and garden appear, therefore, to be worth no more than £18 a year.
I have written to my agents, but they have received no better offers. My London agent frankly tells me there must be something against the house, as he let a much less suitable house a short time ago, after recommending Silverton Abbey in preference to it. Now, I can honestly say there is nothing against the house but ghosts. It is a roomy, nice, dry house. The fruit garden is well stocked with fruit now, and the pasture the best in the parish. There are no ghosts. Are there not? Whose footsteps sound in Silverton Abbey in the dead of night? Rats, say some. Rats do not turn door handles. Draughts, I am told. Rats and draughts do not raise unearthly yells in corridors. A screech owl is suggested. There was no screech owl in the corridor, and rats, draughts (the house is not particularly draughty), and screech owls do not reduce the rent of a house from two hundred pounds a year to less than fifty pounds.
I say my landlord ought to have told me about being frightened out of the house, four years before I took it, by manifestations. Now, as my landlord would, in the witness-box, have to confess to having been frightened out of the house by manifestations, to having spoken to many about the circumstance, to having been in the habit of sitting up all night surrounded by dogs, and only going to bed with dawn while in the house, it seems to me that I ought to have a remedy. My lawyer says I have none, as the English law does not recognise ghosts. “Then,” said Bumble, “the law is a hass.” I have paid away, in hard cash, three hundred pounds for an empty house not worth forty pounds a year, and, according to my lawyer, must pay four hundred and seventy pounds more before my lease is up. If that is English law, I am glad I live on the Continent.
reproduced in the Cornish Times, 25th April 1896.
A Haunted Home.
Haunted houses have long been heard of but seldom seen. One has, however, been found at last which has come through the ordeal of scientific inspection with flying colours. This is “Silverton Abbey,” situated within two miles of a Midland town. The ghosts of the Abbey are to be congratulated upon the result which has attended their efforts to obtain general recognition.
A recent tenant of the house left it because of their activity, and wrote to the papers about it. He also wrote to his lawyers, in the vain hope of being able to extract compensation from his landlord. The law could not help him. It takes no count of ghosts. But the law, we know, is “a hass.” However, the pathetic story of the tenant as told in the press attracted the attention of two gentlemen of scientific mind, who share the incredulity of the law in respect of ghosts. They resolved to spend two nights in the house. It is probable that the ghostly inhabitants of the Abbey knew something of the circumstances under which the visit was made. At any rate, they determined to resent the impertinence of the implied reflection upon their good faith. The two gentlemen examined the house carefully by daylight, took every precaution against anyone of material build coming in during the evening, and finally retired to rest, both in the same room.
Nothing happened before midnight. At the fashionable hour for ghostly promenades faint footsteps were heard in the corridor. The two scientific doubters first shouted and then rushed out. At the shout the faint footsteps ceased to be heard, and inspection failed to unearth any explanation of the noise.
The best experience was reserved for the second night. Bedlam must be a poor place for noises in comparison with “Silverton Abbey.” Doors opened and closed, apparently of their own volition, and heavy weights fell with loud bangs on the floor. The occasion was evidently regarded as a special one by the ghosts. They have at least justified their existence, and have come through the investigation without a stain upon their character. The two gentlemen are evidently mystified. It may be they are beginning to modify their ancient incredulity. At any rate, they do not offer to continue their examination.
Westerham Herald, 16th May 1896.
The ‘Ghosts’ of Goldington Grange.
The story of a Bedfordshire scare.
The ghostly superstitions surrounding Goldington Grange, a villa near Bedford, are, says a correspondent, so confirmed that it still remains untenanted. No one has lived there for years, owing, it is said, to the stories of unearthly noise and strange sights, and nervous villagers close by retain a dread of the place, and shun it night and day. Through these prejudices it seems almost impossible to let the premises, and a Bedford syndicate has been formed for the purpose of purchasing the property and converting the land into building ground. This has recently been done. The syndicate comprises a well-known retired builder, a couple of solicitors, a Town Councillor, a doctor, etc. The estate of 15 acres will be soon built upon. One hundred cottages of the artisan class are to be erected. It is outside the borough. The new front to the mansion, which the last occupier, Mrs Grimshawe added, will most likely be taken down, and the house itself, now of a good age, will either be let (if possible) or divided out. Anyhow, operations have commenced already, and the supposed ghosts are likely soon to find plenty of company.
There is a strange history connected with the house, which may be familiar to some of your readers, for articles on the subject and the wild fancies concerning the house have already appeared in your columns. It was just over four years ago when the sensation was started by a cleverly-written letter, signed by a Colonel Gladstone, said to be a cousin of the G.O.M., who had leased the house, which is a fine building, containing over thirty rooms, besides extensive stabling, yard, gardens, and paddock, the whole covering 15 acres of land, including the site of the villa. Mr Gladstone leased the house for a three years’ term, at, I believe, a reduced rental of £200 a year, and upon Mrs Grimshawe (the owner) quitting it for the purpose of travel and change of residence, Mr Gladstone went with his family to reside at the villa. The Colonel was subsequently called out to India upon Government business.
The house became vacant, and various rumours were afloat about Mr Gladstone’s reason for going away. Not long elapsed, however, before a letter came out in the London papers, signed by the lessee, and bitterly complaining of the presence of nightly apparitions in the bedrooms, staircases and landings, etc., at the house he had vacated. Messrs. Wells and Col, house furnishers, of High-street, Bedford, were agents for the letting of premises at Goldington, and gave permission for strangers to visit the empty house and pass the night there if wished. For such pupose they provided bedsteads, bedding, and necessary furniture for the room where the ghosts were said to be seen and heard. Many persons visited the place from curiosity (the writer included), a Northampton clergyman, and a representative of your paper, but nothing could be really seen or heard by them.
Meanwhile the Colonel was compelled to pay up his full rent, although he had hoped that the law, as in India, would free him from it owing to the alleged presence of ghosts, which it is said at the witching hour of midnight would come forth, banging doors, knocking walls, and make clattering noises along the passages. The whole affair is so mysterious, and has attracted so much attention, that I thought many of your readers would be interested in the developments now going on.
Northampton Mercury, 9th November 1900.