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GHOST ENCOUNTERS- DESTINY & DESIRE -

The Ghost Hunter Case Files

MARGO WILLIAMSEdited and produced by Nick Hammond

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CONTENTS

Foreword 1

1 Hampton Court Palace 3

2 My Blue Heaven 17

3 Corfe Castle 21

4 Winchester Cathedral 32

5 King Arthur’s Castles 46

6 The Ghost of Lustleigh Cleave 57

7 Canterbury Cathedral 59

8 The White Tower 75

9 Jamaica Inn 80

10 Glastonbury Abbey 85

11 Glastonbury Tor 97

12 The Chalice Well 107

13 Avebury & Stonehenge 111

Conclusion 126

Appendix 127

About the Editor 129

Bibliography 130

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CHAPTER ONE

HAMPTON COURT PALACE

THE ASTRONOMICAL CLOCK at Hampton Court Palace is a Tudor time-piece where the sun revolves around the earth. It has marked time and high tide irrespective of the dramatic comings and goings

at this famous riverside palace; events that have earned Hampton Court a reputation as one of the most haunted buildings in the world. The ghost of Queen Anne Boleyn is said to roam its galleries. Others claim to have seen a ghost in the palace maze, but the most famous haunting is the ghostly figure in white gown that glides the notorious Haunted Gallery. Palace security guards have also seen a figure in the Chapel Royal, in Tudor clerical costume wringing his hands; and some believe it to be the ghost of Cardinal Wolsey who ordered this palace to be built.

“You Brits and your ghosts,” said the man with a foreign accent. He sipped his coffee and smiled unkindly. We were in the old palace kitchens; he had listened to my conversation with Nick planning our itinerary of work that day.

Hampton Court Palace, London

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CHAPTER TWO

MY BLUE HEAVEN

OF course it is reasonable to insist there is no such thing as a ghost, as did the sceptic in the kitchen of Hampton Court, because ghosts are not one of life’s certainties. They are not seen sufficiently for us all to

say ‘Yay, we believe!’ The world today is divided by the question: just as many think there are such things as ghosts as those who do not, though no one really knows the true numbers of those on either side of the divide.

Obviously I do believe in ghosts but they haven’t always spoken to me, nor have I always been able to hear them. How it began is related in more detail in the book Heaven & Hell but for the purpose of introduction I will briefly recap: I have had what people call ‘psychic gifts’ since childhood but this gift of hearing seemed to develop during my 50s following an illness during which I lost two of my senses: taste and smell. For several years I couldn’t tell what food tasted of or how fragrant was a flower; there was nothing and it felt most uncomfortable. Various medical treatments were offered by my G.P. but for years nothing worked. Until one morning I awoke to the surprising bitter aroma of my husband burning the breakfast toast. Those senses had returned but with something extra: my hearing was enhanced, though I wasn’t aware of this at first. I just was glad to be able to taste my coffee.

Within a matter of months I did become aware. It started with ghostly visitations; a dead woman reciting a poem about her short and tragic life; a coal-miner lost in a colliery disaster; a ship’s surgeon traumatised by the carnage during a forgotten sea battle; a child chimney sweep who took her own life. They came to talk; at first just a small group, then more. My husband Walter was a scientist and dismissed the experiences as menopausal hallucination so I took to writing down what I heard and showed him. The people were telling me facts about their lives. So Walter decided to research those facts to prove I was hallucinating. Long story short: three years later he was presenting his research to fellow scientists certain that he had proof of personality survival after death. He had evidence that ghosts do exist.

