HIGH SPIRITS - museums, ghosts and musings

Do you love museums? Perhaps you have a favourite museum that you visit on a regular basis, even if the displays aren’t changed very much and look a bit old and frayed. Maybe you have a particular museum that you’ve got on your bucket list to visit – mine’s The Smithsonian. Or, you might even fall into that category of people that have no interest whatsoever in the past – pass the smelling salts, Maud!

Whatever you take, museums are a vital part of our cultural heritage and help anchor us to our past or assist us in understanding the past of those with belief systems outside of our own. For that reason they should and must be preserved.

So, it’s not hard to gather that I love museums. I grew up in Dover, Kent and we had a lovely if slightly bizarre museum. It was one of the oldest in Kent being founded in 1836. Originally, the town museum was situated in the Market Square, well within the range of the cross-channel guns during World War II. It was decided to move it to some rooms under the Maison Dieu – Dover’s Town Hall. And there it stayed until 1991 when it was moved back to its original spot.

From an inconspicuous door off the side of the building, one was led into an Old Curiosity Shop of wonders.

The first exhibit to greet the visitor was a polar bear – its teeth bared, paw upraised as if ready to slice down and eviscerate its prey. It was my favourite thing in the whole place. The poor creature was brought back from the Arctic in 1897 by explorer and local doctor Reginald Koettlitz. Its paw is not raised in attack but to hold a lamp! The bear stood in the surgery of the Koettlitz family from 1890 to 1960. My mother liked to find an excuse to visit the surgery, just to see the bear.

There was limited floor space within and so every nook and cranny was utilised in a way that would probably give today’s museum professional a fit of the vapours but for a child, it was exciting and wondrous.

Unlike today’s modern and often minimalist approach to displays, Dover Museum, at that time had no definite layout or sequencing. It was as if things had been randomly housed with speed, anticipating a temporary solution to the problem. Which, I should imagine it very much was but over the years nobody altered this and that was the key to its fascination; it was as if time just stood still.

The move back to its original site in 1991 heralded a new era for Dover Museum but I think, if I were given the option, I’d like to see the cosy, strange little room of my childhood, just one more time. It was there that my love of history and archaeology was born.

The question, therefore, must arise – why do we choose to house these artefacts at all, and what value do we derive from them? Are they merely passing curiosities or do we connect with them on a deeper, visceral level? Collecting objects from the past is nothing new – archaeology has shown us countless examples of an object from one era, even from millennia before, being appropriated long after its original purpose has past.

As I’ve grown older, I’ve come to appreciate more, the artefact not as a tangible representation of the past but its intrinsic value as something that someone once owned or even cherished. All objects, even the cheap as chips items we buy from the pound store, are created for a purpose but whether we adopt that usage or turn it into something else cannot be defined with the passage of time.

In my latest novel HIGH SPIRITS, Alec, who was the assistant curator at the fictional Partridge Hall, is finding the evolution of museums and displays a struggle, even though he has had seventy-something years to acclimatise himself to these changes. The acceleration of change would have been noticeable to him over the last thirty or so years when museums began to rely more and more on available funding streams and ideas about how artefacts should be mounted and grouped have progressed.

For Alec, the museum was a place of hushed learning where the focus was ‘inward’ towards the work of the curator. This was a world into which the general public ‘the outward’ would be welcome but kept at arm’s length. From reading the words of men who would have been contemporary to Alec were he a real person; one gets the sense of a gentleman’s club rather than a service being provided for the viewing public. The museum was their passion and they were indulging in that at the very best level. I recall visiting Dover Museum with a friend as a pre-teen and the curator allowing us to view the entomology collection that was housed in heavily polished dark wood drawers. It would never occur to us to just open the drawers, which were standing in full view in the middle of the room, and take a look. No, we waited and were shown. A very different norm from today where visitors are positively encouraged to open, prod, pull and explore things through dressing up boxes and interactive activities.

It used to be common practice for the accession number – that is, the number given to an object upon its donation to the museum – to be marked on the small cards that accompanied the artefact into the display case. These days, most museums have done away with this as being irrelevant to the visitor experience. Alec finds this outrageous!

Alec was hovering by the Roman pottery case tutting to himself about the labels that had recently been added.

“How is anybody supposed to understand anything these days,” he muttered.

“Talking to yourself again, I see.”

“I’m the only one that makes sense. Look at this – third-century grey ware.”

“I don’t see the problem.”

Jean knew exactly what the problem was, but she enjoyed pushing Alec’s buttons. It was the only bit of amusement she got these days.

“How?” Alec struggled to contain himself. “It speaks for itself. No context, no site location, no accession number if someone wants to find out more. I blame those new-fangled phones they all seem to be clamped to. Soundbites, they call it, bloody sound bites!”

