Cells, Chambers and Cellars: Part 2, Maidstone Town Hall

This post concentrates on the second night of Ghost Hunter Tours investigation of Maidstone Town Hall. Catch up with the event of night one here.

Credit:SJP

A month ago was the first time I had walked through the front doors of Maidstone Town Hall and experienced what the three floors had had to offer with a fantastic group of people.

Now 4 weeks later it is important to discuss the variables that could influence the night’s vigils. Half of tonight’s crew were new to the venue, and although we had all worked together before, we all bring different experiences, thoughts and expertise to the experiments. The guests were all completely new to the Town Hall, with a fantastic mix of first timers, experienced hands and beliefs. Our host for the evening was Russell who had replaced Ray, and would be spending his time catching up on his emails.

Weather, light and the phase of the moon were also all different and so could also have an influence on the night’s results.

So what had remained the same? The building, was unchanged and the same areas as night one; the Cells, the Council Chamber and the Cellar would be in play. The timing, a Friday night starting at 2000 hours was the same as before, and correlated with similar people seeking alcoholic spirits and a good time in the local pubs and clubs.

Chairs set up, tea urn on and we were all set for the arrival of our guests for the evening. Disappointed with the lack of interaction with my handcuff and whistle locked off experiment in the Cells I changed tack and set up a magnetic white board and letters asking the question “What is your name?” in the hope of some movement this time around.

As I was setting up the experiment I took a cheeky look into the attic space, that was off limits due to the risk of falling through the floor, and took some photos in the hope of finding something lurking in the shadows.

Credit:SJP

Credit:SJP

As you can see I was left a little disappointed.

Replacing the board at the bottom of the stairs, to prevent unauthorised access I went down to the room adjoining the Council Chamber and tucked a chalk board with the question “leave a message” and a choice of chalk under a table. Having provided some instruction to any spirits listening I returned to the ground floor to meet the teams for the evening.

The same briefing was provided, but a change was the celebration of a couple of birthdays. Lifting the energy with a rousing ‘Happy Birthday’ and presentations of cards, the sound of the door was heard again.

The distinctive mechanical click was traced to belonging to a clock hanging on the wall in the corridor leading to the stairs. Interesting evidence from night 1 – debunked.

Credit:SJP

In a change from the first night my group would be starting in the Council Chamber, so once everyone was reminded of their group number (another constant from the last investigation) we climbed the stairs to the first floor.

As we pulled out our gadgets and gizmos our guests formed a circle in the middle of the horseshoe of tables and started to get used to the noises from outside and the feel of the space. Setting out my now super charged plasma ball (I had it plugged into a rechargeable battery pack), a motion activated music box and some cat balls – the group began to call out.

I placed my K2 on a desk and set up a laser grid. The K2 was again registering 3 milligauss indicated by the flickering orange light in the middle of the array. This was the same as the first time, and even using a second K2 the results were repeated throughout the banks of tables. There were microphones and cables running along the inner edge of the horseshoe, and an illuminated panel on a podium appeared to indicate the system was live.

Credit:SJP

Waving the K2 to identify any massive peaks found it top out at 3 milligauss with no areas of peaking to red identified. A further check with my multi meter presented no voltage detected but a reading of 3.3 milli gauss around the cables. I could only conclude that the readings we had seen on both occasions were electromagnetic frequencies emitted by the set up in the room rather than anything paranormal. Another piece of interesting evidence debunked.

What we couldn’t explain was the sudden activation of the motion activated music box. The sensor was pointed towards the back wall (towards the cheap seats) and no one had moved anywhere near its angle of range. It may be an errant rodent but there was no evidence of rats or mice residing in the opulence of this room.

A second activation of the music box was followed by a visible power drain of my laser grid, which had been fully charged before tonight, prompting me to check this failing piece of equipment. In doing so my boot hit a cat ball, which you would expect to illuminate. But it remained resolutely dark. My crew mate was adamant that it was on when she put it down, and I had seen it flash when deployed. Pushing the little red button, it burst into life flashing red, blue and yellow. So I placed it back allowing it to reset before tapping it with my toe to be greeted with an explosion of coloured light.

My attention was diverted from the cat ball to the plasma ball as it was described as behaving weirdly. One of the female guests who was sat near it was reporting that she felt that she could not move, like a child who had been naughty and the eyes of a parent were upon her. The plasma ball was happily seeking for an earthing point on the side furthest from this particular guest but the tentacles facing her were resolutely static.

Credit:SJP

Moving the ball the effect was the same on the side closest to her, so I suggested that maybe she would be a good conduit for a human pendulum. In my blog I tend to not write about guests personal experiences, as they are personal. But the information that we gleaned raises a point of interest for myself, hitchhikers.

I’m not talking about the accounts of people who have stopped to pick up a sodden person from the side of the road only to discover them vanished on arriving at their destination. I’m talking about spirits who seem to find interest in a particular person and follow them around.

Ghost hunts are prime ground for any spirits to be able to communicate with this realm, mostly because we are actively asking for them to step forward and talk. You will often get Great Aunt Ethel or Uncle Bert come through on a board, even I have received personal messages when out at Maidstone Museum.

Usually we thank these spirits and give them a moment before asking them to step away but sometime its worth pursuing, but always mindful as not everything that purports to be friendly actually is. This is because 1, we are here to investigate the location and the hitchhiker cannot generally provide that information; and 2 because a personal message for one guest is not likely going to interest the rest of the group who have paid for an experience.

In this case, there was an interest in the story and the emotions displayed by the guest. The human pendulum provided some answers that corroborated her beliefs of who was trying to make contact.

We closed this session with a spirit board, but aside from a feeling of vibration coming from the planchette, and a feeling of a temperature drop (but the thermometer registered no change) no further communication was received.

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Exchanging groups it was time for our second vigil, which saw my return to the Cellar. During the previous visit the word Candle appearing on the screen of the Chattergeist Touch had made me think (and make an equipment purchase).

I suggested to the group that we try something, that I hadn’t seen on any ghost hunt before – Candlemancy. Explaining the theory of using a lit candle that spirits could interact with, and the safeguards I had attempted to put in place to prevent errant gusts from interfering with the flame it was agreed and we commenced our first experiment.

