Irish Ghost Tales and Things That Go Bump In The Night.

Irish Ghost Tales and Things That Go Bump In The Night will be officially launched on November 14th at 4-30pm - 5-30pm in The Bookshop, Bridge Street, Westport, County Mayo.  It is included in the itinerary of The Rolling Sun Book Festival.  If you can make it then I look forward to seeing you there. 

Irish Ghost Tales and Things That Go Bump In The Night  and Mayo Folk Tales are available in all good bookshops or they may be purchased online through Amazon and downloaded as a Kindle.  Great presents for your family, friends, loved ones or even as a treat just for yourself. So why not pull up a chair and sit awhile, you know you're never too old for a story.

Ross Castle, County Meath.

Ross Castle, County Meath.

Ross Castle, County Meath is located overlooking Lough Sheelin.  It was built in the early 16^th century by Richard Nugent, the 12^th Baron Delvin.  He had a sinister reputation and was said to be ill tempered and cruel, possibly giving rise to his nickname, the Black Baron.  One story that illustrates his evil nature concerns the nearby village of Ross.  It all started when a local woman having baked a loaf of bread placed it upon the window sill of her cottage to cool.  A passing dog saw this as an opportunity to avail himself of a free meal and promptly grabbed the loaf and ran off with it.  The woman, seeing what had happened yelled out of the open window “Stop thief”, the dog dropped the loaf and headed for safety.

A beggar was passing through the village as this was going on, it was a warm day and as he felt a little tired he decided to rest under the shade of a tree.  The Baron and his entourage were out hunting along the shores of the lake, when he heard the story about the bread thief, he became angry as he felt any crime reflected upon his position as a Lord of the realm.  Unfortunately for the beggar, the Baron rode into the village to question the woman as to the theft when he saw the beggar sleeping under the tree.  The Baron demanded to know what he had done with the loaf and the beggar, knowing he had done nothing wrong, denied any knowledge of the crime.  The Baron flew into a rage and accused him of being a thief and a liar, the beggar begged him to believe him but the Baron refused to listen. As the local Lord he had the right to pass judgement as he saw fit and he immediately ordered the locals to provide a strong rope.  He hanged the poor beggar from the branch of the tree that shortly before had provided him with protection from the sun. Shortly afterwards the locals found the missing loaf.  They placed a cross at the place where the beggar was hanged and hundreds of years later the black deeds of that day are still remembered.

The Black Baron went on to have a daughter who they named Sabina. Although a sickly child she grew to be a beautiful young woman.  It is said that she loved walking along the shores of Lough Sheelin and that these walks brought her into contact with many of the local villagers.  Although she was the daughter of the cruel and evil Black Baron the locals knew her to be kind and she was well liked by all who knew her.  One fine day, as she was walking towards the bridge that crosses the River Inny she met a handsome young man and they began to exchange pleasantries.   His name was Orwin and he was the son of an O’Reilly chieftain, there was an immediate attraction and before parting company they agreed to meet again.  Their meetings had to be kept secret for she was the daughter of an English Lord and he was the son of an Irish chieftain and in those days any relationship between them would not have been looked upon favourably.  It wasn’t long before love blossomed.

As time passed they realised that they could never be together, they wanted to marry but knew their families would oppose such a union as the two sides were constantly at war with each other. Orwin and Sabina longed to be together and the only way this could become a reality was for them to run away together.  They knew that if they stayed there could be no future for them, one night they met in secrecy.  They had arranged a boat down by the lakeside and planned to row across the lake and into freedom; they climbed aboard and began their ill fated journey.  As they crossed the Lough a sudden storm began, these storms were well known in the area but this one caught them by surprise, a strong wind caused a swell that engulfed their boat and capsized it.  Sabina was rescued but lay in a coma for three days, Orwin was not so lucky, his body was eventually found, washed up on the shore.  Sabina, upon being told of her lover’s fate fell into a deep depression, she locked herself in the castle tower and refused to eat or drink. Eventually she fell into a deep sleep from which she never woke.

Locals believe that her ghost haunts the castle walls; it is as if she walks the battlements looking out over Lough Sheelin searching for her lost love, hoping in vain to be reunited with him.  Some people suggest that it is her revenge upon her father and his cruelty, he is cursed to wander through eternity by the victims of his cruelty, his evil deeds, and for the grief he suffers for the loss of his only daughter.