For the best part of 13 years I worked for the Colchester and Ipswich Museum Service and for the last few years before I left I had the good fortune to be able to transfer over to the curatorial side of the museum working first as a Curatorial Assistant in the Collections Office and then as a Project Assistant, both on secondment. Both these roles gave me unprecedented access to the collections and how to manage and look after them. I learned how to accession objects into the collection, mark them correctly, correct storage methods and how to display them.

The storerooms of Colchester Museums contain one of the most significant collections of Roman archaeology outside of London as well as an outstanding collection of costumes and accessories, natural history and post-medieval (social history)artefacts. It was to these stores and the objects contained in them, that my mind turned when describing the workings of Bethan Andrews’s world and how Alec’s was so very different.

In what was the office of the Documentations Officer sat many old, metal card files. On each postcard sized card was carefully typed the object name, sometimes the dimensions, occasionally excavation details, or from which collection they were derived (this was the time of the gentleman collectors upon whose generosity many provincial museums were founded).

Alec would have been very familiar with these gentlemen and probably dined out with them frequently at the Old Coach House.

If Alec could’ve, he’d have passed out with the shock of finding a female curator. In his day, he oft-told Jean (who wished she could put her fingers in her ears and say ‘lalalala’), women were allowed to organise the little shop that sold postcards but never, never were they allowed to be involved in actual ‘curation’.

No, that was a man’s world. The joy of academia. Of sitting in one’s office, smoking a pipe and mulling over a particular archaeological conundrum. Women had funny ideas about how things should be done, and they most certainly didn’t involve evenings in the room above the Old Coach House, where the local dignitaries gathered for a hearty meal and putting the world to rights. Many a promise of money for this repair or that case had been made by Alec glad-handing the likes of the Hedge or Morgan patriarchs. The town had been built on personal enterprise and that always but always went hand-in-hand with cultural philanthropy.

Of course, these days, the museum services have the use of a bespoke database on which to record all their artefacts and, although the cards were kept by the Documentations Officer, they were a fall back reference as a last resort, having little or nothing to tell (Quote about knowing where everything was).

What a visitor sees on display in a museum is only a very small fraction (usually) of what the museums hold in its stores. It may seem like the simplest of tasks to select a number of objects, perhaps grouped around a theme, and display them but in reality, the various consideration that must be made in order to get an object ‘display ready’ are numerous. Such things as light levels, humidity, and text all have to be carefully thought. Bethan is working on an 18 month lead into exhibitions whereas Alec would probably have had no such considerations and could redisplay at will. No wonder he likes his way of doing things

Today, museums are no longer ‘inward’ but very much ‘outward’ focusing on being seen as less elite and more accessible with displays that make the collections relatable. It was quite natural to find groups of noisy children, roaming the galleries with dog-eared workbooks, their supervisor in tow, trying to get them to focus. Being more child or family-focused sits well within frameworks around funding. No longer is it the case of simply opening the door at 10 am and waiting for the world to wander in. Whole industries and specialists have sprung up around the heritage sector, to advise on demographics and to isolate what particular group is being left out. This gives rise to focus groups which in turn lead to workshopping.

Nowadays, from what Alec could gather, they had meetings with ‘stakeholders’ and were given ‘relationship managers’ from government-funded bodies, who talked in a whole new language about such things as ‘early adopters’ and ‘twilight subsistence’.

Museums had developed in a whole new way, and he didn’t like it one bit.

“How is that any way to do business?” Alec would grumble as the next suit passed through the door and ‘hummed’ and ‘hawed’ and went away with the promise that if the bid was good enough, the money would be forthcoming.

“Since when do museums have to ‘bid’ for money?” He shook his head. “Where are the civic-minded? Do people not give any more?”

Jean would listen with ever decreasing patience to his moaning, and when she couldn’t stand it any longer, she would retreat to another part of the Hall and let him sulk in peace.

In HIGH SPIRITS I’ve tried to relay how Alec feels about his beloved museum, the changes he sees and the sense of frustration he feels. He is stuck at thirty-years-old and 1944, at a time when things were so very different but around him, the world keeps changing and moving forward. I empathise with him, in many respects. The museum of my childhood has long (and quite rightly so) gone. Wandering the galleries at Colchester, I would see children darting around, seeing but not seeing these amazing artefacts and I would wonder why they didn’t experience the same sense of fascination that I did in that one large room under the Town Hall of Dover.

HIGH SPIRITS is now available in paperback for £9.99 or to download to your Kindle or Kindle apps for £3.99

Meet my main character - Pol - HIGH SPIRITS

Here’s your chance to get to know the main characters in HIGH SPIRITS

So, what’s HIGH SPIRITS all about?

1944 – ALEC EDWARDS world was opened up when he fell in love with JEAN FRANCIS. From the quiet confines of his orderly museum where everything was catalogued, labelled and recorded, he had been propelled into the chaotic realms of romantic attachment. This was during the Second World War, a time of air raids, bombings and rationing. Then the ‘worst’ happened. Alec and Jean were in the museum after hours when the air raid sirens went. Alec, ever the vigilant curator, was loathed to leave his precious collections out of its case and vulnerable and insisted on finishing the job. Jean is less than impressed and a dispute ensued and just as she is in the middle of delivering a right royal ear bashing when a bomb lands…..