Some of them came to my house only for a few hours, others stayed for longer and made use of this unusual connection to tell me of where people needed help; where others were trapped as ghosts. Most of these told me the

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CHAPTER THREE

CORFE CASTLE- THE BALLAD OF LADY BANKES -

GHOSTLY tales gather to this ravaged castle on the Purbeck Isle in Dorset. In twilight and when mist rolls in from the sea, Corfe Castle is among the most spectacular and eerie of all Britain’s haunted

buildings. Legend claims it as one of the sacred grail castles. History suggests it was the home of the damned. It is evident something terrible has taken place here, as from any angle the ruin conjures images of catastrophe. Its ruptured stonework straddles the crest of the hill as if a titan has crashed about the site leaving the mighty fortress a carcass of broken bones. Corfe has a bloody history of treacherous violence. Home of the Saxon royal family, according to legend it was here on the castle steps an unconcerned Queen Elfrida watched her step-son Edward, heir to the English throne, die with a blade in his back so gifting the crown of England to her own son Ethelred the Unready.

During the 1200s Corfe Castle was King John’s state prison. Here he kept his best treasure and starved his prisoners in the dungeons as he built himself a fabulous penthouse apartment known as the Gloriette. During the 1300s Corfe was again the scene of treachery when it was the venue for a deception

Corfe Castle, Dorset

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CHAPTER FOUR

WINCHESTER CATHEDRAL

DURING THE 1880s restoration work was undertaken on the great altar screen in the choir of Winchester Cathedral. The Bishop also agreed to the opening of a mysterious ancient marble tomb, to

confirm or disprove the legend that inside were the bones of King Rufus, William the Conqueror’s son and heir. When they lifted off its lid they found a skeleton of the size of Rufus; beside it were pieces of gold braid and a small carved ivory griffin head formerly attached to a royal sceptre. They also found a ring and the remains of a weapon believed to be the bolt that felled him. Also decorating the remains was an assortment of twigs and broken nutshells. Such mementos of the forest would mean nothing to Rufus but to the ghost of the marble tomb their presence probably explained everything.

Near the cathedral is the Conqueror’s Great Hall which houses a round table which some people say was King Arthur’s. However, carbon dating suggests it probably was made for King Henry VIII. Winchester was an ancient city even in Arthur’s time but it became most famous as the royal city of Arthur’s enemy, the Saxons. Its cathedral is their royal tomb-house. Among the city’s treasures are the contents of six old mortuary caskets perched atop the cathedral choir screen. Contained within them are the bones of the first Christian kings of Wessex. Viking King Cnut and his son Harthacnut are also in there; and so too Emma, widow of Ethelred the Unready, plus the bones of various bishops of Winchester though no one knows for certain which is which and who is whom because the caskets were opened up by unfriendly hands and their contents used for target practice at the stained-glass windows. Although the bones were later found and gathered again from the streets outside, the task of re-assemblage was beyond sensible effort so they were carefully, if indiscriminately, returned to the caskets.

I am sometimes asked how old is the oldest ghost found? I reply there are many elderly ghosts but know that this is not what the questioner actually means. In these historic buildings there are some old ghosts. In truth I find these difficult to deal with, more so than those from recent times. Although essentially no different, insofar as these too need help and want release, they speak in another language. Taking dictation is difficult sometimes even with

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CHAPTER FIVE

KING ARTHUR’S CASTLES

IN his 20th century guide to English Inns, the poet journalist Thomas Burke wrote: ‘When you go to Tintagel to see the last ruins of King Arthur’s stronghold, you will see on the edge of the cliff, right against the Atlantic,

a great turreted castle. At first glance it might be a well-preserved portion of the original, so fitly does it relapse into the landscape. But it isn’t. It is the King Arthur’s Castle Hotel and it is twentieth century. When you enter its hall you do not enter the hall of an inn or hotel; there were no inns in the Morte d’Arthur. You enter the hall of a castle. And I think if any Knight of the Round Table were to enter he would recognize it as the hall of a castle of his age. A little tidier perhaps but otherwise what he was accustomed to see.’

