Strange adventures in the County of Dorset AD 1747

Strange adventures in the County of Dorset AD 1747

When you stumble upon a book with a title like this, you just have to spend a few pounds to buy it.

It is primarily a story about English South Coast smuggling, ghostly rumours within the cliff-top caves and passages of the local Manor House (ghosts being the best security against snoopers), a wealthy Spanish smuggler for the love intrigue and much mayhem and murder around the Poole Customs House ...

                      “there is said to be a real accredited gang of smugglers about, a tangible witch hard by, a ghost in the house ...”

It is a fast moving tale centred around, amongst other things, the confiscation of illegal tea, the recapture of the tea by the smugglers and eventually, almost a happy ending. It is a story about the infamous Hawkhurst Gang; but everybody was at it “an immense and well-organised illegal traffic was carried on by those deemed the most respectable inhabitants of the district”. Apparently, twenty to thirty wagons of spirit kegs conducted by two to three hundred smugglers were not uncommon in the New Forrest where almost every man was a smuggler or poacher.

The central characters, traveling to the south coast, enter into the spirit of the times by being “much afraid of leaving London, on account of the highwaymen”, and when they finally arrive in their country house immediately sense the ghost “there is something eerie in the room, and I don’t feel happy in it alone.”

The infamous Hawkhurst Gang at Poole Custom House

But what makes this different to other smuggling/ghost stories is that it is written in the diary format of those who were actually there. The quaint and precise 18th Century form of writing with wonderfully evocative descriptions of the countryside are themselves a joy to read and add hugely to the ambiance of the tale ...

                      “the many coloured sand cliffs curved around the bay, topped by a line of purple heather surmounted by fir trees, the line of the cliffs terminating in a distant headland”

It is as if you are actually there, a part of the elegance,

       

                      “after dinner, Eva seated herself at an old fashioned spinet with odd, old tinkling notes, and sang ...”

but yet also a part of the brutality of the age ...

                      

                       “ a bad offender is hung and the body left in chains ...”

And, in addition, there is a large map and illustrations so you can easily follow the action around Swanage, Corfe Castle, the Isle of Wight, Christchurch and Studland amongst many names well recognised by Dorset families. I particularly like some of the descriptions such as cormorants being labelled  as “Isle of Wight parsons”, although I did object to my favourite Blue Vinny cheese being described as a “poor sort of cheese called “Vinny.”

Finally, good luck in finding this book; your efforts will be rewarded.

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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England Football ... blame the Ghosts of Bisham Abbey?

Bisham Abbey Manor House, Berkshire

It all started in the dim mists of the thirteenth century. The Knights Templar were at the height of their powers. They had bought some land in Berkshire and built an Abbey as a monument to their faith. But in less than fifty years their brotherhood had been destroyed by jealous monarchs amidst fearful punishments with burning at the stake being the norm. The Abbey was taken over by Edward II in the year 1307. Then, for the next 500 years there was a wide variety of owners including Henry VIII. The Abbey was used for many purposes, such as becoming a royal prison, with a succession of celebrated visitors, with Elizabeth I being foremost up until the late 18th Century. So there are 500 years at least of built-in misery, mayhem and murder, including the unexplained death (probably starvation) of one of the sons of Lady Hoby. She was a woman of enormous scholarship and as is so often the case with this trait, a woman of notoriously short temper. It is understood that she locked her son into a cupboard due to his poor intellect, and then forgot to tell anyone where he was. He died there.  However, it is rumoured that she eventually regretted his death and it is her ghost which is regularly seen around the corridors harbouring a look of harrowed grief which chills the blood of all whom she meets.

Bisham Abbey National Sports Centre

In addition, footsteps along the corridors at night can often be heard with wraith-like figures gently wafting along. Given the history of the place there can be no doubt that countless spirits are at large ... indeed the most fearsome one is that of the Abbot of Bisham Priory who cursed all and sundry as he was expelled from it during its destruction in 1538. He cursed all who shall inherit the buildings “Its sons will be hounded by misfortune”, along with more colourful promises.

This is what the National Sports Centre “inherited” when the property became a part of their training facilities. So, along with buildings and land have come a history of mayhem and, more worryingly, curses. And these are just the ones we know about. So maybe our footballers should think twice before returning there?

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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Woodland Ghosts ... fact or fiction?

Imagine ... the excesses of Christmas and the New Year are left behind; resolutions are still respected. Taking exercise through your local woodland is exhilarating. It is spring; the trees are producing soft green leaves which, moving gently in the breeze, seem to test the sudden mildness; the promise of new life and regeneration. Small birds are everywhere, heard but not seen, building bowers for their young which are imminent. There are animals at every turn from shy, hidden rodents to busy squirrels in the tree tops. There are larger creatures such as badgers and deer which forage through the new growth of shrubs, brambles, ivy and holly. And at ground level bracken swarms aggressively between huge clumps of green moss which cushion fallen trees and decomposing branches. A wide mixture of fungi spring to life in the most unlikely places.

Parsonage Wood, Wiltshire
Source: The Wild Life Trusts 

Then summer emerges with carpets of bluebells and primroses giving way to large purple thistles, rampant chest high grasses, countless white ox-eye daisies with the gentle lazy floating of new-born insects hovering over the wild flowers. You know this woodland so well. You even walk there during the mild summer nights while the soft breezes gently swirl transporting earthy smells while the quiet night-sounds bring a tranquillity unknown during the hectic daylight hours.

And so the year progresses. Soon you notice the change in the colour and density of the canopy. It is as if there is an unspoken warning of harder times; the browns, reds and golds transform from the green which has run its course and now quietly prepares for discard, for death. But surprisingly, this is not a dismal place, rather one of quiet contemplation, a timeless repetition of the ages. You know this woodland so well ... the dry rustle of brittle leaves seems so natural as you walk within the colder wind under the sharp light of a cloudless autumn sky.

Parsonage Wood, Wiltshire

And then, as Robert Burns said, “November chill blaws loud wi’ angry sugh”; but you expect this. It is only then that you hear strange voices, disembodied howling with groans and screeches which surely could come from no human body. Maybe it is the wind swirling past bare tree trunks, “sughing” through the branches as they toss and tremble in the winter gales like the strings of a musical instrument. Or maybe it is local lads wending their way home having become well insulated against the cold. Or maybe it is something more sinister. But it is difficult to explain the sudden cold spots which hit you as if you had opened the freezer in your warm secure cottage in the village. And your dog comes back to you looking worried and ill-at-ease.

The coldness, the eerie sounds, the unexplained feelings of fear are hard to understand. Are Ghosts afoot? Well, such a place is Parsonage Wood in Wiltshire. If you go there to see and feel for yourself, do not go alone.

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.

 

Kindle                        Paperback 

Follow P J Cadavori:

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