Credit:SJP

Setting the candle in a deep glass container I lit the wick, the yellow flame cutting through the darkness of the tunnel-like structure. We establish communication, movement of the flame indicated ‘yes’, a static flame for ‘no’.

Asking around the circle the flame appeared to respond to questions but no links to the area were established. The experiment was on the whole enjoyed by the group but a lack of corroboration or meaningful responses means that further tweaking and maybe inclusion of additional equipment would add value.

Of note in lighting the candle the oppressive atmosphere that was prevalent on both occasion in the Cellar lifted almost at once – maybe the spirit who dwells below the hall just wanted some softer light for their room?

Sensing a slight reluctance in the physical use of the spirit board, I suggested the use of a hands-free option, producing the Chattergeist Touch. Setting it up with my prototype paper board the planchette freely spun. Adding an Alice Box into the mix enabled an element of corroboration, as when asked how many spirits are there here? The planchette pointed and the Alice box spoke the same word – Three.

Making contact with a spirit called Roger we flipped the board over to the ‘ye,no,maybe’ side. Roger said that he was still with us as you can see in the following video:

Continuing our questions Roger confirmed that he enjoyed our company, reiterating it with a screen colour change.

A similar report of a pacing guard, soldier or policeman was made walking backwards and forwards as felt during our first investigation. Was this Roger? It is difficult to say with the information we had gained. Searches for a Roger connected to the Town Hall have been inconclusive but it was good to see that even in such an oppressive environment that the Cellars had been there was something that did in fact enjoy our company.

One of the ideas suggested by a guest was to increase the number of colours that the Touch displayed during the planchette mode. This has been passed to Dimension Devices who have included this idea in the patch notes for the next update.

Our time below ground over it was time for a break, and it was interesting talking with the guests over a well-deserved cup of coffee and a slice of birthday cake how many similarities had been discovered during their vigils to this time on the last investigation. The names William, George and John featured, as well as Elizabeth and Sarah. Activations of cat balls, K2s and Rem-pods had all been witnessed.

Revitalised by our break, we called for our final group and headed to the top, to finish our evening in the Cells.

Credit:SJP

Catching our breath, the guests familiarised themselves with the room, reading the graffiti and minding the roped off section. We set up a plasma ball, cat balls and K2s and commenced an Estes session. Pulling a chair into the further cell the sitter sat and the safety light went out. “Dick” came from the sitter. I asked if that was in reference to anyone here or if the name was Richard. “Yeah” came the reply.

Over the 2 male sitters the words were uncomfortable “Rape,” “would her” and words that the sitters refused to repeat came through the static of the Spirit Box. The atmosphere felt close and tense, the subject matter raised clearly upsetting.

Credit:SJP

Further research could not uncover a Richard sentenced with sexual offences and no Richard appears on the Penenden Heath hanging lists for the offence of rape (burglary and highway robbery but nothing correlating to what we received).

Placing several objects on a shelf on the opposite wall I asked any one present to move it, push it and even challenged to throw it at me. But there was no indication of movement at all. Suddenly we heard the sound of the door at the bottom of the stairs open and close I looked, expecting to see someone coming up the stairs. No one was present and on checking no one had been near the door whilst we were in the cells.

I took some photos, illuminated by my UV torch as my red torch had decided to give up the ghost, but nothing was uncovered.

Credit:SJP

Our time had been served and it was time to close the evening with more questions than we had answers but also having had some really interesting experiences.

Collecting my locked off experiments, the letters on the board in the cell did not appear to be moved, and my chalk board had received no message from the other side.

Before Credit:SJP

After Credit:SJP

Before Credit:SJP

After Credit:SJP

My thoughts on the way home revolved around my head. There were so many similarities to what had been experienced in the Town Hall.

The Cells had provided very consistent feelings with all the guests, a sense of foreboding, of anger and fear. The names John and William recurred during all the sessions and appeared on devices used in the location. One thought of this was priming, our guests were told the room was used to hold prisoners, the names John and William are also documented amongst the graffiti on the walls and floor.

There is a lack of known information about who was held in the cells, documented evidence does show that prisoners were held here awaiting deportation, but there is a lack of clarity as it appears the Town Hall cells were not the only place of incarceration for the Assizes.

The cells were decommission in the mid 1820’s apparently after a scandal was caused during a prisoner escape. I could find no record of this daring feat and would love to know more about who and how this was accomplished.

Prisoners were not executed in or near the building as records show that executions were held on the other side of town at Penenden Heath until moved to Maidstone Prison. So if the spirits we encountered had been deported or departed elsewhere why would they return to this dingy wood lined box in the centre of town?

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The Cellar is another interesting space, the only thing that appeared to lift the oppressive atmosphere was the lighting of a candle. Similarities between both nights were that there was this feeling of something pacing like a guard. The tunnels usage has no record but is believed to stretch for quite a distance with a shop on the corner of Gabriels Hill reporting tunnels under their shop. These are believed to have belonged to a 14th century abbey that was constructed but was not put

into operation with its crypts and vaults filled in to create basements for the shops and buildings that came later. Which would probably explain why no reports of phantom monks, nuns or clergy were reported.

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The Council Chamber was odd, with differing reports from those who entered there on different nights. The first night receiving a young boy called Alexander and the second engaging with a guests hitchhiker over anything resident.

I love it when guests make contact to share their own experiences and research, as I can only write from mine and any additional research that people can find is always useful. One guest wrote to me with her experiences of the night, and I found her experience in the Chamber really interesting.

She reported an impression of masonic rituals, secret societies and a need to be ‘male’. She shared the sound contamination problem and concurred with my assessed of K2 activity and proximity to cabling. Further research I uncovered that Robinson Lodge No. 2046 was consecrated at 1430 hours on Friday 7th November 1884. That consecration and many subsequent lodge meetings were held at the Town Hall. So the perception of ‘ladies nights’ and the removal of female fingers from the table was very apt as her group then finally saw some activity from the table tipping experiment they were performing.

So when looking at the variables, did they impact across both nights? The answer is yes. There appeared to be more activity from the experiments that we conducted on night 2 over night 1, but it is interesting that not all responses were the same. The appearance of a hitchhiker and the masonic connection appear unique to those that experienced them, but both groups of guests put everything into both nights.

