Preston’s Old Manor House to be demolished.
Memories of Wesley’s preaching.
Also “Ghost Story.”
Special to the “Southern Times.”
Soon the clang of pick and shovel, echoing over Greater Weymouth, will sound the death knell of one of Preston’s oldest and perhaps most famous buildings. The old Glebe House, nestling snugly away from the path leading to the Preston schools, has been condemned in the cause of health and sanitary reform, and before the fall of the year will have been demolished. The Glebe House, or, as it is often erroneously called, the Manor House, has stood for centuries and villagers have heard its history from succeeding generations. Rumour, with the help, perhaps, of tourists’ guides with a gift of imagination, has shrouded it in a halo of legend, and much of its story is lost in the mists of antiquity.
Built, it is believed, in the 16th century, there appears to be no definite record of what it was originally, but it became the Rectory, and was used for such purposes until about 1815, when the house now known as ‘Ivy Cottage’ became the residence of the rectors of the village. Ever since that time, as far as can be ascertained, it has been used as a dwellinghouse, changing hands fairly frequently, and being known as Glebe House, and also as the Old Manor House. This latter designation is entirely incorrect, as the real manor house was the present Manor Farm, the property of Mr A.T. Slade.
Its greatest claim to fame, however, lies in its connection with the famous Wesley family, of which John Wesley, founder of the great Wesleyan Movement, was the outstanding figure. The house, it is stated, was for a time the residence of John Wesley. This may have been so, but investigation proves there is no actual authentic record of such a fact. But it is known for certain that John Wesley’s grandfather lived there, and must have died there, as his remains lie buried in the church, not far distance. No monument or headstone marks the spot of his interment, but the plot is being searched for by Mr John Marsh, the present verger. Another known fact is that John Wesley’s grandfather used to preach in the open-air, beneath an old yew tree in the churchyard, and it may well be that his more renowned grandson, standing on the same spot, revealed his new faith to the villagers, stirring them with his forceful message and blazing a trail for Methodism, then mounting his horse and spurring forward to greater endeavours.
The old thatched house is now divided into two cottages, in parts badly dilapidated, and looking its age it is full of old relics of the bygone builder’s art. The ceilings are low and heavily timbered, some parts with oak, the doors are low and narrow, and the stairs winding and steep. Diamond shaped leaded panes filled the windows until quite recently, and it was only a short time ago that in one of the the rooms a huge fireplace, stretching almost the length of one of the walls, was bricked up in favour of a more modern construction – a considerable loss to archaeology.
The walls are grey and inscrutable, but could they talk what tales they might tell! And Mr and Mrs A.J. Norris, the tenants of one of the cottages, wish they could. Mrs Norris told a ‘Southern Times’ reporter of strange happenings which she and her husband have experienced.
About nine years ago she was lying in bed when an elfin figure, dressed in black satin, emerged from the flickering shadows of the fireplace. It then went out of the room, appearing again first as a cat and then as a dog, before vanishing. Once since then, more recently, Mrs Norris saw the queer apparition, this time lying on a bed in a green-coloured gown. At her approach it quickly vanished.
Queer sounds have been heard during the long winters’ nights, footsteps cross the floor, uncanny voices come out of the darkness, and, strangest of all, from a certain corner the sounds of steady, persistent sawing are sometimes heard.
Mrs Norris is puzzled as to what it all means. “I would like to know,” she said, “but somewhere I get the feeling sometimes that ther is either gold, jewellery, or silver hidden here somwhere. Yes, either gold, jewellery, or silver.” Who knows?
Southern Times and Dorset County Herald, 5th August 1933.