Halton Holegate – An Unravelled Mystery.
The usually quiet and even-balanced minds of the inhabitants of this neighbourhood have recently undergone a severe shock, through the spreading about of an insidious rumour to the effect that human bones had been discovered buried under the brick floor of a farmstead, that blood stains were to be seen in one of the rooms, that strange, weird and unearthly tappings, moanings and the like were nightly heard, and that a disembodied spirit every now and again had been actually seen by one of the occupants of the said farm. With such a string of mysterious circumstances one naturally associates deeds of foul play, and it is not, perhaps, a matter for surprise that a story was soon going the rounds to this effect.
Some time or other, no one seemed to know when, murder must have been committed, the victim had been buried, and the affair long since forgotten, but now the truth of the old adage – “murder will out” – was again about to be verified. With a view to making a complete enquiry into the strange affair, our representative the other day made a special journey to the farmstead in question, and although, as is frequently the case, the rumours were found to be greatly exaggerated, still it must be confessed the mystery is by no means altogether cleared up.
The farm, which is known as the High Farm, stands back from the high road two fields’ length, and is separated from the high road two fields’ length, and is separated by one field from a footpath, which runs from Spilsby to Halton. The house is a large, square building of two stories, and certainly does not look to be above a hundred years old. It is the property of Mr Enderby, Station Hotel, Boston, the tenants being Mr and Mrs Wilson and their servant man. At first Mrs Wilson appeared somewhat reluctant to make any statement, but eventually she made a clean breast of the whole story, which we give as nearly as possible in her own words. She said:
“We came here on Lady Day last. The first night or so we heard very strange noises about mid-night, as though someone was knocking at the doors and walls. Once it seemed as though someone was moving all the things about in a hurry downstiars. Another time the noise was like a heavy picture falling from the wall, but in the morning I found everything as right as it was the night before. The servant man left, saying he dare not stop, and we had to get another. Then about six weeks ago I saw ‘something’. Before getting into bed, my husband being asleep, having retired before me, I thought I would go downstairs and see if the cow was all right, as it was about to calve. I did so, and when at the foot of the stairs, just as I was about to go up, I saw an old man standing at the top, and looking at me. He was standing as though he was very round shouldered. How I got past I can’t say, but I rushed into the bedroom and slammed the door. Here I went to get some water from the dressing-table, but feeling that someone was behind me I turned round sharp, and there again stood the same old man. He quickly vanished, but I was quite certain I had seen him.”
Replying to questions, Mrs Wilson said she was wide awake at the time. She had also seen the old man before and since, though not so distinctly, but she had not seen anything now for over a week. Next the reporter turned his attention to the alleged discovery of human bones and the supposed blood stains. He was conducted into the sitting-room where the “find” was made, and at once began a searching examination. Mrs Wilson stated that the previous Saturday, noticing the uneven nature of the floor in one corner of the room, she took up the bricks with the intention of relaying them. As soon as she did this, however, a most disagreeable odour was at once emitted, and her suspicions were speedily aroused.
Calling her husband, the pair commenced a minute examination. Several more bricks were taken up, and on a poker being pushed into the soil it at once entered a cavity of unknown proportions. Both Mr and Mrs Wilson became somewhat alarmed, but continued the search and three or rour bones were speedily turned over, together with a gold ring (evidently a wedding token or keeper) and several pieces of very old fashioned black silk. The whole of these had evidently been buried in quicklime, the bones and silk being obviously burned therewith. When this gruesome discovery had been made the search was not further prosecuted, but a quantity of fresh sand introduced, and the floor at once levelled again. The bones were handed over to Dr Gay for inspection, whilst Mrs Wilson thoughtlessly threw the ring away, and although she afterwards tried to regain possession of it she was unable to do so.
The alleged clots of human blood were next pointed out. They are of a very dark colour, and of varying sizes. They certainly strongly resembled spots of blood, but whether human or not it was impossible to say, though Mrs Wilson significantly stated she had tried everything to remove them without effect. Asked what was her own opinion on the whole of the mysteries Mrs Wilson confidently asserted her belief that some time or other foul play had taken place in the house. She was evidently fully persuaded in her own mind with regard to the apparition, for although it was suggested she might have been mistaken, she disdainfully put the idea on one side as being beneath notice, backing up her assertion by the statement that the description of the “spirit” closely tallied with that of a man named Hardy, who died in the house a few years ago, and whom she never saw. Certainly the “spirit” looked a good deal older than this Hardy, but that’s a detail merely.
Asked if she had ever seen anything before, she said she saw a female spirit in the house where she lived as a girl of six. These, then, are the facts of the case. Where the connection comes in between “the shadowy one” and the blood and the bones it is hard to see, especially when we bear in mind the fact that Dr Gay informed our reporter that the bones might be those of a dog or pig, and that the room in which the “finds” took place was formerly used as a store-room for bacon, &c.