You could therefore say that as long as everyone gives there all on an investigation then some of the spirits will communicate, but they might not be the same ones or even the ones that you expect.

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As I have said, even after my research of what we uncovered over these two fantastic nights, I still have so many questions of who or what remains at the Town Hall. I’m hoping one day to return would you join me?

If you want to find out if you are brave enough, then join Ghost Hunter Tours (GHT) on an investigation click here to find tickets for some fantastic venues. I can’t do them all (as much as I want to) but follow me on Instagram or Facebook to find out where I will be heading next.

If you are interested in the Chattergeist Touch then all the information and a 10% off in the shop are available by clicking here.

SJP is an affiliate of GHT and Dimension Devices. Sales through these links will earn me commission.

Cells, Chambers and Cellars: Part 1, Maidstone Town Hall

I have always been fascinated by repeated investigations at a location, and not just because its an excuse to give to Mrs J to go out and investigate. From Maurice Grosse and Guy Lyon Playfair pretty much living in Green Street over the 2 years of their investigation into the Enfield Poltergeist to Harry Price renting Borley Rectory for 365 days to produce his results. Repetition serves to gain further advancement of knowledge, identify patterns and coincidences and evolve investigative techniques to delve further into the murky depths of these haunted locations.

Ghost Hunter Tours (GHT) have been lucky to secure Maidstone’s Town Hall for 2 nights and in this two-part post we will look at the secrets this historic building has to offer, how a change in guests influences the results and what consistencies we get across both nights.

Credit: SJP

The beating heart of Kent’s county town by day is like any modern high street flanked by big brand coffee shops, restaurants and shops, but after the sun sets it transforms. The clattering of high heels across the pavement, the low rumble of the bass from the clubs and the smashing glass of pubs emptying their empties juxtapose with the small gathering of sober ghost hunters assembling at Maidstone’s Town Hall.

It is not just the current configuration of bricks and mortar that provide evidence of the paranormal, as some theories purport that the land on which a building is built can also offer insight to the past.

Law and order has been meted out from the Middle Row since the erection of the first courthouse in 1587. This building was duel purpose, with civic leaders conducting their business from the first floor whilst Judges and Magistrates provided over the matters of life and death on the floor below.  Such was the demand of criminals awaiting trial and sentencing a second courthouse was constructed a few yards east of the original with the new building being called the Upper Courthouse, the older being the Lower Courthouse.

The Town Hall as it stands today was constructed on the site of the Lower Courthouse, which was demolished in 1759. The Neoclassical building of Portland Stone and red brick was completed and officially opened in 1763.

Our point of contact for this evening was Ray, and as the crew assembled bearing tables, tea urns and spirit boards (along with all our other equipment) it was not long before we were ascending many, many stairs to meet our venue for the night.

Credit: SJP

Our tour started at the top of the building. Here were the cells that housed those destined to be forcefully removed from our shores. Their stories, thoughts and prayers etched into the wooden panels on the walls and floor, the last testament of the damned. As we read these accounts a burst of laughter filled the space as we discovered, as if you give a man something to draw on and something to draw with, a myriad of penises of all shapes and sizes.

Marking the cells as one of the vigil areas we descended to the first floor to explore the Main Council Chamber. A very different feel from the poverty of cells, the varnished wood panels engraved with the names of those who had served the County Town glittered under the decorative lights on the ceiling.

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The room was set up for a council meeting, a horseshoe of tables sitting in front of rows of chairs. The sounds of the emerging nightlife could be heard through the large windows which could prove a contamination issue if we received knocks or raps during our experiments. But this being the preferred room, over the adjoining conference room, it was marked as the second vigil space.

The final space was the subterranean tunnel, a white-painted-brick tunnel in the basement of the Hall. As we filed through the wooden fire doors the space immediately felt oppressive and very different from the rest of the building that we had explored. The third vigil space had been identified.

Credit:SJP

We returned to ground level, and as the final preparations were made for our guests I went back to the cells to set up a locked off experiment – a set of handcuffs and a Metropolitan police whistle, their outlines traced I spoke into the dusty gloom inviting anyone who wanted to move the objects to do so.

On my return to the ground floor, our guests were already arriving and soon a hush of anticipation descended. The muffled sounds of those seeking spirits of the alcoholic kind could be heard through the windows and then a heavy clunk that sounded like door handle turning and shooting back on a spring.

As the briefing continued a few of the crew went to investigate and soon returned not being able to find the cause of the phantom noise. Hoping this would be a foreshadowing omen that the spirits of the Town Hall were interested in what we were upto the game of “who can remember their group number?” was played – the winners forming small huddles whilst the losers queued to recheck the sign in sheets.

Calling for my group we began to climb the stairs to the Cells and begin our first session of the night.

Arriving at the top of the building, we caught our breath before setting out a variety of K2s, Cat balls and a Ghost Detector. The group wanted to try an Estes Session, and minding the roped off section of the floor the first sitter had been blindfolded and was receiving the steady stream of noise from the spirit box app through a pair of blue tooth headphones.

“Are you a man?” came the first question; “Help me” returned in response. As the questions flowed with no discernible answer from the sitter reports of a cold draft were made by several within the room. A K2 started flickering and from the sitter we heard “William killed me and he went mental” followed by “Murder the bitch!” and “History made it.”

As the headphones were handed over to the next sitter, the previous conduit said that there were several different voices but not all were discernible. There was a scared female voice who said that William killed her and a very domineering male voice who was constantly threatening and appeared to shout over every other voice.

In researching murdering Williams the list of convicted criminals hanged at Penenden Heath has 2 of note that were likely to have been housed in the cells where we were now stood, William Donellan who dropped for the murder of his wife on the 8^th August 1823 and William Brown.

William Brown a private in the royal artillery whose duties involved acting as servant to his Lieutenant, a man by the name of Webber. On 4^th April 1812 Brown was suspected of theft and absented himself from the barracks. Brown returned the following morning stating that he had committed a crime for which he should be hanged and booked himself into the guard house. He confessed that as he was walking in the country he crossed a stile leading to a lane where a 7 year old Isabella McGuire was playing. His presence caused her to cry and Brown seized her in his arms, using his finger and thumb to strangle her. He continued to carry the limp body for some distance before leaving her on some steps. A case of madness? Brown stated he had no malice against the child and yet on the morning of the 10th August 1812 he swung for his insanity.

