A Weird Legend.
Pranks of a supernatural visitor.
Of the many curious old legends connected with the histories of our ancient houses, none is more weird than that told of the early days of Haylton Castle, Durham.
“The story goes that in the dark ages a certain Baron Hylton, who was of an extremely violent and passionate disposition, ordered his horse to be brought out in time for him to start off to ride to a neighbouring village. The time for starting came, adn the Baron stood ready and fuming with rage, for no horse was at the door waiting for him to mount. Blind with rage, the Baron strode to the stable, where he found the horse-boy, who should have been saddling his charger, sunk in a peaceful sleep upon a heap of straw, dreaming no doubt some boyish dream of tender fancy, and blissfully unconscious of the approach of his angry master.
“With a mighty oath the Baron seized a hayfork (some accounts say a scythe) and striking the unfortunate boy on the head, killed him instantly. Then he paused in dismay. He had only intended to give the lad a severe thrashing but the first blow happened to strike a vulnerable spot, and before the Baron could realise what he had done, the boy was a corpse. The master knelt down, and ascertained that life was extinct. He then covered the boy with straw until nightfall, when, on returning from his ride he went by stealth to the stable, took the body to a pond, and sank it, by means of stones, in the deep, still water.
“Time passed on, but the spirit of the dead lad found no rest, and returned to the castle to avenge its wrongs. It used to come haggard and wild-looking in his appearance, at all hours of the night, and tales of its mysterious doing began to be freely circulated to the neighbourhood. It chiefly haunted the servants’ quarters, and, after the fashion of a Pixie or a Brownie, played pranks upon the maids and men in the hall.
“If the kitchen was left overnight in perfect order, the Cauld Lad would be heard amusing himself by throwing the pewter pots and pans in all directions, and ‘making hay’ among the china cups and saucers. If, on the contrary, the kitchen had been left in an untidy or disordered state, the sprite would set to work to ‘red it up,’ and in the morning every pot and pan would be found in its proper place, and every platter on its shelf.
“The servants often left the kitchen in disorder to insure its being tidy by daybreak, for they feared to do the contrary, and the Cauld Lad took advantage of the hours between darkness and dawn to turn a tidy room topsy-turvy.”
In the interesting account of the legend in the August number of “Pearson’s Magazine” further stories of the strange pranks of Hylton’s supernatural visitor are related.
Preston Herald, 14th August 1907.
The Boggle Trail.
The Playful Poltergeist.
Few of Northumbria’s spooks can claim to have a pub on a modern housing estate named after them, but such is the claim of the Cauld Lad of Hylton, a mischievous poltergeist whose exploits are relatively well known on Wearside, but whose history is obscure. Hylton Castle, the home of the Cauld Lad, is a far from typical haunting place, being almost entirely surrounded by the great post-war sprawl of council housing estates stretching almost the entire length of the road between Sunderland and Washington which closely follows the meandering River Wear. The scene was far different 200 years ago when the macabre incident occurred which gave rise to the birth of the legend. The history of the Hilton family is lost in the mists of time but records show the family flourished as early as the 9th Century.
The gaunt, square ruin which stands today dates from the mid-15th Century but it was 200 years later that Baron Robert Hilton (the original spelling of Hylton) discovered one of his stable boys asleep in a barn. Various tales relate that the Baron was so annoyed that he hit out at the youth, some say with a scythe, others a pitchfork. Some versions of the legend report that the youth was beheaded. Credence is given to this version by the derivation of the word cauld from the Anglo Saxon cowed, meaning headless. Though the Baron was granted a free pardon for his misdemeanour, the castle and its inhabitants from that day onwards have been subject to weird happenings.
By his very nature, the poltergeist, bent more on mischief than downright malice, very rarely puts in an appearance. The trademark of his presence usually resulted in pots and pans flying around the kitchen, rooms thrown into complete disarray, churns of milk turned sour and larders of food strewn all over the place. Oddly enough, however, the Cauld Lad could be beaten at his own game. Several ancient manuscripts reveal that if the servants left the room in a complete shambles before retiring, the following morning would see order restored.
Visiting Hylton Castle today, in spite of the close proximity of roaring traffic, there is an air of sombre mystery pervading the ruin. Even when the sun shines the dank rooms seem cold and uninviting. Coldness was another trademark of the poltergeist. Almost every report of his activities begin with an icy chill seeping through the house. Many locals believe that the word Cauld is a derivation of cold.
The Cauld Lad certainly did not confine his activities to the castle. He often wandered a mile or so down to the banks of the Wear where until the 1960s a ferry boat crossed the river from North to South Sunderland. Often the sprite would take the guise of the ferryman. Hauling a boatload of passengers he would suddenly disappear into thin air when in mid-stream, leaving his terrified customers panic-stricken.
Like most poltergeists, the Cauld Lad is known to have a weakness. He was very fond of anything green. To ensure a peaceful night, the Lord of the Manor would lay a green cloak and hood before the fire in the Great Hall at the stroke of midnight. Though the house remained as silent as the grave throughout the night, servants peering through keyholes tell of the Cauld Lad merrily dancing around the room dressed in the cloak of green. Yet by the light of dawn not a piece of furniture was disturbed.
Newcastle Evening Chronicle, 28th July 1979.