The mysterious sounds, too, might possibly be accounted for from the fact that this room at one time contained another doorway, which is now boarded and plastered over, so that the intervening space may have been selected as a kind of playground by a few families of rats. Certainly, therefore, the foul-murder theory cannot be supported, at least so far as the blood-stains and human bones go, though the mystery of the borderland visitor still remains unsolved. It should be added that the noises have been nightly heard by both Mr and Mrs Wilson, though the apparition has only appeared to the latter. Last night, in reply to questions by our reporter, Dr Gay stated on further examination he had come to the conclusion that undoubtedly some of the bones are human, but whether taken from a former vault or disused drain he could not say. He believes the bones to be a hundred years old.
Lincolnshire Chronicle, 28th August 1897.
The latest ghost story – that which has just been reported from a village near Spilsby in Lincolnshire – will remind many people of the mystery which sore vexed the minds of the Wesleys when they tenanted Epworth parsonage. According to the account given by the learned and erudite Dr. Adam Clarke in his life of Wesley, the Epworth ghost must have had much in common with that of Halton Holegate. Both would appear to have greatly indulged in “noises and knockings.” Dr. Clarke, in the work just mentioned, was at the trouble to reprint lengthy documents by members of the Wesley family, wherein the most circumstantial accounts were given of the misdeeds of the family ghost.
He seems to have been fond of knocking at doors, walls, windows, pannellings, and at the foot of an old-fashioned bedstead. He would knock while the family sat together in social converse, or when they were assembled for family devotion. The Halton Holegate ghost appears to have been similarly disposed. According to Mrs Wilson, the tenant of the farmstead in which he has appeared, the ghost knocked at doors and walls, made noises “as if a heavy picture were falling,” and generally emulated the deeds of his predecessor of Epworth. But there all similarity stops. So far as we remember, the Wesley ghost never materialised.
Now, the Halton Holegate ghost, according to Mr Wilson, has already appeared in the guise of an old man who was very “round-shouldered.” His appearances have been many, but not all of an equal distinctness. And, unfortunately, his appearances and the aforesaid knockings have been followed up by the discovery of – human bones! The bones were discovered in company with a gold ring and several pieces of old black silk, in a corner of the farm-house sitting-room, which is certainly not a proper place of sepulture. There was a presumption that the bones had been interred in quicklime, and the medical man to whom they were submitted gave it as his opinion that they were at least a century old.
Here, then, are all the elements of a fine mystery noises and knockings about the walls of a presumably ancient country house; the appearance, on more than one occasion, of an old, round-shouldered man, and the discovery of human bones in a corner of the sitting-room! No finer materials for a complete story of mystery could possibly be found.
But when one comes to think these circumstances over in sober earnestness – say, in the full glare of mid-day rather than at the witching hour of midnight – one feels that there is much to be said on both sides. To begin with, nobody who knows anything at all of country houses will doubt for one moment that Mrs Wilson, of Halton Holegate, heard strange, mysterious, and wonderful noises and knockings in her house. It would have been strange if she had nont. We have no information as to the exact age of the farmstead which she occupies, but as the bones seem to have lain there for a century, we may safely say that it was built more than a hundred years ago. Now, there is something about ancient houses – and a house of one hundred years of age may well be entitled to that term – which lends itself with great willingness to noises and knockings – especially at night, when all is quiet. And therefore noboody who knows anything about ancient houses will dispute Mrs Wilson’s experiences in teh way of mere sounds.
But not so many people will believe that those sounds resulted from supernatural causes. They may have been caused by rats – or by wind – or, again, by falling pieces of lath or plaster. Who is there, having lain awake or sat up o’ nights in an old house, has not heard footsteps on the stairs, falling bodies in the garrets and lonely chambers, scufflings and knockings behind the panellings and at the doors? So much, then, for the noises. There never was, and there never will be, and old house without them. But when we come to apparitions we touch different ground.
Perhaps we are not all quite so certain as we used to be about that old saying which tells us that seeing is believing – various events have conspired to make us feel that there are times when we merely think we see. And without doubting for one moment that Mrs Wilson, of Halton Holegate, honestly believes that she really saw an old round-shouldered man, we may take leave to doubt whether she really did see him or anything.
When the ghost appeared to the close-fisted, miserable old raiser in Dickens’s Christmas story, that ancient hunks, in spite of his fear, was sensible and practical enough to discuss the matter with him. He certainly appeared to see something, he said – but that something might be a bit of undigested food, a splash of mustard too much, an extra mouthful of cheese. It is true that Marley’s ghost remained a ghost – but he was a ghost of fiction, and we all know that in fiction things are not as they are in real life. And while we do not say that the latest Lincolnshire ghost may be a mere product of imagination, we venture to point out that between actually seeing a thing and fancying that we see it there is a difference which is wide and real.
The serious features of the present case would seem, in our opinion, to arise when we come to the question of the bones. Knockings and apparitions are not over tangible matters to deal with. You cannot arrest an appearance or lay hands on a sound. Bones, however, are serious things, and so are gold rings, and pieces of silk, and quick-lime. It is not pleasant for anybody, and especially for the inmates, to know that such matters have been discovered in the sitting-room of a dwelling-house. It may argue foul play at some time or other; it certainly implies concealment.
