Things That Go Bump

It could lead you to believe there is as many dead wandering the lanes and cottages 

as there are those that appear in good health. 

The Old Mill in which both Lucy and Mark Musgrave met their ends still creates much discussion as to whether both deaths were accidental, or ‘something else’. The something else being paranormal activity for which the mill had already a reputation. I can understand the caution over moving-in fearing that the presence of Lucy and Mark may still persist. One shouldn’t forget Diana of course, Mark’s first wife, who’s ghost, he claimed, was the cause of Lucy’s death. Then there was whatever existed there before the Musgrave’s moved in. If one prefers to believe in the supernatural then the Old Mill would seem a busy place if it’s ghosts you’re after. It has taken some time for the new owners to arrange a visit from a ‘house whisperer’, apparently it is better that they come recommended and they have gone to great lengths to find someone with any creditable expertise. Ironic then that this person only lives on the Shaftesbury side of Shipston and therefore almost a local. 

Besides the Old Mill, I should mention the ‘Sandpit Twins’, relatives of the Blythe family, who saw a ghost at the sandpit and then nearly a century later Jack Dawson, from the village, who saw the twins in their ghostly form at the same place not so long ago. I will never forget my experience with ‘Whistling Jack’ and then there’s the stranger I met on the common who told me of his visit to Skimmelpenny, neither of which existed, maybe, I don’t know. Dig deep into any village history and there’s plenty of unexplained apparitions or strange events and things that go bump in the night. It could lead you to believe there is as many dead wandering the lanes and cottages as there are those that appear in good health. I say ‘appear’ just in case their ghostly forms are so well contrived as to convince us they are real and we’ve taken them to be just like us. So, look closely at the next stranger you meet and see if there isn’t the slightest hint that you can see right through them.

My cottage was built around the turn of the nineteenth century and therefore has had plenty of people living in it, as well as probably dying in it. I only have one record of that happening and as it was, apparently peaceful I do not expect to bump into her ghost on the landing at the stroke of midnight nevertheless I’m wary whenever it’s dark, just in case. There’s the conundrum that if you say you don’t believe in ghosts they will definitely appear to you to prove their existence, and if you say you do believe in them, it makes it that much easier for them to scare you witless. 

I admit to some skullduggery here and publicly name Paul at the shop as my accomplice. I suggested to him that the Bradfords, the family moving into the Old Mill, appoint me as key-holder whilst they are absent so I can ensure the place is looked after. I used the threat of squatters, and errant gardening enthusiasts that are not averse to taking cuttings, plants and even turf from any unattended gardens. I exaggerate of course, we’ve never had any trouble with squatters. The reason for this deception was so that I might meet the ‘house whisper’ and, as you might remember, find a solution to the ‘Whistling Jack’ phenomena, as well as anything that I might learn about what happened at the mill itself, in the distant past or more recently.

It was a Friday morning, the thirteenth actually, when I received a message from a Dorothy Palmer, the ‘house whisperer’ who also claimed expertise as a healer as well as many other ‘alternative and alchemical skills’. Later that day we met outside the Old Mill where she insisted that I remain outside so she would be able to commune without any other ‘energies’ interfering. I understood and pointed to where my cottage was and that when she returned the key, there was something about which I would like her advice. I probably made her feel like a doctor being asked to examine a embarrassing swelling by someone they’ve just met. But she was polite and said if she could help, she would, however there was no mention of how much it might cost.

An hour or two past before the bell rang and I invited Dorothy Palmer in for tea, which she accepted. She slumped into an arm chair and looked quite tired, I asked her if she’d had a tiring day to which she gave me a strange look.

‘Believe it or not,’ she said, ‘what I do is quite demanding, both mentally and physically.’

I replied that I didn’t really know what she did, only that it was to discover what ghosts or spirits inhabit a place.’

She told me that was only partly right.

‘Everywhere has the trace of anyone who has lived there,’ she said. ‘Some leave more than others due to what life they have lived, or what traumas they have experienced. It is to do with energy. Everything that comes in contact with us absorbs some of it, like a stain, it can remain.’

‘So you’re the cleaner?’

‘To some extent, yes, I use various techniques to ‘wash away the past’, so the building can start again, freshly laundered.’

‘What about ghosts? I mean real ghosts, if I can call them real.’

‘They are real enough, to the people who see them. What was the advice you wanted?’

I sensed I was out of my depth and so began relating to Dorothy the story of ‘Whistling Jack’ both the terrifying experience in the glade, and what we had researched of his life and its end in the woodman’s hut after he had been beaten and it had been set alight. 

‘He is angry,’

‘Which is no surprise,’ I suggested

‘And you think his death was because of what people thought he had done?’

‘Yes, it was later that it was discovered it was the children’s father that had taken them after a dispute with the woman, who was thought to be their mother.’

‘Mmmm,’ Dorothy thought for a moment, ‘injustice’ that’s so often the cause of a spirit’s unrest. Fire, must be one of the most awful ways to depart this life, which is why it was so popular with the church, but that on it’s own is not enough for the spirit to remain. Maybe it is because it is the body that suffers, not the soul. It is the soul that feels the injustice, and cannot depart. That is what Jack demands, he needs to know that his innocence is recognised. He blames men, which is why you felt his anger. Women and children may not feel what you did. Perhaps children can play a part, a demonstration that he is trusted. Perhaps too, on the site of where he died, some commemoration, something evidential of his innocence.’

‘A seat or something.’

‘Yes, and a ceremony perhaps asking him to forgive us and the way he was treated, recognising his innocence and understanding his anger.’

When Dorothy left she did so with my Ordinance Survey map I use for walking. On it was a circle indicating where Jack had died. Dorothy mentioned dowsing and the implication was that the map was all she needed. About the Old Mill she would say very little as her information was for the Bradfords who were paying her. Dorothy was well aware of the Musgrave events and all she would say about them was, there were no ‘stains’, and certainly no evidence of anyone called ‘Diana’; I know some will prefer to believe otherwise, it’s always more interesting to believe there is something, rather than there is nothing.

Take a walk up to the common, then into the wood beyond. After a mile or so there’s a track that crosses at right angles, take the right hand path, more used now than it was in the past. Keep to the path until it drops into a very pleasant glade. The path continues into where the trees crowd in again, a few more steps and place where the sunlight dapples the ground, spring flowers bloom, birds sing, families picnic and children play. In the centre a bench rests on a concrete base. A brass plate set into the bench, dedicates the area to ‘Whistling Jack’ a friend and neighbour.’