The King Arthur’s Castle Hotel opened for Easter of 1899. Advertised as ‘The Most Romantic Spot in England’, a ‘Palace by the Sea’; some said it ‘…stands on the spot where Tennyson received his inspiration for the Idylls of the King.’ It certainly is inspiring. In modern times movie stars Robert Taylor and Ava Gardner stayed here while filming Knights of the Round Table. Sir Laurence Olivier was here filming Dracula. It is a monumental place to stay; windswept, spectacular and solid in a precarious-edge-of-a-Cornish-cliff, sort of way. There are no reports that the ghost of Sir Laurence wafts through its rooms and down its grand staircase though it is difficult to imagine a more dramatic stage on which to perform a fine haunting; nor does Ms Gardner in heavenly body adorn the balcony.

But there was a ghost to be found in the hotel. People have seen him descending the staircase. Some frightened guests described him as wearing white gloves, and so he did. He followed me to a seat in the hall where I took out paper and pencil and wrote what he had to say about his stay. A gentleman perhaps but no knight in shining armour, so far as the ladies were concerned.

“...Such a pleasant place, excellent service,” he said. “Many interesting people, artists, authors, poets and titled stayed here. I was fortunate to enjoy entering into conversation with some. My wife accompanied me the first time, soon after we heard of the place. We stayed for two weeks enjoying walking during the day. The second time, I returned with Elizabeth, as I preferred to call her. She was the most beautiful of creatures until she

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CHAPTER SIX

LUSTLEIGH - THE GHOST & THE MAIDEN -

BRITAIN is dotted with ancient hill forts but in the vales between are old places of beauty and lost antiquity where former so-called pagan customs continue into modern times. Lustleigh is one such scene of

loveliness. Lustleigh village can be found on the eastern edge of Dartmoor, and is without doubt among the loveliest in King Arthur’s country. First-time visitors swoon in certainty that the village fell from heaven itself to settle as a garland around the ancient burial mound on which now stands the church.

Visitors and residents have hazarded guesses as to the identity of Lustleigh’s ghost. Some say it is good stationmaster Hayward whose now contented soul watches over the village. Another theory proposes the ghost to be Victorian actor Nutcombe Gould, buried in the church graveyard, who refuses to exit such a delightful stage. Others say it is Reverend Davy, for forty years curate of the parish. Some believe his ghost would not leave the village where his garden was arranged; where the busy curate pruned, snipped and twisted any part of nature’s bounty into shapes of the Ten Commandments and the Lord’s Prayer. Some people claim his ghost wanders the village trailing pages of lost sermons in his wake; and say his ink-stained fingers are often seen scratching at the

The Cleave Inn, Lustleigh, Devon

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CHAPTER SEVEN

CANTERBURY CATHEDRAL

AS a place to haunt, Canterbury Cathedral in Kent does not seem so bad. Its pale sherry stone and large windows create an atmosphere of space and light unlike the sinister gloom of old Notre Dame

Cathedral in Paris. In Canterbury there is gilt finishing everywhere; on the richly decorated tombs and effigies, on walls and ceiling vaults. The cathedral is glorious thanks to the thousands upon thousands who have traipsed the pilgrim’s path in hope of being cured of their ailments by miraculous Saint Thomas Becket. Even today, and even though Becket’s bones have long since been lost, black-robed priests can be seen scurrying between offerings boxes carrying swollen money sacks.

As soon as we entered the building I felt the excitement of ghostly presences. I find it best to take a few moments to acclimatise in such big old buildings; steady myself. In an old castle or house there may be one or two trapped people who need help but I have come to expect considerably more in such places and they, just like anyone else stuck somewhere and looking for a way

Gate house, Canterbury Cathedral

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CHAPTER EIGHT

THE TOWER OF LONDON- THE WHITE TOWER & JEWEL HOUSE MYSTERIES -

THE TOWER OF LONDON is in fact a collection of twenty-one towers that includes the Beauchamp Tower, the Bloody Tower and St. Thomas’s Tower named in honour of the murdered Archbishop of

Canterbury. The oldest of them is the White Tower so called, so many assume, because of the pale Caen stone used in its construction. However ancient British legend claims it stands on the White Hill, a site sacred to the Celts for it was where the severed head of Bran the Blessed was buried in an age where the spiritual leaders of the country were archdruids not archbishops. No one knows for certain whether Bran was a Celtic god or a great king of the Britons long before Arthur assumed that role and removed Bran’s head and threw it into the sea, but the famous ravens of the Tower remain as Bran’s legacy.