So was Brown still residing in the cells? Was Isabella still with him, as a comfort or a continued torment we cannot truly say. But with a new sitter donning the headphones it was time to meet John.

The graffiti on the wall inscribed ‘John Davis 3 times here to please his wife and Scott’ and the legend tells of John the cuckold. John liked a drink, his wife apparently enjoyed the company of Scott even more and so when John was three sheets to wind she would call the local policeman who would take him away to the cells to sleep it off. This provided John’s wife time to play with Scott whilst her husband languished above the High Street. They always say the third times the charm, but for John it was the straw that broke the donkeys back, as when he returned home he made sure that his wife and Scott could not succumb to earthly desires anymore. 

Credit:SJP

The sitter proclaimed “John didn’t kill Sarah” and interestingly no John Davis is listed on the hanging lists for Maidstone so maybe the Judge took leniency on his predicament or, more likely his wife and Scott continued to live whilst John continued to drink.

A third change of sitter and this time we were told to run. Why run we asked “bail” “tortured” “Indecision” came the response.

Not finding this a reason to run we divided into the two groups, the first with a spirit board and glass, and mine with a non-touch option.

If you have followed my blog you will know that my favourite bit of equipment if the Chattergeist Touch, a swiss army knife of spirit communication. A new update had launched in the days before this investigation which included a planchette mode.

Sat on the floor with the Touch sat on a crudely designed wheel of letters and numbers my group started to ask questions.

The planchette spun but the design of the board made us question what was being pointed to, as so I flipped the board to a simpler ‘yes’, ’no’ and ‘maybe’ design. The spirts seemed to have fun pointing to the lines rather than to any answers, until the safety light extinguished plunging us all into darkness.

During our initial walk-around with Ray, he told us that the light would always stay on, so the sudden status change raised a few questions. Torch out I tried to trace the cables to find a switch or a timer but could not find anything that would provide an explanation.

Calling time on our stint in the cells we returned to the ground floor to change groups. Before heading to the Counsel Chamber for our second session I disturbed Ray’s Netflix binge to ask him about the safety light. He was confused as I was and said that it should always remain on. So being no further forward on the case of the disappearing light I tagged onto the back of my new group as we got ourselves comfortable in the Chamber.

Setting up a laser grid, a Rem-Bunny and the plasma ball the group started to become accustomed to the space. As I placed a K2 on the horseshoe of tables it registered a medium reading with both green lights and an orange displayed. I moved the device around the tables and it continued to show this base reading.

Credit:SJP

We ran a couple of simultaneous experiments in this room, setting up a mirror for scrying and one of the guests adorned the headphones and tucked them selves at the back of the cheap seats for and Estes session.

Asking questions to the sitter we established a 10 year old boy named Alex. An Alice box app running confirmed Alexander. Young Alex kept asking us to listen, to help as he was desperate before announcing “I am dead.” This group had already met a George in their first session in the Cellar. George was Alex’s friend, who helped him to hide from Mike and Mark. Mike and Mark lived in the cellar and were not friendly towards Alex – who called “Death to Mike” when asked who he was.

This conversation was eerie, as if things that were unsaid did not need to be stated. A feeling of abuse or something equally as sinister pervaded the atmosphere, it felt that even in death Alex was not safe.

Some interesting coincidences during this session occurred with the same words or phrases being produced from the sitter and the Alice box. The name Alexander, the phrase Help Me and at the conclusion of the session Thank You occurring in unison.

Research has not uncovered an Alexander, a Mike or a Mark with any connection but if you search George Maidstone Town Hall one name stands out - George Joseph Smith infamous for the Brides in the Bath Murders who took the long drop at Maidstone Prison (but with no obvious connection to the Town Hall).  

As we were packing up I noticed the plasma ball behaving very strangely. 2 tentacles appeared to being manipulated flicking from one side then the other.

A very interesting phenomenon to end this session with.

During the break I managed to grab a coffee and share some of the stories from the other groups. It was interesting that the names John, William and George featured, as well as activity reported from some of the devices deployed.

After the cups were collected it was time to descend to the Cellar for the final session of the night.

Opening the fire doors the oppressive feeling remained and we deployed cat balls and a K2. The group opted to open with some table tipping but we received no activity through the folding table.

A human pendulum was attempted next which after some cajoling and encouragement spelt out H O P E M I E E M N through reciting the alphabet until the subject lurched forward to signify the letter. Understanding that HOPE was spelled out we tried to clarify the final letters when suddenly the sound of footsteps were heard clearly from outside the room. Immediately going to check for any alive person outside the room I discovered the hallway empty and received no response to my call out.

On my return the pendulum continued correcting its spelling M I R J which made equally as much sense as the original letters. The spirit interaction with the pendulum appeared to wane and so we closed down that experiment to explore something else that had caught the groups attention.

A cat ball had started to activate and It felt that something was pacing backwards and forwards from the door to the end wall, like a soldier on patrol. The group could almost trace its movement as heads started to follow in unison from one end to the other and back again. Pulling out my K2 as the heads turned to look at me the LED’s started to dance and then stop as whatever it was moved away.

Wanting to see if I could obtain any other sensory data I grabbed one of my new toys a multi meter, that measures EMF, Voltage and temperature. Soon dowsing rods came into play and the feeling of pacing had left us. Everything became focused on the hole in the wall.

The dowsing rods were pointing, the K2 was flashing Red and my multi meter was solely recording EMF frequencies that were building turning the screen red with the amount detected.

I pulled the Touch from my pocket and saw the word Candle flash on the screen moments before it refreshed. Clearly there was something interacting, but what it was I could not say.

You are always fighting time, and our time in Maidstone’s Town Hall was up. As we packed up our equipment in the cellar our guests headed off to say goodbye and sign out. I had one final experiment to conclude and so made my way back to the Cells.

Taking some photographs I dismantled the locked off experiment and packed it away. Taking a final look around to make sure there was no equipment left behind, I jumped at the sound of footsteps behind me. It was Ray coming to check no one had been left behind and close up.