If these bones, however, have been lying there for a century, it is not likely that anybody will ever solve the mystery which surrounds them. Their sole interest to us lies in their relation to the ghost. And at this point the whole story is a wonderful example of the fact that most of us are fatally given to the bad habit of jumping at conclusions. Let us grant, for the sake of argument, that there have really been noises heard in the farmhouse at Halton Holegate which cannot be explained by any natural reason, and that Mrs Wilson has really seen the undoubted apparition of a man, old and round-shouldered. What have either of these facts to do with the discovery of bones in the farmhouse sitting-room? It is difficult to guess the average answer to this question. Most people will immediately reply that if noises are heard in a house, and if apparitions are seen in that house, and if bones are subsequently discovered buried in the floor of the house, why then the bones must have something to do with the apparitions and the noises. But must there? Is there not in this strange economy of things which we call life such a thing as the law of coincidence?
We are asked to believe that because certain noises have been heard, an apparition said to have been seen, and some human bones dug up from a corner in the floor, that here is a full-blown ghost story – the presumption being that at some time there has been foul play, and that the victim is now haunting innocent folk. Before we agree to all that, we should like to know what particular connection there is between the bones and the apparition, the apparition and the noises, and the noises and the bones. We are far from saying that there are not more things in the natural and supernatural than most of us dream of, but we also incline to the opinion that there are other things which are built up out of imaginations only too ready to jump at desired comclusions.
Leeds Mercury, 31st August 1897.
The Lincolnshire Ghost.
Further discoveries are being made at the farmhouse of Halton Holegate, near Spilsby, where the movements of the latest Lincolnshire ghost was reported the other day. Another examination of the brick-work covering the floor of the sitting-room was made on Tuesday, when several bones were unearthed and further pieces of corded silk were found. These, together with the bones discovered on the previous occasion, are broken and decayed, but, according to the medical advice already consulted, the evidence is clear that the body interred was that of a lady.
Despite the wide publication given to the movements of the “ghost,” the nocturnal visitant continues to make his mysterious presence known in a variety of ways. Every night the occupants of the farmhouse are disturbed by knockings and tappings. For some days, however, the “round-shouldered old man” who suddenly appeared before the farmer’s wife, has not been seen. A lamp is now kept burning in the bedroom where, according to Mrs Wilson, the apparition made his previous appearance.
Fife Free Press, and Kirkcaldy Guardian, 4th September 1897.
The latest Lincolnshire sensation of the ghostly order, comes from the village of Halton Holgate, near Spilsby, where in an isolated farm house, weird sounds are to be heard, and a ghost walks at night. Such at least is the story current in the village, and vouched for by, shall we say the imaginative occupants of the place. The house is tenanted by a Mr and Mrs Wilson and a servant man, and here is the lady’s account of what transpires: –
“We came here on Lady-Day last. The first night or so we heard very strange noises about midnight, as though someone was knocking at the doors and walls. Once it seemed as though someone was moving all the things in a hurry downstairs. Another time the noise was like a heavy picture falling from the wall, but in the morning found everything as right as it was the night before. The servant man left, saying he dare not stop, and we had to get another.
“Then about six weeks ago I saw ‘something’. Before getting into bed, my husband having retired before me, I thought I would go downstairs and see if the cow was all right, as it was about to calve. I did so, and when at the foot of stairs, just as I was about to go up again, I saw an old man standing at the top, and looking at me. He was standing as though he were round-shouldered. How I got past I can not say, but as soon as I did so I darted into my bedroom, and slammed the door. Then I went to get some water from the dresser-table, but feeling that someone was behind me, I turned round sharply, and there again stood the same old man. He quickly vanished, but I am quite certain I saw him. I have also seen him several times since, though not quite so distinctly.”
There is this reality, at any rate, about the mystery – under the brick floor of the sitting room human bones have been unearthed, probably of the age of nearly 100 years, and the timorous occupants of the “haunted house” are naturally emphatic in the belief that foul play has been committed, and that it is the ghost of the murdered one that walks at night! But how comes it about that whilst the bones are those of a woman, the ghost is that of a man? The wind may account for many ghostly rappings and weird sounds, and timidity and imagination may even conjure up a ghost. It may be so at Spilsby.
Lincolnshire Free Press, 7th September 1897.
Halton Holegate – The “Ghost” Mystery.
The mysterious find of human bones, blood stains, &c., together with the alleged appearance of a phantom or ghost at the High Farm here, and which was first given publicity to last week in these columns, still remains shrouded in mystery. The house in question, it will be recollected, is occupied by Mr and Mrs Wilson and a farm servant, they coming to the place, which is the property of Mr Enderby, Station Hotel, Boston, at Lady Day last. It is a two-storied building, stands in a field some distance from the high-road, and is stated to be about 84 years old.
There is nothing out of the common in the appearance of the homestead, but the very first night of their stay in the place strange noises were heard, in the shape of tapping, moaning, and the like, whilst Mrs Wilson herself was startled by the appearance of a ghostly apparition in the shape of an old man in a crouching or deformed attitude. The noises continued nightly, but the “visitor” only appeared at intervals. It seems he revealed himself with more or less distinctness, at times appearing much plainer to the vision than at others.
