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.

Credit:SJP

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.

Credit: SJP

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.

Credit: SJP

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.

Credit: SJP

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.

Credit: SJP

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.

Credit: SJP

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.

Credit: SJP

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.

Credit: SJP

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.’

Credit: SJP

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.

School Play - Abandoned Theatre (Location Redacted)

Deep in rural Kent sits an Abandoned Theatre, its lights dim after the final curtain fell many years ago. A ghost affectionately called The White Lady has been seen walking the roads nearby, but as I tried to follow the directions I had been provided by GHT I was beginning to think the Theatre was a phantom as well. Eventually I found the crew for tonight’s investigation who were equally lost and by the light of a full moon we pulled onto the hardstanding and unloaded our equipment.

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The warm greeting from the new owner of the wooden fronted building was a stark contrast to the icy chill that met us as we crossed the threshold. Apparently he was told to leave the heating off as it would add to the atmosphere for a ghost hunt – dear reader it was bloody cold.

This was the first time ever that this location had been subjected to any known form of paranormal investigation and all we knew was that it was built in the late 1970’s as an educational establishment’s performing arts space. The land on which it was built on was farmland, as was much of Kent and would have attracted a holidaying workforce to bring in the crops. Our tour of the space was short with two identified locations to explore. The Large auditorium area fully equipped with seating and a stage, and the smaller dressing room area accessed off stage left.

There was an area under the stage that could have been an option, but with a head clearance of about 4 foot and accessed only by removing a panel in the floor of the wings it was decided to leave this space and the old staging and scenery alone. As the crew made sure the tea urn was up and running (it was defiantly going to be needed tonight) I set up a locked off experiment under the seating in the auditorium.

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After a cheeky cup of coffee to warm us up it was time to welcome the guests, who remained huddled in their jackets clutching steaming paper cups in defence of the temperature. Once our investigating team had been briefed the only thing remaining was to ask them the question “Are you brave enough?”

In a break from tradition we stayed together for our first session and soon motion detectors, music boxes, K-2s and cat balls were distributed around the space. Forming a circle we tried to build the energy to give any spirits that had lain dormant for sometime something to feed off.

There are many theories of what causes places to be haunted. Sites of tragedy and violence, a place that was beloved in life or the belief that somehow the environment captures events and plays them back when the circumstance is right. In my research I could find no record of any murder or sinister deeds linked to where I was now stood but it doesn’t mean to say that trauma had not been experienced on this land, and it appeared that historic trauma was what the spirits wanted to get off their chests.

As the original circle descended into a human pendulum session, we were introduced to a female. A female who was very unhappy. A female who was very unhappy and reacted with a violent lurch of the pendulum subject when asked if she was male. Those with a greater sensitivity than me (which in fairness is pretty much anyone) reported seeing an image of a sad female carrying flowers standing just outside the circle who appeared to be waiting for someone.

The myriad of phones running Alice Box apps (much the same as the Ghost Hunter Tools app I had used on previous investigations)  began throwing out names; Deborah, Crystal, Samantha, Veronica, Lucy reminding me of paranormal remix of Lou Bega’s Mambo No. 5. A rapid drop in the temperature from 11.9° to 11.3° on the Boo-Bear signified a noticeable feeling of change in the energy as 6 year old Callum, the son of Deborah entered the chat.

Through the forward and backward motion of our human pendulum we established that Callum was stabbed by his grandmother but before further information could be established the question “Could we ask one more question?” was asked and responded to by an aggressive jolt signifying ‘No’.

It appeared that any spirits residing in the Theatre were now aware of our presence, and that some wanted to communicate (or at least provide their names). What was very apparent and reported by many people including myself was the feeling of being watched. The watcher felt as if it was sat in the top row of the seats, but did not want to engage with any of the equipment deployed in the area, just observing as a passive audience the action unfolding in front of them.

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Callum’s resounding ‘No’ called an end to our first session, and as half the group exited to the dressing rooms, I remained with the other half in the auditorium.