A ghostly robed figure is sometimes seen carrying a lantern along the corridors of the White Tower; some yeoman warders say it is the ghost of Archbishop Simon Sudbury who had sought sanctuary in its chapel but was

The White Tower, featuring chapel of St. John, Tower of London

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CHAPTER NINE

JAMAICA INN

THIS FAMOUS inn stands at the heart of Bodmin Moor and Arthurian myth. Ancient trackways lead to Tintagel Castle; another leads to mysterious Dozmary Pool where, according to legend, Bedivere carried

Arthur’s sword Excalibur and encountered the Lady of the Lake. As centuries have passed, who knows who and how many travellers while crossing the bleak moor have stopped to shelter on the site of Jamaica Inn, with tales of labours ahead or tasks just done; and on occasion found sound advice on just what to do with a valuable cargo. Local myth-weavers say nearby Camelford is the site of Camlaan, where Slaughter Bridge crosses the place where Arthur and his son Mordred killed each other.

According to legend, as Arthur lay dying his knights Bedivere and Lucan carried him from the battlefield. He told them soon he would be dead but there remained one last deed to be done. Bedivere asked what that was. Arthur pointed to his bloodied sword Excalibur and told him to take it and cast it into Dozmary Pool, and then return to him. Bedivere grasped Excalibur and reassured Arthur that it would be done. Across the moor he trekked, scrambling up rock outcrops, skirting the marsh and mud. At last he came to a stone building that sheltered limpet-like upon the middle of the moor where now stands Jamaica Inn. He saw merry travellers inside the building, singing and warming by the fire, but Bedivere pulled tight his cloak and hurried on the mile and a half to the lake. At the water’s edge he stopped and drew Excalibur from its leather sheath. The sword shimmered in the sunlight and the knight gazed at the dark water before him; then galloped back up the muddy path and across the moor to Arthur’s side. Arthur looked worse. He clasped Bedivere’s collar in his bloody fist and demanded to know what he had seen.

‘Only waves and the wind, great Bear,’ replied Bedivere. Arthur winced with pain and coughed blood. ‘You have not done as I bade

you. Go again, and do as I command.’Bedivere gathered the reins of his horse and pelted back across the moor.

He came to the rough stone building, he licked his parched lips but carried on down the muddy track to Dozmary Pool where he found Excalibur hidden between the roots of a tree. The sword dazzled in the sun’s setting rays and

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CHAPTER TEN

GLASTONBURY ABBEY- LINEA BIFURCATA -

THE TICKET machine clunked. A party of middle-aged women pushed through the turnstile barrier and into the grounds of Glastonbury abbey. The pilgrim sisterhood adjusted their coats and hats against the

cold wind. One of them asked if the holy thorn was in flower. The tale of Saint Joseph of Arimathea and the holy thorn lies at the heart

of this abbey’s story. Legend claimed the disciple had asked for Jesus’ body following the crucifixion and Governor Pilate agreed to the request. Joseph and his son Josephes carried the body from the cross and blood dripped onto Josephes. Father Joseph found two small silver phials in which he preserved the drops, then they wrapped the corpse in a winding-sheet and placed it in a rocky grave and sealed the tomb. The legend claimed that Joseph left the Holy Land and journeyed to France where he met Saint Philip who suggested he go to Britain to preach the new religion of peace and love, and put a stop to the pagan worship of stone idols, trees, wells and magic bones. It is said Joseph

Glastonbury Abbey looking toward Arthur’s grave

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CHAPTER ELEVEN

GLASTONBURY TOR- SACRIFICE & SAINT MICHAEL -

HIGH above Glastonbury town rises a green hill on whose summit stands an old tower, all that remains of the church of Saint Michael on the Tor. Like autumn mists legends gather about the tor. Some say

Merlin lived here; some claim the hill is hollow and unwary souls may find an entrance but no exit because the tor is a hallowed gateway to the Underworld. Many still believe the Holy Grail is hidden at the foot of the hill somewhere down deep in the Chalice Well.