Before Credit:SJP

After Credit:SJP

As we walked back down to the ground floor, checking for anything left behind I asked Ray if he, having spent a lot of time in the hall after hours, had experienced anything. He hadn’t, but he did have a friend who had, but that was his story to tell.

As I wondered off into the night, accosted by drunk women who were definitely wearing their beer-goggles I had many thoughts; the group of guests we had were amazing, the stories of those that lived, worked and were held here are really intriguing and what a great location to explore – especially as I would be back in 4 short weeks for a second night.

So stay tuned for Cells, Chambers and Cellars: Part 2, Maidstone Town Hall coming to SJP next week.

 

If you want to find out if you are brave enough then join Ghost Hunter Tours (GHT) on an investigation click here to find tickets for some fantastic venues. I can’t do them all (as much as I want to) but follow me on Instagram or Facebook to find out where I will be heading next.

If you are interested in the Chattergeist Touch then all the information and a 10% off in the shop are available by clicking here.

SJP is an affiliate of GHT and Dimension Devices. Sales through these links will earn me commission.

#SundayStories - "Meet Me at the Crossroads"

Welcome to #SundayStories.

Where your stories will appear on the SJP Blog.

Our first story comes from the wonderful Twitch_and_the_witch.

With Thanks as Always to Mrs J

My dad didn’t believe in ghosts when he was younger. 

In his twenties he went to Ireland with a friend. They had been out fishing for most of the night and were walking back to their hotel. They came to a crossroads in the middle of no where and a young woman approached them. She asked if they had seen a man on a hay cart. They said they hadn’t seen anyone. She then asked if they saw him, could they tell him she had carried on walking to the next village. They said they would, said goodbye and carried on walking. They were chatting how it was strange that a woman would be out, on her own, so late, and turned around to look at her and she had gone. Worrying that she had fallen and might be hurt, they ran back to check but couldn’t find her.

Worried, they ran back to their hotel and told the receptionist that they needed to send a search party because she was obviously in trouble somewhere. The receptionist then told them that many years ago a young couple were planning to elope. They were going to meet at the crossroads, then go on his hay cart. But he chickened out and didn’t turn up. She waited at the crossroads and ended up freezing to death. 

There was a record book at the hotel of all the sightings. She often appears to people to ask if they have seen him. 

My dad and his friend didn’t believe it. They said she looked as real and solid as anyone. She was wearing old fashioned clothing but it was rural Ireland in the 1960s, so they didn’t really think it was that strange.

Annoyingly my dad died in 1998, so I never found out the location.

Small's Ghouls Special - As Green as a Lyme (Ghost Walk, Lyme Regis)

Welcome to Small’s Ghouls, a little corner of SJP that I have been given to share my own thoughts, experiences and ghostly goings on.

Logo Credit: Mama J/Mrs J

When Papa J told me that he had some time off in the school holidays I immediately said I wanted to go to Lyme Regis because this is where one of my heroes Mary Anning was from. I wanted to explore the town and hopefully follow in her footsteps and uncover a monster on the beach.

I also knew that SJP would do something spooky whilst we were away.

Imagine my surprise when Papa J managed to convince Mama J to finally let me join the team. I might be Small but as a Tweenager I was ready to step up to any challenge SJP would give me (and what Mama J would say I could do).

Hoping for my first investigation I was told we would be suiting up and going on a Ghost Walk.

I was very excited and started thinking about what equipment we could take with us. Apparently the whole kit bag was not the answer but I was allowed one thing. I decided to take a K2. I chose this piece of equipment as it is my absolute favourite piece of equipment alongside the plasma ball , pendulum and dowsing rods.        

Credit: SJP

It had been raining as Papa J drove us into Lyme and as he parked up he said we would wait for the rain to stop. The rain had already stopped but he had parked under tree which was dripping onto the windscreen.

My rain coat had been decided to not be big enough for the weather so donning Mama J’s with the sleeves rolled up we set to walk down the hill into the town.

We tried to find a place for a stop for a coffee but everywhere was closed. Our last resort was to go to the pub next door to the museum that we had gone into earlier that day. During our wait  for our coffees we noticed a door had opened by itself. After further inspection, the door was found locked. One of the waitresses were talking to a family behind us about that the pub we were in was haunted.  When we had grabbed our de-caffeinated drinks we huddled under the entrance of the museum to keep warm while we waited for our walk guide.

 

Credit: SJP

A couple of minutes later, the little square in front of the museum was filled with people curious to know the spooky secrets of the past. I was surprised at the amount of children that were here to walk with us.  I felt cold and wet but inside I was all warm and fuzzy. I was so excited that I was shivering ( actually I think that was the cold but no matter).

While we were traversing Lyme Regis, our K2 meter was abuzz with activity.  Both me and my old man where wondering if there was power cables under the cobbled streets or a spectre was trying to grab our attention.  If there was a paranormal being in our midst then they really loved playing with our K2 Meter as it went from green to red to orange to yellow to dark.

Our walk guide was a very friendly man with an umbrella with a lot of stories to share . He was happy to answer any questions that we asked. One of my favourite places we went was the  garden with the memorial poppies. It was very calming.

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My favourite story we heard was the one about Father Joseph because we got a lot of activity from the K2 Meter. We got it to flashing red but the story finished with the best ending. A woman was washing her clothes when they came out martyr red. They suspected that Father Joe’s body was in the stream at the time and was bleeding (a lot). It was a story that I would never forget.

I also enjoyed the story of the most haunted room in Lyme Regis. They found an old dishevelled head in an iron box which belonged to the body found by a man on a walk in the civil war. Sam ( the man who discovered the headless body) was on a leisurely wander when he suddenly tripped over on something that he would see in every nightmare from that day on . A corpse was the reason for his unexpected trip over. After that fateful night, Sam went to the local vicar to explain what happened. The vicar asked to see the dead man’s body and discovered he couldn’t identify the poor soul in front of him because his head had been removed. The vicar gave the corpse a proper burial and for a couple of years the debacle was almost forgotten. Until  a few years later when the head was found in the attic of the most haunted room in all of Lyme Regis. The owner of the house wanted to know the cost to fix the thatch roof. The men went to the attic and found a large iron case. They thought it was treasure and when no one was looking they took it to the garden with a hammer and broke the lock. Instead of treasure they found an old dishevelled head. They took it to the vicar and he buried it with the body found by Sam.