At the front of the stage were many heavy desks, and feeling that we had stirred up some energy we attempted a table tipping experiment. With hands on the polished surface we urged the spirits to make the table move, (or even vibrate) but after asking, encouraging and cajoling (and finally resorting to pleading) we were left wanting. An upturned glass was added to the table and aside it providing the feeling of trying to hold two magnets of equal polarity together we were not getting much response.

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Not wanting to give up I had a rummage in my bag pulling out a book of Psalms to serve as a trigger object in the hope that some divine intervention would prompt some activity. I also grabbed a new acquisition to my arsenal. A clear orb sat on a black plastic base that when switched on produces purple tentacles of energy. The plasma ball works by using a tesla coil to force electrons through a coil of wire causing them to oscillate at a high frequency. The tentacle will attract to your touch as it seeks to ground the electrical energy through your body, the theory being is that this energy transference would work as well with the dead as the living. Either that or it will add more electro-magnetic energy to the environment to power up any hungry ghosts. With this in mind the use of a plasma ball renders any K2 meaningless (but does give a nice sweeping light effect).

Setting the ball down and retiring to a safe distance I noticed that the other guests were not having any more joy with the book and table. However as I observed the plasma ball the initial flurry of activity within had changed to a slow, methodical crawl as if someone was interacting with the strands of light.

Further research with the plasma ball will be needed to ascertain what this is showing but for a first time out it seems like a promising bit of kit.

Calling it a day with the table and trigger objects it was decided to try a spirit board on the stage. The planchette slid to ‘yes’ indicating that a male wanted to communicate and although further questions were asked the entity was not forthcoming with answers.

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What we witnessed however was very strange. The planchette with several sitters’ fingers attached raised up at an angle, with the pointed end several inches away from the surface of the board with the tail end remaining on the board’s surface. The planchette then began to sweep around as if pointing at something invisible circling the table, tracking its movements in the darkness behind us.

Before we could explore this phenomenon further time was called on the session, and after closing the board down it was time to warm up with a hot beverage. As the guests retired to the kitchen area I stayed in the auditorium to take some photographs of the seating area where the watcher had been felt.

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As the hot black liquid started warming me up from the inside out, I had a scroll through the photographs I had taken during the first two sessions. I discovered the following in a series of three photographs:

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Credit:SJP

Credit:SJP

The face appearing does not match anyone that was on the event, and when I took this set of photographs everyone appeared to be looking towards the centre of the circle. Although there are several explanations, pareidolia, low light photograph, contamination etc, when I shared this with the crew, they did not recognise the face as belonging to anyone working with us.

With the paper cups properly recycled it was time to start the third and final session as we gathered our group and headed back stage to the dressing room.

This was a space with an identity crisis, a shower in an adjacent room, kitchen running the length of the back wall and a cluster of armchairs around a small coffee table, it was not what you would expect. With a constant creepy sound effect of a child slowly singing “Ring a Ring of Roses” coming from a motion sensor box, we turned the lights out (and eventually the motion sensor) before starting an Estes session.

The sitter, blindfold and headphones on, reported that they could feel something touching the top of their head before reporting the sound of children laughing coming through the headphones. “I’m Scared” repeated the sitter before reporting several voices all talking at once and pressure building in their head. Again a list of names came from Alice Box apps seeing a return of Veronica, who was joined by Bill, Greg and Mike S.

As our final session came to a close I noticed my K2 on the table illuminating, with little pin pricks of orange light joining the green glows. My K2 was joined by two others with the one placed closest matching the readings of my own with the third responding as an echo. Although there are phones on the table I asked if they were all on flight mode to which I received responses to the affirmative. A very interesting end to the session as you can see from the video.

Packing up the equipment I returned to the auditorium to recover the locked off experiment. At the beginning of the night I had set up 2 mirror balls which had been marked to show rotation and any movement under the watchful gaze of a trail camera. I had marked the location and direction of the torch to be able to replicate the same conditions from set up to close down. As you can see, on this occasion there had been no noticeable movement, and nothing had been captured by the trail cam.

Credit:SJP

Credit:SJP

My experience at the Abandoned Theatre had been interesting and I had captured some interesting evidence. I would love to return with a much smaller group to draw out further details of what we had only appeared to scratch the surface of.