On one occasion, about 11 p.m., he was seen by Mrs Wilson standing at the top of the stairs, and this time so clearly that the lady, though startled, was afterwards enabled to minutely describe, not only the features, but also a kind of night-cap or smoking cap which he wore on his head. That was six or seven weeks ago, and though the spectral visitor again revealed himself to MRs Wilson, and that more than once, he never seemed quite so distinct. Then comes the most remarkable sequel, if sequel it is. Noticing the brick floor of the sitting-room was very uneven, Mrs Wilson decided to take up some of the bricks and relay them. As soon as she did so a disagreeable aroma was at once emitted, and the sandy ground being turned up a number of human bones, a gold ring, and some pieces of black corded silk, buried in lime, were discovered. Naturally all these discoveries have created a great sensation in the neighbourhood, and although there are some wise-acres who attempt to throw cold water on the whole affair, some going so far as to state the story about the apparition is purely imaginative from beginning to end, others again incline to the belief that foul play of some kind or other has undoubtedly been committed.
For a time it was thought probable that as the “ghost” strongly resembled a man named Hardy, who died in the house about ten years ago, he was in some way concerned, but that theory seems scarcely tenable, when Dr. Gay, after careful examination, gives it as his opinion that the bones found are close upon a hundred years of age. During the past week further excavations have been carried on, and more bones unearthed, the leg and arm bones, with a knuckle joint, having been brought to light. The bones presumably are those of a female of medium height, and the generally accepted explanation of the whole mystery is that a woman has been foully murdered, and then buried underneath the floor to avoid any discovery of the deed.
As stated above, a gold ring, much worn, was found with the bones, and this Mrs Wilson superstitiously buried in the garden with such success that she has since not been able to find it. Indeed, when she next went to the spot she found a large hole, knee deep, had been scratched out there.
In the opinion of not a few “knowing ones” the key to the mysterious tappings was to be found in the discovery of rats, hence a diligent search has this week been made, not only in the false roof, but also in the room where the bones were found. In this latter an old doorway had been bricked up, but the bricks were not flush with the remainder of the wall, the interstice being covered with canvas and papered over. This canvas has been torn away, but without result. As can easily be imagined, a few “air holes” were discovered amongst the tiles, these being large enough to admit the entry of birds, and it was evident several of these feathered songsters had made full use of the privilege. The body of a dead rat, too, was found, but nothing further.
Questioned on Thursday by our reporter in reference to these things, Mrs Wilson readily admitted the noises in part were now accounted for, but, she added, “How can we explain the nightly slamming of doors, one after the other, all over the house?” “Perhaps,” suggested our representative, “you failed to secure these doors when you retired at night.” “Oh, yes, we did,” replied Mrs Wilson; “all the doors were safely locked and bolted.” Some persons have put forth the idea that probably the lifting and dropping by the wind of the trap door would account for the noises, but Mrs Wilson assured the reporter that she had had this door open nearly all the time, under the belief that it was a ventilator. This part of the mystery, therefore, appears as far away from solution as ever.
The supposed stains of human blood on the floor of the room in question have also been most minutely examined during the week. Mrs Wilson emphatically asserts her inability to remove the stains either with hot water and soda, bathbrick, or things of a like nature. Visitors to the place have tried to scratch them out with knives, but they defy all efforts, and although the marks have been alleged to be caused through the upsetting of a bottle of ink, the suggestion, to our thinking, may be dismissed at once.
Of course the air is filled with all kinds of theories and opinions on the mysterious discoveries. It is stated now that years ago the farmhouse was a gentleman’s shooting box, and it has been enlarged to its present condition. This statement has given rise to the supposition that the bones are those of some woman murdered in those times, whilst several others assert with equal confidence their belief that the mischief was done probably within the past fifty years, and that the unfortunate victim was a decoyed stranger in these parts.
Several “clever ones” treat the whole affair with incredulity, inasmuch as they assert no other persons who have lived in the house have heard or seen anything, but, from enquiries made, it seems that although none have really seen “things,” mysterious noises were frequently heard, one woman being so frightened as to refuse to remain in the house alone. We learn that the owner of the property intends to leave no stone unturned in his efforts to elucidate the mystery, and, although we doubt his ability to do so, it would relieve the minds of many were he successful.
In proof of the fact that Mrs Wilson’s word is believed by not a few, we might mention that she has been the recipient of several letters on the subject. Writing from Radcliffe-on-Trent, Mr Bevan Harris says:- “I have taken great interest in spiritual manifestations for a dozen years, and am wishful to render any help in my power to any disturbed by such visitations. I have done good service in Newcastle. I am not a professional ghost layer.” Another correspondent in London, E. L. Collins, writes:- “If you like to send particulars of the house and the appearances, also any pieces of the silk found, and anything that will give me a clue, I may unravel the mystery. I have had great experience and success as a clairvoyant, and it is possible some good is to come to your family by setting the matter at rest, so far as the visitor from the other side is concerned. I shall be glad to help you if I can clairvoyantly get at the affair, and I shall be able if I have a clue in the shape of any of the pieces, or any little things in the room.” A third correspondent, a clergyman, in London, recommends the burying of the bones in consecrated ground, when he states that the spirit will not again trouble the house.