It’s 70 something years since the bomb fell and the museum is staging an anniversary exhibition. Part of the original bomb, which caused extensive damage to a wing of the museum is going on display, alongside objects relating to the life and work of Alec. BETHAN ANDREWS is at her wit's end. As the curator of the museum she is leading on the exhibition but there is one small problem – Alec’s life was dedicated to the curation and collection of objects and little is known in the museum about him personally. The museum’s board of trustees has insisted on the anniversary being recognized so in desperation she puts out a public plea for help via the local paper. PATRICK HARMAN, Alec’s great-great nephew, responds.

In the meantime, the local rag has pricked up its ears. Alerted by Bethan’s call for help, a reporter has unearthed a long forgotten tale of ghostly lights and apparitions in the museum; of dead curators seeking their lost treasure. This led to the wealthy but totally batty BASTIAN HEDGES, the producer of the global phenomenon The Ghost Doctor ©, to bribe the Trustees with a big fat cheque, in return for filming his Midsummer Special in the museum.

Patrick arrives with his grandfather, POP, a cantankerous old man, at the museum with memorabilia. Much to Bethan’s horror, she realizes that she and Patrick have crossed paths before as students, in particular at the Student Summer Ball, when Bethan threw her principles to the wind and had a drunken night of passion with Patrick. She is relieved when he appears not to recall her at all. However, she shouldn’t relax. He is just being a gentleman and not letting on! For him, rather than being a blur of alcohol and regret, he rather liked her but then the cold light of day dawn and Bethan was in denial. Now they are thrown back together.

What none of them could realise is…the ghost stories are true; the curator does haunt the museum. The day the bomb dropped, it did more than just damage the wing, it killed Alec and Jean and they’ve spent the past 70 years watching the world go by aided and abetted by a much older ghost, that of POL, an eleven-year-old girl from the Iron Age.

The stage is now set for some ghostly intervention and for love to conquer all.

In this post, we’re going to meet POL a child of the Iron Age.

What is the name of your character?

Meet Pol an eleven-year old girl and nearly two thousand year old ghost.

What should we know about her?

Pol was born to the leader of her clan and lived with her extended community just outside what became Plimpton Market in an area today known as Miller’s Field.

Her clan is part of a wider tribe under a tribal leader.

Pol saw the coming of the Roman army into her world and watched as peace broke down between her father and the local detachment of soldiers. This led to the murder of her clan and propelled her father and his warriors into a bloody ambush in which the detachments of soldiers were all executed.

Pol is a powerful spirit through age and because in life she had special abilities that marked her out for a place in the class known as Vates or seers. Sadly for her, she was used as a sacrifice to the gods in an attempt to thwart the Roman incursions.

She has greater abilities than either Jean or Alec and can manipulate and use everyday objects at will. Her favourite thing is playing games on Seth’s iPod, much to Seth’s chagrin as he can’t work out who is doing it.

What is the main conflict?

Pol has little in the way of conflicts to deal with because she has had a huge span of time to come to terms with her situation. She was on the land before the first house was built on the site and saw the rise and fall of many properties.

Pol enjoyed living in a family home and seeing the comings and goings of family life. When the last owner died and the house became a museum she felt at her lowest but the arrival of Jean and Alec put an end to her loneliness.

What are her personal relationships like and how do they shape her character?

Pol had a loving relationship with her parents even though her life was brief. With the coming of Jean and Alec, Pol has found herself a family again and they very much act as a family unit in that respect.

She often defers to Jean or Alec even though her wisdom exceeds theirs. Pol knows a dark secret about the museum and, unknown to either Alec or Jean, she is shielding them from it in order to protect them.

When the trio reveals themselves to Bethan, Pol finds herself quite comfortable with the curator and spends much time with her in the office.

How do I get a copy?

HIGH SPIRITS is now available to download from across the Amazon market to your Kindle or Kindle apps for £3.99 or in paperback for £9.99

Haunted Mansions - part four

My final haunted mansion is Michelham Priory.

Michelham Priory, founded in 1229, was in service to the church up until the Desolation of the Monasteries in the 16th Century.

The church was subsequently demolished, and the main building was turned into a home.

The most notable ghost to haunt the site is that of Thomas Sackville, a prior owner of the site. In life, he was an unpleasant man and continued his disagreeable behaviour in death. He takes great delight in upsetting visitors by pushing or striking them, and it is rumoured that another spirit that of a young girl is so scared of him that she takes refuge at the top of the stairs.

