A Haunted House.
For some time past, the house of Mr Goodfellow, who resides at Rushton, and near Hug Bridge, on the confines of the counties of Chester and Stafford, has been the scene of midnight pranks, much to the annoyance of the worthy family which resides in it. At midnight, vollies of stones are discharged against the windows, which consequently have been thrice re-glazed.
On one occasion the vehicle in which Mr and Mrs G. travel was found with the spokes broken, no doubt by the fiend who haunts the place; however, by this piece of mischief, the party narrowly escaped severe injury.
The terrified neighbours have been severely wounded by the missiles thrown, particularly a lad.
No doubt all this mischief has been done by some discarded servant, or by a person who, and most probably without cause, entertains malice against Mr Goodfellow. We trust that the constables in the neighbourhood will be on the alert, as much damage was done, even so late as Monday and Tuesday nights last.
It is truly laughable, were it not we must pity the conceptions of the superstitious, to reflect upon the panic which these events have caused among the lower class in the neighbourhood. The stones found, sent by the supposed ghost, have been stated to smell of brimstone; but upon examination, were found to be those taken from a Macadamized road which runs from Macclesfield to Leek. Imagination has given to the eyes of the peasantry “shapes which fear createth to itself.” And thus, in the language of an old poet, –
At midnight some the headless horse meet / And others espien a corse in white sheet; / While some have yheard the jingling of chains, / Others have caught the psalteries’ strains.
But we believe our good neighbours of Hug Bridge may dismiss their fears, and recommend them, should they makde caption of the ghost, to give him a sound ducking in the river Dane, instead of consigning him to the Red Sea. – Macclesfield paper.
The Manchester Guardian, 10th October 1829.
Goodfellow… Robin Goodfellow.
Hug Bridge is the boundary of two counties and crosses the River Dane (the one we walked along at Ludchurch).
The stones are thrown at midnight.
“shapes which fear createth to itself”