The tower is thirteen metres or so of corroding stone and empty arch window; lichen forms patches of light and dark, bleach white and virulent green. The church to which it was attached is long gone, and in several short steps the pilgrim passes through to the other side. Above the tower doorway are remains of stone carvings, now badly eroded. Some of Saint Michael can be identified, locked in a struggle to pin down a dragon; below him is a carved relief of an angel and devil watching a pair of scales in which a soul is weighed. The tower is an eerie and windswept place, and some pilgrims of sensitive disposition say they heard ghostly sounds of human screaming and wonder to which part of the Grail story that noise belongs.

In truth it is a tale of human sacrifice. Sadly, relations between Glastonbury Abbey and the cathedral of Wells fell foul of bitter disagreement, mostly over money and Saint Joseph’s missing body. Abbots tried to bring unity in crisis times within the abbey but the Bishop of Wells all too often seemed more than happy to stir things up for worse. Some abbots dedicated their entire year’s profit in getting even with the bishop through courts of law. There was excommunication and treachery, and there was murder until finally their differences were resolved up on the tor. During the autumn of 1539 Abbot Beere’s successor, elderly Abbot Whiting, was arrested and taken to the Tower of London where he was interrogated and soon yielded the abbey’s treasures to Henry VIII’s commissioners. The king’s troops came to Glastonbury to collect what then belonged to Henry. Abbot Whiting was released and brought back to Somerset as a prisoner and escorted to the palace of the Bishop of Wells. The charge against the abbot was Robbery, the verdict: Guilty; and the

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CHAPTER TWELVE

THE CHALICE WELL- GHOSTS OF THE GRAIL -

ABBOT Whiting had suffered enough, it seemed, for he was not among the ghosts haunting Glastonbury tor. Perhaps he still is inside the hill, eating cake and drinking wine with nymphs and nakedness at

the invitation of Gwynn the god. Abbot Whiting might not be complaining. Over cakes and wine he would by now concede that Gwynn is not the devil, and that the stone carving in the parish church of Saint Benignus was most strangely significant for those of his own kind. And as a man of some bitter experience Whiting might now wonder if the devil rejoiced at the work of those who professed to be fighting the good fight against him. For it was not the devil who mutilated him upon the tor, it was the likes of Luke the torturer, filled with the love of God.

At the foot of the tor is a valley divided by a grey stone wall. On one side rises the White Spring whose water once flowed through a cavern of crystal and draws its name from the high calcium content it contains. On the other side of the wall is the Blood Spring, the Chalice Well, whose water is red and

The Grail doorway, Glastonbury

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

AVEBURY & STONEHENGE - SUMMER SOLSTICE -

THROUGHOUT THE YEAR but especially at solstice time, pagan pilgrims travel the A361 road from Glastonbury to Avebury to visit this wonder of the ancient world, to celebrate the season and await sunrise.

The henge is included in that party; day and night solstice celebrants walk its embankment, most singing and dancing until the dawn. Among them, one Solstice eve, was a bearded man in dramatic costume. He stood in the doorway of the Red Lion Inn dressed in a cloak of green above a tunic of white. Upon his back he carried a shield with a painted red dragon. “My name is Arthur,” he roared to the gathering. “With me it’s King Arthur, Uther Pendragon. Three names, three jobs, and what’s best for Britain!”

“Who cares what’s best for Britain!” yelled a man in the crowd.“Tribeship is best for me, and cider!” Arthur raised his glass chalice. “What

you see is what you get,” said he to no one in particular.“I’m a Cornishman!” boasted a man in the crowd.“I’m a Celt!” roared Arthur in reply, to which response there was much

cheering and swigging of ale.

The Red Lion, Avebury, Wiltshire