Be careful where you build ... The ghosts of Castell Coch

Castell Coch, Wales

For many centuries after the Norman invasion Wales was a very violent place. There was constant fighting between local barons, and general mistrust of the Normans all of whom were trying to carve out empires for themselves. It’s therefore no surprise that there are many ruined castles around the country. One such stronghold is Castell Coch, just north of Cardiff.

This has a long and unfortunate early history which resulted in it being abandoned in the 14th century. There was then about five hundred years of semi-neglect with wind, rain, fire and storm taking a terrible toll of its structure. Clearly, you would be forgiven for thinking that all the spirits of its ancient occupants, many of whom died violently, should have perished with the ruins. But not so.

Some of the more intriguing stories involve, amongst others, a Civil War Cavalier. He buried much looted treasure which he was subsequently unable to recover due to his untimely death. But such is his jealousy that he constantly revisits to protect it from inquisitive tourists. And there is the mysterious woman who walks the grounds in search of her young son who was drowned in a nearby lake. She has even been seen within the Castle passages.

But if the Castle was ruined beyond recognition, how do we know this?

Well, in 1870 the Marquess of Bute decided to construct a totally new “medieval” Castle on the site of the previous one. He cleared the site and started from scratch. Today we have a wonderful fairytale Castle which is open to the public throughout the year. And for film buffs, Alan Ladd starred in “The Black Knight” which was filmed at Castell Coch about 60 years ago. Since then there have been several Dr Who episodes, with Baroness Orczy’s Scarlet Pimpernel also filmed there in 1982 ... starring Ian McKellen and Jane Seymour.

But if this has inspired you to visit, beware. The ghosts from the old ruins have clearly transferred to the new structure and have caused so much consternation that the Bute family no longer live there. There is also talk of caretaker staff leaving without any adequate explanation.

So be careful where you build. History has a habit of repeating itself.

In Association with the Western Gazette 

You can also read this article, and many others, at the Western Gazette website. Click here to follow me and be the first to know when I publish my next short story, article or book review.

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Is Mother Shipton a Revenant?

The Rollright Stones, Oxfordshire

In 1500, so we believe, a group of Knights was moving in a clandestine fashion across the Oxfordshire countryside. They had evil intent for they wished one of their number to become King of England.

But they fell foul of a witch called Mother Shipton who gave their leader what seemed to be an easy task. If he could take seven strides and then be able to see the village of Long Compton, he would indeed become King. Being aware of the wisdom of always humouring a witch, he readily accepted the challenge and took the steps. Then, mysteriously, a long barrow rose before him completely cutting off his visibility.

The witch, cackling with glee in a most sinister manner, then swore that “Thou and thy men hoar stones shall be”.

A far-fetched story? Not so.

The stones are called the Rollright Stones and can be seen near Long Compton. There is The King’s Stone, The King’s Men and The Whispering Knights in three distinct monuments. We know that Mother Shipton punished the would-be King and also petrified his men, but the Whispering Knights she discovered in a small group, slightly away from the main crowd, plotting against the rest... so she punished them as well. Clearly not a woman to be trifled with.

But now it gets really interesting. Mother Shipton was last seen just before her death, in 1551. The monuments however date back approximately 5000 years and are believed to be of Neolithic/Bronze age. How can this be?

Those who know this area really well whisper that the confrontation probably occurred many millenia ago and what was seen in the 1500s was purely a “time slip” which happens occasionally. For another example of time slip, see my blog “Is every old house in this village haunted?” . Thus, what was observed in the sixteenth century actually was a vision from long lost history. Or it might be that Mother Shipton is a revenant who keeps returning to re-enact her historical role. Who knows what the truth is?

So, it’s probably best to judge for yourself because the stones are real enough, and even to this day the “King” and his men have occasionally been seen, usually close to midnight.

In Association with the Western Gazette 

You can also read this article, and many others, at the Western Gazette website. Click here to follow me and be the first to know when I publish my next short story, article or book review.

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The 700 year old Royal Scream

Berkeley Castle, Gloucestershire

The year was 1327 when that most unfortunate King, Edward II, was put to death.

The place was Berkeley Castle in Gloucestershire. Within this Castle is a deep dungeon where the bodies of animals were left to decompose with, it is said, the bodies of those who had fallen out of favour with the Berkeley family. The stink from this disease ridden hole, the foetid air, the rats, maggots and other loathsome by-products of death left small chance of life for those who were cast there while still living. This is where Edward found himself.