Lincolnshire Chronicle, 10th September, 1897.
Halton Holegate – The Ghost Mystery.
There is nothing fresh to add this week to the strange find of human bones and the ghostly apparition at the High Farm, and the affair is now acknowledged on all hands to be most mysterious. No further attempts have been made to find additional bones, nor has the search for the gold ring been further prosecuted. Both Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, however, assert they fully intend renewing their efforts to regain possession of this article, as soon as the soil becomes sufficiently dry. Several more letters n the subject have been received by Mrs Wilson, one coming from as far north as Glasgow, whilst two gentlemen living in London, who have written a pamphlet detailing their experiences in connection with another ghost mystery, have asked for permission to spend a night in the house. On Wednesday a speical journey was made from Chesterfield by a clergyman and his wife, with the express object of seeing the house and questioning its occupants. Public interest, too, continues to be excited, and though one or two are inclined to pooh-pooh the whole affair, Mrs Wilson tenaciously holds to her statements as first published in these columns a fortnight ago.
Mr Enderby, the owner of the property, however, appears wishful to hush the whole matter up, rather than to have the mystery cleared up once and for all, by courting the fullest enquiry. The latter policy, to our thinking, would be the most satisfactory, especially as it is now stated that the house was known to be haunted 20 or 30 years ago.
Lincolnshire Chronicle, 11th September 1897.
The Ghost.
Noises partly account for.
A batch of rural rumours.
A little more information – but very little it is – concerning the Spilsby Ghost, has been gathered. The bones found beneath the floor of the sitting-room are “presumed” to be those of a female of medium height, and “the generally accepted explanation of the whole mystery is that a woman has been foully murdered, and then buried underneath the floor to avoid any discovery of this deed.”
Mrs Wilson has not yet found the ring she buried in the garden with superstitious fear. “Indeed,” we read in a contemporary, “when she next went to the spot, she found a large hole, knee deep, had been scratched out there.”
A dead rat and holes large enough to admit birds have been found beneath the tiles.
Questioned in reference to these things, MRs Wilson has readily admitted the noises in part were now accounted for, but, “How can we explain the nightly slamming of doors, one after the other, all over the house?”
“Perhaps, you failed to secure these doors when you retired at night.”
“Oh, yes, we did,” replied Mrs Wilson; “all the doors were safely locked and bolted.”
Some persons have put forth the idea that probably the lifting and dropping by the wind of a trap door in the ceiling would account for the noises, but Mrs Wilson is sure she had this door open nearly all the time, under the belief that it was a ventilator. This part of the mystery, therefore, appears as far away from solution as ever.
The supposed stains of human blood on the floor of the room in question have also been most minutely re-examined. Mrs Wilson emphatically asserts her inability to remove the stains either with hot water and soda, bathbrick, or things of a like nature. Visitors to the place have tried to scratch them out with knives, but they defy all efforts.
One of the statements dragged to the surface by this scare is that years ago the farmhouse was a gentleman’s shooting box, and it has been enlarged in its present condition. This has of course, given rise to the supposition that the bones are those of some woman murdered in those times. Several others assert with equal confidence their belief that the mischief was done probably within the past fifty years, and that the unfortunate victim was a decoyed stranger in those parts. Some “clever ones” treat the whole affair with incredulity, and declare that no other persons who have lived in the house have heard or seen anything, but, from enquiries made, it seems that although none have really seen “things,” mysterious noises were frequently heard, one woman being so frightened as to refuse to remain in th ehouse alone.
Lincoln Leader and County Advertiser, 11th September 1897.
The Lincolnshire Ghost.
Despite all efforts, the Lincolnshire ghost mystery still remains unravelled. That the noises nightly heard cannot be attributed to rats has been amply demonstrated, and other suggestions when acted upon likewise fail to elucidate the mystery. All over the country the affair has excited the greatest interest, and two London gentlemen have written asking for permission to stay a night in the house. Other letters have been received from clairvoyants asking for pieces of the silk or one of the bones found under the floor, whilst a London clergyman has written advising Mrs Wilson to have the bones buried in consecrated ground. “Then,” he says, “the ghostly visitor will trouble you no longer.” The owner of the house in question – a farmstead at Halton Holgate, near Spilsby – has tried to throw discredit on the whole affair, but such efforts have failed, and it now transpires that the house was known to be haunted fully thirty years ago.
Grantham Journal, 18th September 1897.
From ‘Over Fen and Wold’
… just before starting on our present tour, I read in the Standard of 30th August 1897 of another haunted house in Lincolnshire. The account was long and circumstantial; having perused it carefully I took note of all particulars, determining to visit the house, if possible, and to see if by any means one could elucidate the mystery. As it may interest my readers, I venture here to quote the article in extenso; the more am I induced to do this as it happened we did manage to inspect the house at our leisure, and had besides a long conversation with Mrs Wilson, who claims to have actually seen the ghost! But I am getting previous. It will be noted that the account is of some length, and that the story was not dismissed by the editor of the Standard in a mere paragraph. [He quotes the story, and the one in the Standard on the 13th September, which he bought in Boston].