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The nicest story I heard that night was the one when a girl got hit by a horse drawn  carriage selling lucky lavender. It is said that when someone is about to die she’ll come and comfort them.

The funniest story was the one where the grandfather asked his son for a paper and pen. After he died the son looked at the paper which read “Son you are sat on my oxygen tank.”

 

 

Well that was my long and exciting night at Lyme Regis. I hope you enjoyed it. Stay tuned to read more of Small’s Ghouls!

 

Mind Your Head – Ghost Walk, Lyme Regis

When I was younger I was fascinated by ghost stories, devouring the A-Z of British Ghosts and hoping that spending time in old and dark places with plenty of history I would be fortunate enough to see something that Peter Underwood would want to include in one of his many books. It didn’t happen but I had some experiences that I will share in future posts when the time is right.

Shortly after starting this blog, I discovered that my daughter had been reading it. I saw in her the fascination of the supernatural that I had when I was her age. She would come to me with questions, share her favourite bits and ask sensible questions of what I had experienced. It has become clear that her intentions are to join her old man as a fully blown member of the investigating team, telling me that she isn't a medium, she is a small.

Small as she is, she is too young for the thrill of the hunt. Instead, after a bit of research and persuading Mrs J that she would be fine, a ghost walk was on the cards. So school holidays arrived and the opportunity arose like a shape in the mist. We headed south west, landing on the Jurassic Coast close to Lyme Regis. Famous for fossils, fighting and failure to comply with the status quo, the picturesque Dorset seaside town is quaint with its narrow streets lined with bakers, tea rooms and many a fossil shop.

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In the daylight, it’s a struggle to believe that the small streets once played host to an eight week long siege from Royalist forces, with Parliamentarians using garden walls for cover. A look out over the calm waters of the harbour, the Cobb seems a relaxed jetty out into the sea and not ground zero for the 1685 Monmouth Rebellion.

As the sun began to set, and dutifully fortified by dinner at basecamp, the self-proclaimed Small and I set off into Lyme Regis, hoping the rain would ease off, for her first initiation into the paranormal.

As always, the first job is to find coffee. Mary Anning (the statue) visited and the sea looked at, we realised everything else seemed to shut at five. All except our port in the storm, the Lyme Bay restaurant, where we shucked our coats and ordered something to warm us. As we waited, we overheard one of the servers behind us telling the patrons that the pub was haunted by a young girl who played tricks, moved things and made noises when the punters cleared off and left them to clean up at the end of the night.

As if on cue, our eyes were drawn to the front door, which opened slowly, wide enough for a person to enter, before gently returning to its original closed position. Small JP, wide eyed at what she had witnessed, was about to have her first investigative lesson.

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The restaurant has double front doors, and it was the door on the right that had opened. Since we took our coffee to go, I asked her to open the same door. She gripped the pull bar with her might and the door didn’t budge. It was as if it were locked in place. Handing her a takeaway cup, I tried it myself, and it definitely felt as if the door were locked with a top bolt. Ever inquisitive, she was quick to ask, ‘how did it open then?’ I had no other answer than to get her to test the other, which swung happily open to let us out into the night.

So our first bit of evidence of a locked door that we had both seen open and now we could not open it with no visible person was present at the time was in the bag. A good omen possibly for the night ahead.

Our night was a walking ghost tour of Lyme Regis, I had explained to Small JP that we would have a guide and be joined by a group of people who would all be interested in the same thing – the darker side of Lyme. We had equipped ourselves with sturdy footwear and, because of the weather, many layers to keep warm and dry. Our guide would lead us around the town and would tell us the stories of the places where we stopped. Unlike the tour of Glastonbury with Extours (see Secrets of Glastonbury – Part 3) there was no investigative element to Lyme’s, so we packed a K2 to see if we could add anything else to our experience.

We were the first to arrive at the muster point outside the Lyme Regis Museum and were soon joined by a rag tag motley crew of adults, children and a couple of Canadians. Our Guide, Carl Holland, establishing everyone was present and correct directed us to the sea wall and was soon regaling us with tales of the Cobb – the long harbour arm that stretched out to sea in the distance.

The light was fading and a strange mist was rolling in from the void that once was the horizon between sea and sky. You would expect strange cries and the disembodied calls of the Ferrymen of yesteryear to be carried on the wind but all we could hear was Carl’s voice as he continued his stories.

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Fireworks are now seen as a New Years Even tradition, but in the early hours of 1^st January 1915 a torpedo fired by a German U-Boat was the cause of the explosion to bring in the new year. Striking the starboard side of HMS Formidable who was at the rear of the 5^th Battle Squadron at 0220 hours. As boats raced to rescue the 747 men on board a second torpedo was fired on the portside of the stricken ship, 40 minutes after the first, causing the vessel to sink at 0430.

The escorting cruisers HMS Topaz and HMS Diamond managed to rescue 80 hands, with a sailing launch and a pinnace from Formidable carrying 71 apiece. The launch was found by HMS Provident with all survivors managing to clamber aboard before the launch broke up in the raging seas.

The pinnace, taking in water and with a damaged rudder saw 14 sailors breath their last, their bodies lowered into the surf to lighten the load. After 20 hours at sea the pinnace landed on the beach at Lyme with the help of the local community. 48 landed alive, 9 were not. Tommy Atkins, owner of The Pilot Boat Hotel threw open its doors and residents helped by bringing food, drink and blankets to the fatigued survivors.

The hotel’s cellar was transformed into a temporary mortuary, and it was here those that did not make it were placed. Mrs Atkins was the owner of a rough-coated collie called Lassie, who would not leave one of the crew who had failed to respond to resuscitation. The body of Able Seaman John Cowan was laid out alongside the others of his departed colleagues, but Lassie would not leave this particular corpse alone, constantly licking at his hands and face. No one had noticed the dog’s behaviour but they did notice the faint murmur emanated from John’s lips, but only after they had responded to Lassie’s triumphant barking.

Discovering that John was indeed alive medical assistance was summoned and Cowan was taken to the Cottage Hospital on pound Road where he made a full recovery – Lassie would not leave his side.

Praised as a hero dog, she was the subject of many news reports around the world, received many awards and medals and featured at the Crufts Dog Show before being enshrined in history by author Eric Knight in his short story ‘Lassie Come-Home.’