King Edward II

His story is one of great sadness where opportunity was handed to him by his father, but his character was such that it all just slipped away. When he was deposed by his wife and her lover his list of crimes at his trial was huge, including pursuing occupations unbecoming to a King (probably referring to his bi-sexuality), military defeats which lost Scotland (remember Bannockburn, possibly the greatest English defeat for 300 years), losing land in Ireland and France, damaging the Church (a most serious crime in those days) and a more general charge of losing the trust of his people while not giving the noble families the respect due to their rank.

So he had to go. However to execute a King in those days was a step too far, so another way had to be found. He could be allowed to die from natural causes, so he suddenly found himself in that nauseous pit in Berkeley Castle. But he proved to be too resilient so he needed to be “helped” on his way. His body however should not be allowed to show any external signs of force. Quite a quandary, but one which the medieval mind thrived on.

A particularly unpleasant death was devised. A tube was inserted up his “fundament”... a particularly elegant euphemism ... with a red-hot poker then pushed down the tube into his innards. This, after much excruciating pain, killed him from inside leaving no visible cause of death. It was considered a most satisfactory result, but one of intense agony for Edward.

Now, even today, if you walk around the Castle on the anniversary of his death, September 21st, you can often hear screams which echo far beyond the Castle walls. Or it might be just the keening wind swirling around the massive fortifications. Either way, it is a most eerie sensation.

In Association with the Western Gazette 

You can also read this article, and many others, at the Western Gazette website. Click here to follow me and be the first to know when I publish my next short story, article or book review.

Buy P J Cadavori's Catacombs of the Damned at Winstone’s of Sherborne, Waterstones or Amazon, in paperback and e-book formats. Click on the book covers below to view Catacombs of the Damned at Amazon.

 
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Cheltenham’s most famous Ghost

Fred Archer

The British Empire was being rocked to its very foundations when the Indian Mutiny erupted in 1857. But in that year, back at home in Cheltenham a boy was born. He was the son of the Grand National Winner William Archer. He was “quick and retentive”, was named Frederick, and was to become one of the most celebrated all-round jockeys in the history of racing.

Fred Archer entered his apprenticeship when he was eleven years old and began winning a remarkable series of important races soon afterwards. Some of these were the Champion Stakes, Epson Oaks, St Leger, Prix du Jockey Club; he had 2748 career wins and was Champion Jockey for 13 years until 1886 when he committed suicide, aged 29.

The circumstances were very sad. Fred was unusually tall for his job and was on a constant weight loss diet. In addition, in spite of his success he suffered from depression and was finally pushed over the edge when his young wife died in childbirth. The combination of physical strain through constant dieting and the emotional stress from his loss resulted in him shooting himself.

But before this personal tragedy he was involved in building his own large stable complex in Newmarket which was called Falmouth Lodge out of deference to his main sponsor. This has now become the Pegasus Stables and is where Fred and his favourite grey mare called Scotch Pearl still return to. The two of them have been seen by many people in recent times riding in and around the local area.

So next time you go to the races, especially on the flat, just spare a thought for one of history’s most famous jockeys.

In Association with the Western Gazette 

You can also read this article, and many others, at the Western Gazette website. Click here to follow me and be the first to know when I publish my next short story, article or book review.

Buy P J Cadavori's Catacombs of the Damned at Winstone’s of Sherborne, Waterstones or Amazon, in paperback and e-book formats. Click on the book covers below to view Catacombs of the Damned at Amazon.

 
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An eccentric Vicar and his ghostly poetry

Robert Herrick

Probably one of the greatest times for literature in the British Isles was about 400 years ago. Writers such as William Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, John Donne, Milton, Dryden, Jonathan Swift, Alexander Pope, to name just a few, are even now household names.

But there is a long list of generally unknown “second liners” who are only judged so because they had the misfortune to be born during this star-studded time of history. Such a man was Robert Herrick.

I stumbled upon a book of his poetry titled A selection from the lyrical poems of Robert Herrick while rootling around in a charity shop some months ago. It appeared to have never been read which was a real surprise because it contains such gems as “The Hag”. This is a subject which readers of my book Catacombs of the Damned will readily empathise with, but judge for yourself.