The mystery had quite a promising look; and, coming across this second account of it just as we were approaching the neighbourhood of the scene of ghostly doings, raised our curiosity still more, and increased our determination not to miss this rare opportunity of inspecting a genuine (?) huanted house. See it somehow we must! Now it occurred to us that, as Halton Holgate was within easy distance of Wainfleet, our landlord would surely know something about the story and the people, and that he might enlighten us about sundry details. So in the morning, before starting, we interviewed him in his snug bar, and having shown him the cuttings from the Standard that we had brought with us, awaited his comments.
“Oh yes,” he began, “I’ve heard the story, but do not put much account on it myself, nor do I believe any one else about here does. I think the London papers put more store on it than we do. They say noises have been heard in the house at night. Well, you see, sir, the house stands on the top of a hill, and is very exposed to the wind. I’ve been told that there is a small trapdoor in the roof at the top of the staircase, which is, or was, quite loose, and at the foot of the staircase is the front door, and they say that when the wind blows at all strong it gets under the door and lifts the trap up and down, and this accounts for the noises, perhaps there may be rats as well. I fancy the noises frightened the woman when she first went into the house, and she imagined the rest. At least that’s my view of the matter from all I’ve heard.”
Manifestly the landlord was unbelieving; truly we too were sceptical, but even so, we though tthe landlord’s explanation of the nightly noises rather weak, notwithstanding his further remark that he thought the woman was very nervous, and the house being in a lonely situation made her the more so when she was left in it by herself at times, as she frequently was on their first coming there. “But that hardly accounts for her seeing the ghost,” we exclaimed.
“Oh! well, I just put that down to nerves; I expect she got frightened when she went there at first, and as I’ve said, imagined the rest. I don’t believe in ghosts seen by other people.”
“And what about the human bones?” we queried.
“Well, as to the bones, they say as how when the house was built some soil was taken from the churchyard to fill up the foundations, and that fact would account for the finding of them.”
It certainly seemed to us that the landlord’s theory and explanations rather added to the mystery than helped to clear it up in any way; his reasonings were hardly convincing. We noted one thing in the landlord’s arguments that appeared to us almost as improbable as the ghost story, namely, the way he so readily accounted for the existence of human bones under the floor by the removal of soil from the churchyard, the latter we afterwards discovered being about a mile away from the plae; and even allowing such a thing to be permitted at the time of the building of the house – perhaps, by a rough guess, some fifty years ago – such a proceeding was most unlikely, as soil could be had close at hand for the digging.
We felt that now we must wait till we got to Halton Holgate for futher details. We had an introduction to the rector of the parish there, and we looked forward to hearing his views on the matter, for surely he of all people, we reasoned, would be in a position to help us to unravel the mystery. Matters were getting interesting; at last it seemed, after long years of search, that we should be able to run a real “haunted” house to earth; and we determined, if by any means we could arrange to do so, that we would spend a night therein. It would be a novel experience; indeed we felt quite mildly excited at the prospect. Failing this, it would be something if we could converse with a person who declared that she had seen an actual ghost, and who would describe to us what it was like, how it behaved itself, and so forth!
We had come across plenty of people in the world, from time to time, who declared to us that they once knew somebody who said that they had seen a ghost, but we could never discover the actual party; for some cause or another he or she was never get-at-able, and I prefer my facts – or fiction – first hand. Stories, like wine, have a wonderful way of improving with age; indeed I think that most stories improve far more rapidly than wine. I one traced a curious three-year-old story back home to the place of its birth, and the original teller did not even recognise his offspring in its altered and improved garb! Tradition is like ivy; give it time and it will completely disguise the original structure.
… At the top of the hill we arrived at a scattered little village, and this proved to be Halton Holgate. The church stood on one side of the road, the rectory on the other; to the latter we at once made our way, trusting to learn something authoritative about the haunted house from the rector, and hoping that perhaps we might obtain an introduction to the tenant through him. Unfortunately the rector was out, and not expected back till the evening. This was disppointing. The only thing to do now was to find our way to the house, and trust to our usual good fortune to obtain admission and an interview with the farmer’s wife.
We accosted the first native we met. Of him we boldly asked our way to the “haunted house,” for we did not even know the name of it. But our query was sufficient, evidently the humble homestead had become famous and had well established its reputation. We were directed to a footpath which we were told to follow across some fields, “it will take you right there.” Then we ventured to ask the native if he had heard much about the ghost. He replied laconically, “Rather.” Did he believe in it? “Rather” again. We were not gaining much by our queries, the native did not appear to be of a communicative nature, and our attempts to draw him out were not very successful. To a further question if many people came to see the house, we received the same reply. Manifestly for some reason the native was disinclined to discuss the subject. This rather perplexed us, for on such matters the country folk, as a rule, love to talk and enlarge. As he left us, however, he made the somewhat enigmatical remark, “I wish as how we’d got a ghost at our house.” Was he envious of his neighbour’s fame? we wondered, or what did he mean? Could he possibly deem that a ghost was a profitable appendage to a house on the show principle, insomuch as it brought many people to see it? Or were his remarks intended to be sarcastic?