But it would appear that Lassie never left home, as even after her death the sounds of howling would come from the cellar of the hotel. These howls occurred every so often with no natural cause being discovered, until Atkins got a new dog, when they stopped.

The death of this new dog saw a return of the spectral howls and from that time onwards The Pilot Boat Hotel always had a dog – in case of shipwreck or medical negligence.

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There is a lone building, now home to an aquarium, that sits halfway along the Cobb its use posed as a question. Based on the knowledge that Lyme Regis was one of the busiest ports in England at one time Small JP made the educated guess, with a promise of a Sovereign as a reward, that it was something to do with Customs or Tax. Her answer was good but not correct, the Sovereign was returned to our guide’s pocket.

A clue was provided, the reward reduced to a shiny Farthing that Lyme, unlike Weymouth only has blue plaques to indicate areas of its history – where attached to 7 Custom House Quay, Weymouth is a black plaque that reads:

The ‘Black Death’ entered England in 1348 through this port. It killed 30-50% of the country’s total population

Now this is probably not the best brag a town could have but sparked in Small JP an idea. Raising her hand and called upon for an answer she said “Hospital?” to which she was now the proud owner of the shiny Farthing and formed the prompt for the next tale.

The Cobb’s Quarantine Hospital and the crone that ran it had a very effective manner of outfitting those who walked in through their doors with a black sack and a watery final resting place. But this whitewashed building served its purpose and is the reason that Lyme does not boast a black plaque.

A year before a young man entered the doors to this hospital he was lounging on his home towns beach after a morning’s fishing enjoying the sun. That fateful day he was sighted by smugglers, who like the British Navy were not beyond underhand tactics in crewing their ships. The smugglers ‘recruited’ the young lad by grabbing him, restraining him and dragging him kicking and screaming aboard to serve as a galley slave.

After several months of slaving he spied the same beach from where he had been taken and being a strong swimmer (and not very well guarded) he dived overboard and swam home. Arriving on the beach, feverish from the exercise in British coastal waters and coughing because of the saltwater he had consumed in his epic dash to freedom, he was directed to lodge at the Quarantine Hospital until his situation improved.

His mother would visit every day, providing food and gifts and more importantly hope, bit the young man appeared sicker every day, until he was only in need of hope and a black bag of his own.

Driven mad by his torment it is said the young man has never left, and if you pass the aquarium on the Cobb you may be confronted by the Cobb Ghoul whose howling and screaming can be heard as his claw-like fingernails scrape at the top window in a desperate bid to escape.

As we set off to the next stop on the tour, Small JP realised that the shiny Farthing was in fact a shiny 5p coin, the disappointment evident on her little face. This expression was short lived as we walked up Church Street passing the Marine Theatre where it turned into excitement as she pointed at the K2 protruding from one of my many pockets which was now flashing green and orange.

The theatre was not a stop on our tour but later research discovered the tragic story of an actor called Amos. Amos had a brother, Gilbert, who was his antithesis; tall, handsome, a hit with the ladies and had an amazing ability to contort his face like a rubber mask. Amos believed that the only way he would be a successful actor was to do it without his brother and taking him on a fishing trip (not the one from Gavin and Stacey) he hit him with an anchor before casting him overboard.

As Amos rowed away, he could hear his brothers cry for help, but Amos continued eventually arriving at the shoreline and washing the blood from his clothes. Amos in offing his brother became a successful actor but his return to Lyme and the newly built Marine Theatre  was to be his final performance.

He delighted a sold-out performance with his most famous roles, repeated curtain calls and autographs before he fell asleep in his dressing room. A nightmare ensued featuring an anchor to the soundtrack of his brother’s desperate final cries for help. On waking and trying to leave he discovered the theatre exits closed and locked.

The house lights were suddenly extinguished leaving only the ghost light on stage. Groping his way toward the solitary light, Amos was grabbed by invisible hands as the spectral figure of Gilbert repeatedly re-enacted his final violent moments.

Being missed at a celebratory dinner with the mayor, Amos’ fans found the theatre locked and in darkness and he had not returned to his hotel.

Amos was found the following morning, by the cleaner, swinging from a rope from the lighting rig with a contorted, terrified expression on his face.

Could it be that Amos was trying to attract our attention to his story that our guide had missed with the tiny flickers of coloured light from my pocket? Or could it be something more sinister that was drawing us forward to St Michael’s Church yard.

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After Carl had arranged us on the steps leading to the graveyard, he began the next story which like the body that was discovered right where we now stood was in two parts.

The moon was all that Sam Hodder and his friend to light their path as they trudged home from work at the shipyard, with his customary pit stop at the Ship Inn. It was close to dinner time when Sam alighted the steps we were now stood on, having to stop himself from tripping over a hard sack-like object that was blocking his path.

On closer inspection he found the uniform of a soldier, still being worn by the soldier’s body, the man’s head was not where it should have been which really hindered finding out who the uniform belonged to. The John Doe was taken to the vicar of St Michael’s Church and subsequently buried in the pauper’s end of the graveyard, such was the end of part 1 of this tale.

For part 2 we moved up to the graveyard proper and our attention was diverted from the stones protruding from the ground to the top right window of the house opposite. The blue painted sash window belonged to the once renowned ‘most haunted room in Lyme Regis.’

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Even in the time of decapitated soldiers people would pay money to stay in haunted locations, and it was a common challenge laid down amongst friends to stay the night alone at the old Monmouth Hotel.

Those that did stay (and many not for the whole night) reported the sounds of horses, carriages, running footsteps, firing of musket and screams coming from within the walls. In the silences between these sounds would come sudden cracking noises as if a large object had been deliberately dropped.

For those that could hold their nerve through this soundscape described the odd behaviour of a grandfather clock. Around midnight it would suddenly chime wildly and the dials would rapidly spin until the door snapped open revealing a hanging man with a distorted face rather than the brass pendulum that would be expected. The clock was not the only furniture to act strangely, as the bed would slowly rise from the ground before shaking vigorously.

Due to the bad Trip Advisor ratings the hotel was getting from this room, it was eventually locked up and abandoned.

