I wonder if this is just a story.
The Llanblethian Ghost.
Llanblethian House is a large roomy old place, at that time occupied by a family named Donne, or, more properly, “Dwn,” of thoroughly Welsh extraction, and firm believers in all the superstitions of the Principality. These were Mr and Mrs Donne, the elder people, who had been in farrming business at St. Donat’s Castle, and afterwards at Llanmihangel-place, but now decayed in circumsatnces; their youngest son, who rented the house and land, and his wife, to whom he had not long been married, and an elder son Thomas, who had been thrice married – each time to women of some fortune – his third wife and his only daughter by his first wife.
Mr T. Donne and family occupied the best part of the house as lodgers. Mrs T Donne, who had been accustomed to the gaieties of a watering-place, found Llanblethian dull, and her step-daugher, wishing for “life” and “society,” thought it dull likewise, but the papa enjoyed best the quiet of the country, and preferred remaining there. The question was how to get him to remove to town. Now the elder Donnes believed in ghosts, and required no persuading at all to believe that the Ty Mawr was the favourite haunt of some of them.
Mr T. Donne and family then had been but a short time at the Ty Mawr, when sundry unmistakable noises began to be heard at unseasonable hours of the night, to the intense alarm of the old folks and others who heard them. Miss Donne and her stepmother seemed to be the persons whom the ghosts had a special fondness for, the noises not being heard except when they were present. Spiritualists nowadays would doubtless claim for them the distinction of being mediums, and I daresay they possessed the gift quite as fully as those who practise the science in the presence and with the full consent and approbation of some of the intellectual people of this later half of the 19th century.
The room where the noises were mostly heard was the chamber at the western end of the house, and midnight the time, for the ghost was exceedingly orderly in his habits, and stuck most strictly to the rules and laws which are supposed to govern ghostland. So midnight was the time when the knockings and scratchings began.
Cardiff Times, 8th July 1893.
When they had satisfied themselves that there was no deception, and could be no deception in the matter, they retired in haste to hide their heads under the bedclothes and pity the poor girl, their unfortunate relative, who was so seriously troubled by the spirit. The knocking etc., continued. Mr T.D. was advised by his wife to try whether leaving the place would relieve his daughter of the attentions of the spirit, but seemed loth to carry this kind and disinterested advice into immediate practice.
Neighbours were now curious enough to inquiries upon the subject, for of course it had not been kept a secret. Some were invited to come and hear for themselves, and others had the curiosity to ask for a midnight seat in the haunted chamber. Thus most nights there were eight or ten persons present to hear the performance. I can remember the talking, the plans and the excitment and commotion caused in the little village thereby. My fater, who lived next door, denounced the whole thing from the first as humbug, and though requested to go and hear and be convinced, refused to do so.
The season of the year I well remember, the long days of spring and summer, and in the dim evening twilight I saw groups of people walking to-and-fro in the front of th ehouse, talking in suppressed whispers, and pointing to the haunted chamber, when in an hour or two more the mysterious noises were expected to be heard. However, the dnouement drew on; at the last of these seances there were eight or ten persons present, Mr R– being one, and a printer from Cowbridge another. As it drew towards midnight, the printer gently took off his shoes and crept from his chair very softly under the bed. In due time the knocking and scratching began, and the printer having assured himself of its whereabouts, put up his hand – and, there was a lady’s hand, with one finger encased in a thimble, tapping away at the wood of the bedstead!
There was an oucry from the lady immediately. “Oh mamma, mamma! I feel a hand of flesh; let us have a light to see whose it can be.” The excitement among those present was immense, and in the commotion which followed our friend the printer returned unobserved to his seat, put on his shoes again, and pretended to join as eagerly as any in the search for the owner of the hand.
Whether any of those present guessed at the real state of things, whether the printer ventured to expose the deception then and there, I could not say, but next day the whole affair got wind, and the ladies refrained from repeating the ghost entertainment.
After this the family did not find it expedient to leave the neighbourhood for a time, but they returned in some months, taking a house at Welsh St. Donat’s. The printer got out some ballads, wretched doggrels, with reference to the ghost story and trickery, embelished with a border of small wood-cuts that had been previously overworked as illustrations to Old Moore’s Almanac. The best thing, perhaps, was the stanzas on the subject composed by Neddy Llewelyn.
D.J.S.M.S.
Cardiff Times, 15th July 1893.