Having proceeded some way along the footpath we met a clergyman coming along. We at once jumped to the conclusion that he must be the rector, so we forthwith addressed him as such; but he smilingly replied, “No, I’m the Catholic priest,” and a very pleasant-looking priest he was, not to say jovial. We felt we must have our little joke with him, so exclaimed, “Well, never mind, you’ll do just as well. We’re ghost-hunting. We’ve heard that there’s a genuine haunted house hereabouts, an accredited article, no a fraud. We first read about it in the Standard, and have come to inspect it. Now, can you give us any information on the point? Have you by any chance been called in to lay the ghost with candle, bell, and book? But perhaps it is a Protestant ghost beyond Catholic control?” Just when we should have been serious we felt in a bantering mood. Why I hardly know, but smile on the world and it smiles back at you. Now the priest had smiled on us, and we retaliated. Had he been austere, probably we should have been grave.Just then this ghost-hunting expedition struck us as being intensely comical. The priest smiled again, we smiled our best in reply. We intuitively felt that his smile was a smile of unbelief – in the ghost I mean.
“Well, I’m afraid,” he replied, “the worthy body is of a romantic temperament. I understand that the bones are not human bones after all, but belonged to a deceased pig. You know in the off-season gigantic gooseberries, sea-serpents, and ghosts flourish in the papers. You cannot possibly miss the house. When you come to the end of the next field, you will see it straight before you,” and so we parted. Somehow the priest’s remarks damped our ardour; either he did not or would not take the ghost seriously!
Reaching the next field we saw the house before us, a small, plain, box-like structure of brick, roofed with slate, and having a tiny neglected garden in front divided from the farm lands by a low wall. An unpretentious, commonplace house it was, of the early Victorian small villa typ, looking woefully out of place in the pleasant green country, like a tiny town villa that had gone astray and felt uncomfortable in its unsuitable surroundings. At least we had expected to find an old-fashioned and perhaps picturesque farmstead, weathered and gray, with casement windows and ivy-clad walls. Nothing could well have been father from our ideal of a haunted dwelling than what we beheld; no high-spirited or proper-minded ghost, we felt, would have anything to do with such a place, and presuming that he existed, he at once fell in our estimation – we despised him! I frankly own that this was not the proper spirit in which to commence our investigations – we ought to have kept an open mind, free from prejudice. Who were we that we should judge what was a suitable house for a ghost to haunt? But it did look so prosaic, and looks count for so much in this world! The flat front of the house was pierced with five sash windows, three on the top storey and two on the ground flor below, with the doorway between – the sort of house that a child first draws.
We did not enter the little garden, nor approach the regulation front door, for both had the appearnce of being seldom used, but, wandering around, we came upon a side entrance facing some farm outbuildings. We ventured to knock at the door here, which was opened by the farmer’s wife herself, as it proved; the door led directly into the kitchen, where we observed the farmer seated by the fireplace, apparently waiting his mid-day dinner. We at once apologised for our intrusion, and asked if it were the haunted house we had read accounts of in the London papers, and, if so, might we be allowed just to take a glance at the haunted room?
“This is the haunted house,” replied the farmer with emphasis, “and you can see over it with pleasure if you like; the wifie will show you over.” So far fortune favoured us. The “wifie” at the time was busily occupied in peeling potatoes “for the men’s meal,” she explained, “but when I’ve done I’ll be very glad to show you over and tell you anything.” Thereupon she politely offered us a chair to rest on whilst she completed her culinary operations. “I must get the potatoes in the pot first,” she excused herself, “or they won’t be done in time.” “Pray don’t hurry,” we replied; “it’s only too kind of you to show us the house at all.”
Then we opened a conversation with the farmer; he looked an honest, hard-working man; his face was sunburnt, and his hands showed signs of toil. I should say that there was no romance about him, nor suspicion of any such thing. The day was warm, and he was sitting at ease in his shirt sleeves. “I suppose you get a number of people here to see the place?” we remarked by way of breaking the ice. “Yes, that we do; lots of folk come to see the house and hear about the ghost. We’ve had people come specially all the way from London since it’s got into the papers; two newspaper writers came down not long ago and made a lot of notes; they be coming down again to sleep in the house one night. We gets a quantity of letters too from folk asking to see the house. Have I ever seen the ghost? No, I cannot rightly say as how I have, but I’ve heard him often. There’s strange noises and bangings going on at nights, just like the moving about of heavy furniture on the floors, and knockings on the walls; the noises used to keep me awake at first, but now I’ve got used to them and they don’t trouble me. Sometimes, though, I wakes up when the noises are louder than usual, or my wife wakes me up when she gets nervous listening to them, but I only says, ‘The ghost is lively tonight,’ and go to sleep again. I’ve got used to him, you see, but he upsets the missus a lot. You see she’s seen the ghost several times, and I only hear him.”