Of course, no respectable haunted house would be without a lady whether they be white, grey or any other colour. Michelham Priory has its own Grey Lady. She is often seen wandering by the bridge and the gatehouse. Sometimes, she is reported to have been seen staring mournfully into the waters of the moat, perhaps grieving for the loss of a child who drowned therein. Slightly more unnerving are the reports of her staring into the faces of sleeping guests.

Poltergeist activity has also been reported with doors and windows which slam seemingly of their own accord.

In my forthcoming novel HIGH SPIRITS which will be published on January 6, 2018, the young ghost called Pol is exceedingly scared of an unknown entity that roams the museum. Through the power of her longevity, she is able to keep him at bay and away from Alec and Jean but as her two friends, emboldened by their new friendship with Bethan, exercise powers of their own, the malevolent spirit becomes increasingly hostile.

Well, this ends my short series on haunted mansions, but I’d like to finish by telling you about my own experiences of working in haunted buildings.

For many years I worked at Dover Castle, probably one of the finest medieval castles in the world.

The most famous ghost is that of the Headless Drummer Boy who reputedly haunts the battlements near the Constable Tower.

Like all of these things, this tale has grown over the years.

In 1945 the Dover Express reported:

Dover Express - Friday 02 March 1945

And Now a Ghost!

The latest stunt about Dover is the "discovery" of a ghost story for the Castle. Until this year people - to whom the Castle has been a familiar friend for years - had never heard about "The Headless Drummer." The "Evening News" this week published an elaboration of the story published a month ago. The gist of this story is that in battles or skirmishes 200 years ago near the Castle a drummer had his head shot off, and that, as it could not be found, he was buried without it, and now his ghost patrols the moat on the night of each full moon, and then disappears with his drum into an underground passage.

To begin with, there were no battles or skirmishes near the Castle 200 years ago. The "Evening News" story about this ghost declares that at the end of the last century a young Guards officer spent a night in "the haunted underground passages," and in the morning had become a gibbering, white-haired madman, unable to give any account his experiences. We have recently been told that an article appeared in the "Strand Magazine" describing this episode. It should be easy, if this be true, to produce the date of the article and the name of the young Guards officer. Not a single writer on the Castle appears to have heard about this 200 years old ghost, of which stories suddenly turn up in 1945!

On Tuesday, the "News Chronicle" produced a new version the Headless Drummer's fate. This story is that he was murdered whilst in charge of the Regiment's pay. This bears a suspicious resemblance to the Ingoldsby Legend of the "Dead Drummer." But that gruesome episode occurred on Salisbury Plain. The “Daily Mail," on Wednesday, reported that the Brigadier at Dover had stopped the Ghost Hunt which was the latest development of this ghost stunt. The "Mail" describes the story as the most persistent legend in Dover. Till a month ago, no one had heard of it. The Brigadier was right to stop the Castle being made a laughing stock.

Dover Express - Friday 13 July 1945

CASTLE GHOST NONSENSE.

The "Daily Express," on Friday last, contained in its Hickey's column a nonsensical account of alleged manifestations by the recently invented "Headless Drummer." This is what the "Daily Express" published:-

"Legpull - not so gentle - reported from Dover Castle, where the superstitious think that dreary drummer boy's ghost is walking again. The Castle's new Deputy Constable, Brigadier H. E. Pickering, M.C., is living in the Constable's Tower, a few yards from where the drummer boy is supposed to take his stroll. In the past 24 hours, says a soldier in the garrison these things have happened to the unhappy brigadier:— "His monocle has been snatched from his eye and discovered underneath him; his silk dressing-gown has torn itself to shreds; his spectacles have disappeared from his pocket; his walking-stick disappeared; then, in the afternoon, the brigadier's personal pennant slowly lowered itself, and the missing stick appeared in its place... Drummer boy will get confined to barracks if he doesn't watch out."

[The story of a Drummer Boy's ghost appears to be a war-time invention for the delectation and horrification of our wartime guests and pandering Pressmen, to whom any stunt is acceptable. The Editor of this paper has been a constant visitor to the Castle for many years, and never heard word of this legend from guides, who certainly were expansive in their talks. Not a word of it has appeared in any published Castle folklore.]

Over the course of 12 years at Dover Castle, I have heard reports of ghostly experiences from trusted colleagues. One such was the sighting of a gentleman dressed in 17th century clothing seen by one of my former colleagues as she swept the basement.

Many experiences were centred on the tunnels under the castle. One visitor complemented me and a colleague on the marvellous sound effects in the Underground Works, a series of medieval and Napoleonic tunnels. We informed him that no such effects were used down there and he went very pale. Concerned that someone had found their way into the lower levels we investigated but found nothing.

My own experience may have been a trick of the eye but upon closing up the keep (now grandly called The Great Tower), I thought I spotted a man entering what was then known as the King’s bedroom. I had been tasked with clearing the second floor along with a colleague, a rather tall, thin chap. As I turned, I thought I saw him going into this room, but only the lower part of his leg from below the knee, as it lifted off the ground to mount up into the room. Naturally, I called out that I had already checked that room only to find my colleague appear from another direction. Quickly, he checked the room but found no one and the only way out was through the door.