The troubles in the room ceased quite quickly after a thatcher was employed to repair the roof. He and his mate discovered a false wall in the attic space which when removed uncovered a sealed metal casket. The casket, believed to contain treasure, was removed for later pilfering. Expecting gold or money or jewels, the thatcher was disappointed to discover a soldier’s helmet, and horrified to see that a head was still wearing it.

The contents of the casket were bought to the vicar at St Micheal’s, who remembered that he was a head short of a body from a few years ago. The body was exhumed from the pauper’s grave, the head placed where heads generally live and both parts reinterred into the original hole.

As we walked through the church yard I checked on Small JP, who had warmed up a little with the walk and deeply enthralled in the dark history. She told me she didn’t want the tour to end as she was enjoying it as we arrived opposite Number 13, The Gables. Back in 1897 it was known as Lyme’s cottage hospital and including an operating theatre installed by Lord Lister (of Listerine mouthwash fame). The area attracted seasonal work and as such Timber Hill was known for its Gypsy encampment. Whilst the men laboured, the women sewed and the younger girls would come down the hill to sell flowers to the hospital visitors.

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One tragic season an eight-year-old girl known as Little Rose was involved in a fatal accident after a horse drawing a carriage ran over her. This death ended the Gypsy’s relationship with the town but not Little Rose’s, who was reported as returning to the hospital with a gift of violets and kind words to a very sick woman. She recounted this to her son and that night fell asleep never to wake again. The son wanting some closure on the story enquired with the nursing staff about the girl. They told him that many of their patients before they would die would tell them of a little girl who would bring them words of comfort and a bunch of violets.

Carl ended this delicate tale with a joke that tickled Small JP, who was still laughing after the short walk down Monmouth Street to a green space outside of Monmouth House.

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Taking a photograph whilst we waited for the group to reassemble, I later discovered the interesting points of light captured in the image.

Could this phenomenon be attributed to Maggie Wylde, or as the locals called her “Mad Meg”, who besotted at the sight of the Duke of Monmouth as he marched through the town, at the start of his rebellion, was eventually imprisoned and publicly humiliated every market day for her devotion. Her passion remained even after her death with her high-pitched calls being heard by people passing through the square and answered by an appearance of the Duke himself sat upon a black charger one arm up as if greeting his adoring fans, the other arm cradling his severed head.

The stories of tragedy that surrounds those who lived, worked and visited Lyme Regis continued as we made our way to the town’s Mill. As did some activity on the K2 prompting an opportunity for Small JP’s second lesson – debunking the evidence.

Handing Small JP the black box we started to look at the road surface for what could cause the electromagnetic energy. We identified that there were gas lines, water lines and electric lines running under the road as well as Wi-Fi coming from houses and phone signals from those around us, so a lot of possible contamination. She identified that the orange LED would blip on one particular line and it was here she learnt her third lesson – Dealing with false positives.

As we finished talking about power lines we entered a small courtyard which contained the town water mill. Here the story of the overprotective mill owner, whose daughter fell in love with a smuggler struck a chord. The owner having to leave Lyme to travel to Doncaster for business felt the only way to protect his daughter from the machinations of the criminal classes that she was associating was to lock her in the mill. Leaving her with food and water, he turned the key and took a carriage out of town. That night a fire swept through the timber framed buildings engulfing the mill and extinguishing the life of the daughter.

The owner returned to the town the following morning, the smell of smoke still present in the air. He soon discovered his fatal mistake, the screams of the imprisoned child still float on the breeze around the area to this very day.

As the story sunk into the group I may have held Small JP’s hand a little tighter as we made our way to the final stop on the tour. We grouped around Carl for the final time as we arrived outside the Town Mill Bakery on Coombe Street.

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The river that feeds the waterwheel to the mill also runs under the houses on Coombe Street and was an attractive solution to smugglers who would boat along the river knocking on trap doors and exchanging their tax free merchandise for a few coins. Another use for this aquatic pathway was the movement of Catholic Priests in times when having that particular religious persuasion was frowned upon.

Father Joseph was an elderly priest who remained in hiding rather than flee his intensely puritanical and Anti-Catholic hometown in the wake of Catholic exclusion legislation. On entering the tunnels he crossed himself and pulled the grey woollen smock a little tighter over his vestments against the cold. His destination, the same every week, belonged to a prominent Puritan alderman who on a Tuesday night would be found at the town meeting.

Carl assured us that he had checked and the only time in the history of this meeting this fateful Tuesday was the only meeting where they ran out of things to say. Father Joseph was mid Mass when the alderman returned, who in a rage grabbed a knife and plunged it into the priest’s throat. Father Joseph left the house the same way he came in and was thrown through the trapdoor into the freezing waters below. Father Joseph was joined in his watery grave by the alderman’s wife, who charging at her husband screaming descended through the trap door, choosing the same fate as her beloved priest.

As Carl was telling this story the K2 was flashing red with Electromagnetic Activity, punctuating every word Carl said, the same colour that women washing their clothes the following morning reported they had turned. Small JP had remembered lesson 2 and was checking for explainable sources of the activity. Finding none her eyes lit up and it was this point she knew she wanted to be a paranormal investigator.

The sound of chanted Latin punctuated by the sounds of a man and woman screaming have been reported coming from the river, with the lucky witnesses reporting seeing an apparition of a priest with his hands folded and a woman dressed in black drifting above the water’s surface as in deep conversation.

Carl’s Ghost Walk around Lyme Regis displayed this picturesque town in a very different light, he presented his talk in an entertaining manner, raising a few laughs among the tales of the tragically departed.

Carl had told us that he was the third guide to do this walk which was originally devised by Chris Lovejoy, whose book The Cobb Ghoul contains the stories we experienced on our walk (as well as many more), and a read that I would recommend adding to your library.

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The Lyme Regis Ghost walk was suitable for all ages, and it was really nice to see the level of care and inclusion Carl showed in making sure as much of the route was accessible to all.

And what of the newest member of Samuel James Paranormal? I think she may have been bitten by the paranormal investigator’s bug – so stay tuned for Small’s Ghouls special posts coming soon to SJP.

If you would like to book The Lyme Regis Ghost Tour that runs every Tuesday click here

You can find a copy of Chris Lovejoy's brilliant book The Cobb Ghoul here or any good book shop.