Sketches of Eccentric Characters No. 6. The Baron Bailie.
Robert Greenhill was born in the parish of Kinnettles early in the year 1735 […]
Another thing which caused him much trouble and expense about this time [1760s?] was a fancy taken by his wife and others that their dwelling-house was haunted. Stories of haunted houses have been common enough to a very late period, if indeed they are even yet altogether extinct; and at the time of which we write they met with a ready credence. Their house was a long, low, thatched building, divided by thick party walls into three apartments. A small one in the east end was the kitchen, another of about equal size was the ben-house or parlour, while the middle division, which was larger than both these, was divided into two rooms by the box-beds and presses in the usual way. One of these rooms was their ordinary sitting-room; in the other were beds for some of the servants, the meal girnal, and other articles.
Above the parlour was a small attic room, containing a bed; and this was the only portion of the house which was ceiled overhead. Two windows in the gable, about eighteen inches by twelve, served to light up the small apartment. Being altogether in the roof, a person of ordinary height could stand upright only in the centre of the room. Noises had been heard in this attic for some time; but as it was seldom occupied except when strangers were in the house, and as the parlour below was much in the same predicament, they were borne with for a while.
By and by, however, they extended to the rest of the house, but more especially to the girnal room where the servants slept. This speedily put the occupants of that apartment to flight, they preferring to sleep in the stable or other outhouse, rather than be annoyed with these nocturnal disturbances. The servants had no sooner left this room than the noises in it increased; and, after a time, the operations were not confined to noise, for articles of furniture were moved about or tumbled over; and all parties were getting thoroughly frightened, when a circumstance occurred which determined them to leave the house altogether.
A melder of oatmeal had been brought from the mill one afternoon, and the sacks set upon chairs beside the girnal till time should be found for putting it into it. Next morning the whole meal (about five sacks) was lying in a conical heap on the floor, as if it had been poured from above through a narrow funnel, or, as one who saw it told the writer, as if it had come from the mill-eye. The floor around was white with the fine dust, which had escaped in the operation, but no footmarks were visible.
It does not seem that any suspicion of human agency had been entertained by any one at the time; and, in consequence, explanation is now impossible. All concerned seem to have regarded the whole as supernatural, and to have made no attempt to solve the mystery. Robert himself was a strange compound of acuteness and credulity. In business matters, his judgment was clear and sound; and few men excelled him in taking a clear view of, or forming a sound opinion on, ordinary subjects. But in matters involving the supernatural, he was credulous as a child, and had a firm belief in the poet’s lines – “There are more things in earth and heaven, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in our philosophy.”
It may be said that in his time there was a greater amount of superstition among the people than there now is, and to some extent this is true. A belief in the marvellous, however, is not confined to any age, or to any class of people. It may assume new phases, may alter its objects, but it continues to exist. Haunted houses, and vulgar, churchyard ghosts are probably exploded; but they have only given place to other spirits quite as marvellous. It is pleasing to observe, however, that these latter seem to be as far ahead of the old-fashioned ghosts in civilization and refinement as our modern mediums are of the ghost-seers of old. They do not pop out upon you in wild and solitary places, annoying you with complaints and frightening you out of your wits, but come at your bidding, and answer your questions in a civil manner. But this is a digression.
Thoroughly tired of his nocturnal visitors, Robert yielded to the wishes of his wife, and had a new house erected on a plot of ground outside the boundary of his farm, though less than a hundred yards from the former one. So hurriedly had the house been run up that one of the gables tumbled down shortly after they took possession of it; but, as it fell outwards, no other damage was done. The old house was allowed to stand untenanted for many years, and though nothing further was heard in it, its evil reputation stuck to it.
Indeed the bogles, whatever they were, would have required to have made some noise before they had been heard, as most people gave it a wide berth after nightfall. It was afterwards used as a flax-store in connection with the scutching-mill, and a portion of it was, for a time, the miller’s dwelling-house. It was taken down about twenty years ago, and its materials used in building the farm offices. Such is the story of the Auld Ha’ of Kinnaird, the only haunted house we ever saw. That the noises were heard, and that the other operations took place is past a doubt; but explanation, as we said before, is now impossible. […]
Montrose Standard, 24th September 1869.
Montrose Standard, 17th and 24th of September, 1869.