This tale was taken up (without credit to me, I might add!) on the popular television programme Most Haunted where the medium declared that the chap was called Michael and was some kind of high ranking servant to the king.

Hmmm…well, okay, if you say so!

Again, the tale has got bigger with each telling.

This was how it was reported on the pages of paranormal group who visited the castle for a night vigil in 1991:

On another occasion very recently, two female members of staff saw the lower half of a man's body crossing the doorway of the King's bedchamber during the evening search of the keep. The two witnesses followed the figure into the chamber only to find he had disappeared, and there was no other exit. Other members of staff were close by in the main hall at the time.

Well, nearly right, I suppose!

Sometimes, the half a leg is a whole leg and climbing the spiral stairs…

Moving on from Dover Castle, I next spent 13 years in the employ of the Colchester Museum Service (now Colchester and Ipswich Museum Service).

For the keep itself (misleadingly called Colchester Castle) I never felt much in the way of bad vibes. Even in the prison area.

In the Hollytrees Museum, a former home to the Gray and Round families, perfume and the smell of cooking could be sensed wafting through the house before any visitors had been in.

One day, a colleague came down from doing a patrol of the rooms to report that she wasn’t overly keen on the gentleman she’d seen at the top of the house. She’d said ‘hello’ but he’d glared at her.

It took a while but then I realised we’d only had about half a dozen visitors that day, being as it was winter and looking back on the videotape all were accounted for except a man - we’d had no men visiting us that day.

Feeling less than brave, we summoned a colleague from the castle who checked the whole house to make sure this man hadn’t secreted himself away somewhere. As the only way in and out was by the front desk, we could not explain it.

I personally, have heard what sounded like heavy footsteps pacing up and down in the room above where I was sitting at the front desk. Whilst two of my former colleagues both saw what looked like a lady in a dress, or rather the train of her dress, go by along what was once a corridor but is now blocked by the lift.

I think the only place I ever felt very uncomfortable in was the Natural History Museum in Colchester which is housed in a redundant church – All Saints.

All Saints parish is tiny; tucked at the end of the High Street. The church is surrounded by a small graveyard and underneath is a crypt into which the wealthier members of the parish were buried including Charles Grey, one-time owner of Hollytrees and the castle and its grounds.

One day, I and another member of staff were asked to go to the museum as the staff member on duty had reported a problem, possibly with the roof. Now, this gentleman is one of the calmest, most pragmatic people I ever knew so when he said that he heard a loud noise that sounded like slates falling from the roof, we believed him.

Neither myself nor my colleague could see any damage to the roof. To put things into perspective, the interior of the church is open to the roof and sound carries in very strange ways, but our colleague was insistent and, to be honest, he wasn’t one prone to histrionics. He described it as sounding like the tiles were slipping then crashing to the ground.

Another check confirmed that all tiles were intact.

About a year or so later, I was in the museum alone save for two elderly persons. All of a sudden there was a terrific noise which sounded like something sliding down the roof followed by an enormous crash. Just as my colleague had described. The two visitors also heard the noise and wondered about it.

Again, no external damage was found.

An interesting theory was put forward – not knowing how the crypt underneath was laid out, could it be possible that a coffin, perhaps sitting on a wooden shelf which had given way, had landed on a coffin below (this would account for the sliding and crashing sound) and that finally, unable to bear the weight any longer that coffin had finally fallen? Without being able to access the crypt, we can’t tell but it was a truly weird experience.

The Canterville Ghost

I love The Canterville Ghost, particularly Charles Laughton's version (although it's hard not to enjoy Patrick Stewart's turn as the irascible old ghost)

In the seventeenth century, Sir Simon de Canterville is forced by a Code of Chivalry to engage in a duel on behalf of his brother but flees to the family castle out of cowardice.

Disgusted by his son's behaviour, Lord Canterville has the only entrance to his son's hiding place bricked over as proof that Simon is not there, ignoring Simon's pleas for mercy. Here, Sir Simon is condemned to a slow, nightmarish death.

Lord Canterville then curses his doomed cowardly son to find no rest until "a kinsman shall perform an act of bravery" in his name.

Over the centuries, Sir Simon becomes famous as the most terrifying ghost in all of England.

During World War II the castle, now owned by six-year-old Lady Jessica de Canterville (who lives in fear of him), becomes home to the US Army Rangers who are billeted there. Sadly, for Sir Simon, the soldiers are not in fear of him but, instead, mock him. Sir Simon cuts a lonely figure who is weary of his time on earth.

Jessica soon discovers that one of the soldiers, Cuffy, is a Canterville and with his help, she overcomes her own terror of the ghost.

Sir Simon introduces Cuffy to all his ancestors via the family portrait gallery. Each Canterville has his own sorry story of cowardice. Cuffy scoffs at Simon's misgivings and boasts that he is different.