                                             The Hag is astride,

                                             This night for to ride;

                                             The Devil and she together:

                                             Through thick and through thin,

                                              Now out, and then in,

                                              Though ne’er so foul be the weather.

                                              A thorn or a burr

                                              She takes for a spur:

                                              With a lash of a bramble she rides now

                                              Through brakes and through briars

                                              O’er ditches and mires,

                                              She follows the spirit that guides now.

                                              No beast, for his food,

                                              Dares now range the wood;

                                              But hushed in his lair he lies lurking;

                                              While mischiefs, by these,

                                              On land and on seas,

                                              At noon of night are a-working.

                                             The storm will arise,

                                             And trouble the skies;

                                             This night, and more for the wonder

                                             The ghost from the tomb

                                             Affrighted shall come

                                             Called out by the clap of the thunder.

An interesting aside is that Herrick was the Vicar of a small Dartmoor village. So his poetry is surprising not only for its subject matter, but also because he lived in a time of rampant witchcraft and therefore might have taken considerable personal risk in penning such a poem.

In addition, for those who read my recent blog about "a monstrously evil man" it is quite possible that he knew Richard Cabell.  And, as a final thought, when next you are out on the moors during a wind swept winter night, study the depths of the Heavens as you might just see Herrick’s Hag, “The Devil and she together” riding the skies, silhouetted against the full moon in the traditional Halloween setting.

Herrick was indeed a surprising choice for a Vicar.

In Association with the Western Gazette 

You can also read this article, and many others, at the Western Gazette website. Click here to follow me and be the first to know when I publish my next short story, article or book review.

Buy P J Cadavori's Catacombs of the Damned at Winstone’s of Sherborne, Waterstones or Amazon, in paperback and e-book formats. Click on the book covers below to view Catacombs of the Damned at Amazon.

 
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A stake through the heart and the Nobel Prize winner

Kitty Jay's grave

High on the ridges of Dartmoor there is a lonely grave. It is at a crossroads where suicides were normally buried. It is unconsecrated ground. There is a stake driven through the heart of the young woman inside which prevents her spirit returning to haunt those still living. Such was the eighteenth century treatment of those unfortunate souls who took their lives when circumstances became too difficult. It is the story of Kitty Jay.

Kitty was abandoned while a baby near Newton Abbot in Devon in the late 1700s. Believed to be the child of a prostitute she was taken into care and later sent to work on a nearby farm. Her name of Jay trumpeted her background because in those harsh days it was a slang term for a “working girl”. So it was no surprise that she was considered fair game by the farmer’s son who flatly denied any involvement when Kitty became pregnant. Her disgrace was such that in those unsympathetic times her only option to a life of further grinding destitution was suicide. She hanged herself in one of the barns.

But then perhaps it was redemption of a sort which visited her. Since that awful day of her burial, she has had a ghostly visitor who can still be seen on some  moonlit nights kneeling beside her grave with head bowed. This mourner is always dressed in black and it is said that it is the farmer’s son whose punishment is to attend a timeless vigil over Kitty and their unborn child. Also, there is a further mystery which seems to beg comfort for Kitty. She appears to have found favour in the afterlife because there are always flowers, whatever the season or weather, placed neatly on her grave. It is whispered that the wild spirits of Dartmoor have taken responsibility for her grave in perpetuity as nobody has ever seen these flowers being delivered.

John Galsworthy

And now to more modern times. One of our greatest authors and social commentator of his times, John Galsworthy of The Forsyte Saga who won the Nobel Prize in literature in 1932, wrote a short story in 1916 called “The Apple Tree”. It is generally accepted that the apple is a biblical symbol of the fall from virtue and most critics agree that his story was inspired by Kitty Jay.

Kitty was most unfortunate in life, but her memory lives on. Perhaps this is justice of a sort. If you ever visit her grave, spare a thought for her earthly misery, and the cruel times in which she lived.

In Association with the Western Gazette 

You can also read this article, and many others, at the Western Gazette website. Click here to follow me and be the first to know when I publish my next short story, article or book review.

Buy P J Cadavori's Catacombs of the Damned at Winstone’s of Sherborne, Waterstones or Amazon, in paperback and e-book formats. Click on the book covers below to view Catacombs of the Damned at Amazon.

 
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