The wife meanwhile was intent on her work and made no remark. “This is all very strange and interesting,” we exclaimed; ” and so the house is really haunted?” Now, it was the wife’s turn. “I should rather think so,” she broke in, “and you’d think so too if you only slept a night here, or tried to, for you’d not get much sleep unless you are used to noises, I can tell you; they’re awful at times. I daren’t be in the house alone after sundown, I’m that afraid.” “And you’ve actually seen the ghost?” I broke in. “Yes, that I have, three or four times quite plainly, and several times not quite so plainly; he quite terrifies me, and one never knows when to expect him.” “Ah! that’s an unfortunate way ghosts have,” we remarked sympathetically, “but good-mannered ones are never troublesome in the daytime: that’s one blessing.”
Eventually the busy housewife finished her task, and the peeled potatoes were safely put in the pot to boil. At this juncture she turned to us and said she was free for a time and would be very pleased to show us over the house and give us any information we wished, which was very kind of her. We then slipped a certain coin of the realm into the hands of her husband as a slight return for the couresy shown to us. He declared that there was no necessity for us to do this, as they did not wish to make any profit out of their misfortunes, and as he pocketed the coin with thanks said they were only too pleased to show the house to any respectable person. The farmer certainly had an honest, frank face. His wife, we noticed, had a dreamy, far-away look in her eyes, but she said she did not sleep well, which might account for this. She appeared nervous and did not look straight at us, but this might have been manner.
First she led the way to a narrow passage, in the front of the house, that contained the staircase. On either side of this passage was a door, each leading into a separate sitting-room, both of which rooms were bare, being entirely void of furniture. Then she told her own story, which I repeat here from memory, aided by a few hasty notes I made at the time. “Ever since we came to this house we have been disturbed by strange noises at nights. They commenced on the very first night we slept here, just after we had gone to bed. It sounded for all the world as though some heavy weight had fallen. We got up and looked about, but there was no one in the place, and everything was just as we left it. At first we thought the wind must have blown the doors to, for it was a stormy night, and my husband said he thought perhaps there were rats in the house. This went on for some weeks, and we could not account for it, but we never thought of the house being haunted. We were puzzled but not alarmed.
“Then one night, when my husband had gone to bed before me (I had sat up late for soem reason), and I was just going up that staircase, I distinctly saw a little, bent old man with a wrinkled face standing on the top and looking steadily down at me. For the moment I wondered who he could be, never dreaming he was a ghost, so I rushed upstairs to him and he vanished. Then I shook and trembled all over, for I felt I had seen an apparition. When I got into the bedroom I shut the door, and on looking round saw the ghost again quite plainly for a moment, and then he vanished as before. Since then I’ve seen him about the house in several places.”
Next she showed us into the empty sitting room to the left of the staircase; the floor of this was paved with bricks. “It was from this room,” she continued, “that the noises seemed to come mosely, just as though some one were knocking a lot of things about in it. This struck us as singular, so one day we carefully examined the room and discovered in that corner that the flooring was very uneven, and then we noticed besides that the bricks there were stained as though some dark substance had been spilled over them. It at once struck me that some one might have been murdered and buried there, and it was the ghost of the murdered man I had seen. So we took up the bricks and dug down in the earth below, and found some bones, a gold ring, and some pieces of silk. You can see where the bricks were taken up and relaid. I’m positive it was a ghost I saw. The noises still continue, though I’ve not seen the ghost since we dug up the bones.”
After this, there being nothing more to be seen or told, we returned to the kitchen. Here we again interviewed the farmer, and found out from him that the town of Spilsby, with a good inn, was only a mile away. Thereupon I decided to myself that we would drive on to Spilsby, secure accommodation there for wife and horses for the night, and that I would come back alone and sleep in the haunted room, if I could arrange matters. With the carriage rugs, the carriage lamp and candles, some creature comforts from the inn, and a plentiful supply of tobacco, it appeared to me that I could manage to pass the night pretty comfortably; and if the ghost looked in – well, I would approach him in a friendly spirit and, he being agreeable, we might spend quite a festive evening together! IF the ghost did not favour me, at least I might hear the noises – it would be something to hear a ghost! Thereupon I mentioned my views to the farmer; he made no objection to the arrangement, simply suggesting that I should consult the “missus” as to details; but alas! she did not approve. “You know,” she said, addressing her husband, “the gentleman might take all the trouble to come and be disappointed; the ghost might be quiet that very night; he was quiet one night, you remember. Besides, we promised the two gentlemen from the London paper that they should come first, and we cannot break our word.”
Appeals from this decision were in vain; the wife would not hear of our sleeping the night there on any terms, all forms of persuasion were in vain. Manifestly our presence in the haunted chamber for the night was not desired by the wife. As entreaties were useless there was nothing for 9it but to depart, which we did after again thanking them for the courtesies already shown; it was not for us to resent the refusal. “Every Englishman’s house is his castle” according to English law, and if a ghost breaks the rule – well, “the law does not recognise ghosts.” So, with a sense of disappointment amounting almost to disillusion, we departed. I feel quite hopeless now of ever seeing a ghost, and have become weary of merely reading about his doings in papers and magazines. I must say that ghosts, both old and new, appear to behave in a most inconsiderate manner; they go where they are not wanted and worry people who positively dislike them and strongly object to their presence, whilst those who would really take an interest in them they leave “severely alone!”
Over Fen and Wold, by J.J. Hissey (1898).