Cuffy, however, displays his true Canterville colours when, on a raid in France, he is paralysed by fear. Naturally, this act means he must leave the Rangers. Lady Jessica, in an attempt to bring out the inner hero in Cuffy, accidentally triggers a mine. Cuffy hitches the bomb behind a jeep and steers it into a ravine. The courageous act finally frees Sir Simon from his centuries of bondage.

Loosely adapted from a story by Oscar Wilder, it is the tale of a cowardly ghost seeking redemption. The tale is set in World War II, a wild deviation from its source material, and mixes themes such as heroism and courage under fire, the qualities Sir Simon lacks.

Blithe Spirit

My next film is the second one starring Rex Harrison and, as I said in my last post I’m not fond of him as an actor but Blithe Spirit is a joyous affair made all the better for the wonderful performance by Margaret Rutherford as Madame Arcati.

Directed by David Lean and adapted from the play of the same name by Noel Coward, Blithe Spirit was not a notable success. Coward objected to the changed ending – in the play Charles leaves the two bickering wives to it, taunting them with his freedom as he does.

The dialogue, in typical Coward style, is fast, witty and slightly risqué in parts (online being deemed too much for US ears).

Believing her to be a charlatan, and rather amused by her eccentricity, Charles, his wife Ruth and their guests George and Violet, can barely stop themselves laughing at Madame Arcati.

Finally, after falling into a trance, Charles becomes convinced that he can hear the voice of his dead first wife, Elvira. To bad for him then that the others can’t, and he passes it off. When Madame Arcati comes to she is convinced something occurred but the others all deny it.

After their guests have gone, Charles tries to convince Ruth that something did happen, but she doesn’t believe him and retires for the night. Elvira reveals herself to Charles but only to him.

As tension mounts between husband and wife, Charles finds himself talking to his dead wife much to the chagrin of his present one. In a last-ditch attempt to convince Ruth he’s not mad he persuades Elvira to pick up a vase and chair.

Of course, when this happens it doesn’t make Ruth feel any better!

Ruth seeks out Madame Arcati in an attempt to return Elvira back to where she came from but the medium claims she doesn’t know how.

Persuaded that Elvira is trying to be reunited with her former husband, Ruth tells Charles that the ghost is planning his demise. Of course, Charles is having none of it. Sadly, for Ruth, she was correct, but Elvira has miscalculated and instead of topping Charles, it is Ruth who dies in the car the ghost has tampered with.

Now a spirit herself, Ruth exacts revenge on Elvira by harassing her, so she wants to leave.

A now desperate Charles, being haunted by two wives, turns once more to Madame Arcati but all her conjuring fails when it is revealed that she didn’t summon the spirit at all; it was the maid!

Unable to assist, Madame Arcati suggests that Charles leaves on a long vacation however, it is not long before he too has a fateful accident and joins Elvira and Ruth as a spirit.

In my forthcoming novel HIGH SPIRITS, the ghosts of Partridge Hall are aghast to learn that their friend Billy, the night guard, is being replaced by modern sensors and CCTV. They set out to scare the men installing the equipment, in an attempt to stop it happening.

Excerpt:

Darren looked around the room as he waited for Steve to finish.

“Reckon it’s true about this place being haunted.”

“You what?”

“Straight up! Reckon it’s the old curator.”

“Blimey, must have been a saddo to want to be in here during his life let alone haunt it forever!”

“Well, the damn cheek of it!”

“Now, Alec, don’t lose your temper!”

“I’ll show him!”

“Pol! No!”

It was too late; Pol was off.

“Yeah, think they’d have better things to do in their….” Darren’s voice trailed off as something caught his eye.

As he watched, he saw a shape seem to materialise before him, but nothing defined. He stared wide-eyed as the shape moved. It was a bundle of clothing such as he’d noticed in the boxes dotted around the museum.

“Okay, mate, you stop that!”

Steve stopped what he was doing and peered down the ladder. “What’d you say?”

The shape continued to move, to grow as the clothes took on a form.

“I said, enough!” Darren could feel the hairs on the back of his head standing up, and he had the greatest desire to pee.

Steve looked over to see what Darren was seeing, and the screwdriver fell from his hand, nearly hitting the petrified Darren on the head.

“What is that?” he stuttered.

“Someone messing about!” Darren was trying to sound braver than he felt. “Oi! I said enough!”

“I don’t like this!” said Steve coming down the ladder.

The two men stood shoulder to shoulder as the clothing, seemingly devoid of a wearer danced around before them.

Alec stood beside them, unseen and unheard, laughing at Pol, who had slipped inside the clothing, and was dancing away, wildly throwing her arms and legs out.

“Alec, don’t encourage her!”

“Serves them right, I say!”

Darren and Steve began to back away as Pol stopped dancing and with deliberate steps that gave the ‘empty’ clothes an air of menace, started to walk towards them.

The two men fled into the hall outside, almost falling over themselves in their rush to get out of the room.

Alec and Jean roared with laughter as Pol stepped out of the clothing, leaving it where it fell on the floor.

Haunted Mansion Part Three

Welcome back to my tour of haunted mansions.

In this post I've selected three wonderful buildings.

The first is Belgrave Hall, a Queen Anne-style Grade II* mansion, constructed as a family home for Edmund and Ann Craddock in 1709 in the city of Leicester. John Ellis, a businessman with connections to the Midland Counties Railways, purchased the mansion in 1847 as a home for him and his family of seven daughters.

The White Lady reputedly haunts the rooms of Belgrave Hall and is said to be one of these daughters, Charlotte.

Other apparitions seem to favour the Victorian garb, with one receiving the nickname 'Victorian Lady', whilst another is called 'the Green Lady' and 'the Grey Lady'.

Often, sightings are accompanied by smells of fresh bread and gingerbread.

After one of these spirits was caught on camera, a Paranormal Society was brought in to investigate and reportedly encountered a hostile male spirit, a child who had died of tuberculosis and a man who had died in a fall.

Another interesting sighting is a ghost from before the Hall was built.

Excerpt

Pol, on the other hand, had completely come to terms with her death. She’d been here before the Romans had found a use for the river; at a time when the Ancient Britons ruled the land.

For over two thousand years she’d been here, trapped inside various structures or none at all but tethered to the place she had lost her life at the age of eleven.

She’d witnessed the building of Partridge Hall, and the comings and goings of the families therein. She’d sat around their firesides of an evening watching the women sewing, or reading.

She’d sat on the landing when the balls were held, watching in wonder at the changing fashions until the last Partridge had departed this earth.

She had been at his bedside, as he took his final breath, she’d greeted his spirit as it left his body, not to linger, as she had done, but to rise up and be greeted by his long-gone relatives.

She had witnessed the transformation from family home to a museum, and she’d ached with longing for the days of laughter, of small children rushing through the room, of the singing around the piano at Christmas. For the first time, in a long, time, she’d felt alone – until that fateful night.

Next up: Christchurch Mansion, Ipswich, Suffolk.

Christchurch Mansion, originally called 'Withipoll House' by its owner, is a Grade I listed Tudor era mansion which now serves as a museum.

The ghosts of Christchurch Mansion include a young Edwardian lady who witnesses describe as dancing and laughing in the upper picture gallery. Some even say she is accompanied by two young children.

Downstairs, a female spirit is seen. Described as a lady in grey who suddenly appears from nowhere and is recognisable by the swishing of her gown.

A third ghost, that of a young servant girl is said to have been seen in the property having passed away under mysterious circumstances.

Excerpt

“Have I ever told you, how beautiful you are?” he said.

Jean smiled.

Alec stood and held out his hands in an invite to dance. Jean placed her hand on his shoulder, and he cupped her other hand inside his and waltzed around the room. As they gathered momentum, the lights in the office began to flicker, as if someone were turning the switches on and off. Jean threw back her head and laughed as Alec guided her steps in a dance all their own.

Lastly, let's hear about Chillingham Castle in Northumberland, the seat of the Grey and Bennet families from the 15th century until the 1980s.

Originally a monastery, it commanded a strategic position between England and Scotland.

Today, Chillingham Castle enjoys the reputation as one of England’s most haunted castle.

From the White Pantry Ghost to the Voices in the Chapel, Chillingham has a chilling history of hauntings.

The White Pantry Ghost is that of a frail woman who appeared one nigh to the footman whose job it was to sleep in the inner pantry where the silver was kept.

He was about to turn in for the night when a woman in white begged him for some water. At first the man believed it to be a castle guest then realising that he’d locked the door, he quickly realised that it was not possible.

The pale figure is still seen to this day, begging for water leading some to believe that she was poisoned.

A dark creeping sensation has been felt in one of the chambers, leading to an oppressive atmosphere. Something unseen yet moving lurks therein.

In the Chapel beside the Great Hall, visitors often hear two men talking. Those who try and follow the sound of the voices soon find that the men have disappeared.

Excerpt

Pol had spotted the shadow, and her eyes grew wide with fear.

“I can’t,” her voice trembled. “He’s coming.”

Bethan followed Pol’s petrified stare. Some of the audience members closest to the wall looked down and could see the swirling mass.

Instinctively, they leapt back, causing their chairs to tip and in the attempt to not topple, they did topple into the laps of their neighbours who also jumped to get out of the way. The domino effect caused people to fall between chairs and then scramble to their feet. The chairs scraped against the tile flooring, causing gauges as the audience tried to get away from the creature that now had some shape, like a human on all fours, sniffing at the ground, blind to what it was trying to find.

“Pol,” said Bethan, trying to get the girl to focus, “Pol, listen to me, you must focus okay, we have to end this now!”

Pol nodded. “He took a pig skull into the store; its smell helped to mask the gas.”

The shadow began to rise, taking a new form, that of a man, with clothes that hung loosely on his gaunt frame.

Official Release Date!!

Haunted Mansion - part one

Who doesn't love a haunted mansion? Well, I guess it depends on your disposition but come on, it's got to get your interest, right?

HIGH SPIRITS is set in Partridge Hall, formerly the home of the family that gave it its name. The last resident, Sir Wolseley Partridge died childlessly and rather than finding an heir amongst his numerous relations, he chose to bequeath his mansion to the town of Plimpton Market.

The mansion became the home of the town museum, acquiring artefacts from the town's lengthy history to fill its rooms.

But Partridge Hall also holds a secret. Hiding within it are three lively spirits – Alec, former assistant curator, who still considers Partridge Hall to his domain and intensely dislikes any changes the present incumbent makes. Jean, his young lady, who had never been in the Hall until she started stepping out with Alec and is most displeased to find that she is spending her eternity there. Finally, there's young Pol, a child from the Iron Age who has seen it all – the land before any settlement, the building of the medieval manor and its replacement with the far grander Hall, and finally its last incarnation as a museum. These three love, laugh and squabble. Are each other's boon companions as the years roll on but occasionally, they get a little fed up with the same old routine.

To celebrate the release of HIGH SPIRTS on January 6 2018, let's take a tour of famously haunted mansions starting with WOODCHESTER MANSION.

Ghosts abound at this unfinished property built over the original house, Spring Park. William Leigh, ran out of money before he could complete the project and the building remained in the family until 1938 when it was sold.

Sight of a headless horseman and a floating coffin have convinced locals that the estate is haunted.

Inside the property it is as if time has stood still and that all the workmen have downed tools and left for the day. Here, a ‘tall man’ is seen walking along the corridor which leads to the chapel, whilst another man is seen in the doorway of the same chapel looking up at the stained-glass windows.

From the scullery, singing can be heard. Of course, Woodchester was never a home, being unfinished so these spirits must be from the former building, Spring Park. Plans show that the scullery and kitchen for both buildings are in the exact same spot. A young girl has been seen on the staircase but, again, this has to be the stairs from the former home.

On the landing is a sentient ghost, that is, he is aware that he has been seen whilst another is that of a man with a hat.

As well as sensing the presence of 'people' in military uniform- the house was used by US and Canadian soldiers just prior to D-Day, music from the 1940's has been heard. And, some visitors have reported the smell of bacon frying!

In HIGH SPIRITS – Alec has the misfortune to end up in the old scullery of Partridge Hall after he'd accidentally fully manifested corporeal after getting his trousers in a twist over a display label.

Unfortunately, for him, he is captured on a multitude of phones and his image is quickly going viral on the internet.

Bethan Andrews, curator, is summoned to the museum by an anxious colleague and arrives to find the street jam-packed with members of the public, eager to get inside to find the ghost for themselves.

Inside, Bethan finds both Jean and Pol out of their wits with worry as to where Alec has disappeared off to after his 'incident'. They finally locate him in the scullery, a dirty old room that now houses the boiler and a multitude of spiders.

Excerpt:

The scullery was situated in the basement and housed the boilers. It was a bit dank with only a half moon window and plenty of cobwebs. The only person who ventured in there was the gas man when he came to read the meter, and that was with extreme reluctance.

Bethan made her way down the narrow back stairs into the basement and opened the first door on the left. It was swollen with damp, and gingerly she felt inside the door for the light, hoping, as she did that she didn’t hit any spiders of which there were many.

In its day, this had been the provenance of the scullery maid, the lowest ranking maid in the servant hierarchy who did the menial jobs such as washing up and other dirty chores deemed beneath the kitchen maids.

As Bethan’s eyes became adjusted to the dim light, she could just make out the old wooden draining board and the deep ceramic sink.

She ventured cautiously down the small flight of creaking stairs and turned around, nearly wetting herself as she did.

In the darkest corner, sitting on an old wooden stool was Alec.

“Alec!” cried Jean and flew over to him.

Pol got there first and threw her spindly arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. He patted her arm in a good-natured way, and she let him go.

Alec pulled out his hankie and mopped his brow.

“What happened?” asked Bethan.

“I…I... don’t rightly know,” stuttered Alec who were he alive, may correctly be described as having gone ashen. “All of a sudden, there they all were, the people I mean, looking at me and then, it was like a wrench, and I was here.”

“But why couldn’t I feel you?” Jean was as distraught at finding him as she was of losing him. She crouched down beside him and took his hand in hers.

Alec looked at her fondly. “I don’t know my dear, but I couldn’t feel you either.”

Jean laid her head in his lap and kissed his hand. “Oh, my darling. I thought I’d lost you!”

Alec lifted her face to his and kissed her: “It will take more than this to separate us, my love.”

Next time – 50 Berkeley Square!