The Arney Woman.

The Arney Woman.

Here in Ireland we have an old saying-“A man who dies owing money or a woman who leaves a newborn baby will never lie quiet in the grave” Talk about making people feel guilty when they are at their most vulnerable?

The dead were considered to be very possessive and would return from the grave to claim what was rightfully theirs.  This was especially true regarding a mother and her child and it was widely believed within rural areas that if a mother died during childbirth she would return to care for the baby.  However there was a more macabre side to this belief for sometimes the dead mother missed the child so much that she would return to carry the baby back to her grave. One way to prevent this was to lay the clothes of the father across the foot of the baby’s cot/cradle, this would act as a protection against the fairies and the dead until the child could be baptised. If a child were to be taken before baptism it would be lost to the world of the living forever.  Isn’t it wonderful what stories the church made up in order to control the populace?

The story that follows concerns one of these poor unfortunate women, once well known it is a tale that is rich in folklore. However, like so many of the old stories it is becoming little more than a fading memory.  It is our job to make sure that the stories that make up such a rich tapestry are retold and in this way they will continue to be passed down to the next generation.

The Arney Woman.

Roughly three miles from Gilleese’s public house at the Arney crossroads a man called Peter Maguire and his wife set up home. Peter was a local carpenter, known by everyone as a kind decent man, quiet but friendly and always ready to help his neighbours. He never had a bad word to say about anyone and could always be relied upon; his wife however was a horse of a different colour.  Mrs Maguire was described by the locals as surly, sullen, miserable, and bad tempered; of course it may have had something to do with the fact that she wasn’t a local girl?

Peter’s wife was from the far side of Bellanaleck which was the next village up the road; no one knew anything about her or her people.  The locals considered her to be unfriendly and it was even said that she would sooner issue a curse than a blessing.  As a ‘Blow in’ she had strange ways about her, she had vibrant red hair, very pale skin, and a physical deformity as one of her legs was shorter than the other resulting in a very pronounced limp. Around the Arney area these attributes marked her out to be a witch; she never attended mass in the local church so the locals decided that she was in league with the faeries, the devil and any number of evil demons. Well what do you expect from a blow in?

Despite all of this, Peter Maguire was very happy and totally unaware of what his good neighbours were saying behind his back. His wife was a good cook, she kept a neat house, she was a quiet woman, at least when she appeared in public with him, The locals however believed that this was all an act and that she must have led Peter a dog’s life with her controlling ways and her foreign habits (blow in), they decided she had put Peter under an evil spell. People began to avoid looking at her and local farmers kept their animals away from her during market day as it was feared that she would put the evil eye on them.

A year after they were married some of the local women began to notice that Mrs Maguire was putting on a little weight around the middle and soon Peter announced the good news, he was going to be a father, of course his wife said nothing and she was as bad tempered as usual.  Some of the local women attempted to make friends with her, they called to the Maguire’s cottage to wish her well and offer advice but they found Peter’s wife to be very cold and unfriendly and they soon left.  However, the women noticed that the pregnancy was taking an awful toll on her, they said she seemed to be wasting away and soon the rumours began to spread for it was well known that those who had fairy connections have great trouble carrying and delivering their children.  Soon the time arrived for the baby to be born but even then Peter’s wife wanted nothing to do with the local women, even though many of them were ‘wise women’ experienced in the ways of the midwife. 

On the night of the birth Peter ran to a neighbour’s cottage and battered on the door, the baby was coming but his wife was very ill, if she didn’t get help he feared she may not survive.  The neighbours ran to Peter’s cottage, they managed to save the baby, a little boy, but they could do nothing for her and by morning she was dead. Of course some said it was no more than she deserved and that it was no bad thing that she had died.  There was no funeral in Arney graveyard, Peter was struggling to look after his baby and trying to come to terms with his grief so the locals took it upon themselves to send the body back to Bellanaleck where she came from, let them bury her because she wasn’t an Arney woman.

Time passed and the baby was in good health, Peter employed a young local woman to act as a wet nurse and to look after his son during the day and at night the baby slept at the foot of Peter’s bed in a cot that he had made for him and here the story should have ended. However, it was not to be.

One dark night, a few weeks after his wife’s death, Peter was woken from his sleep by the sound of scratching from outside his bedroom window, he got out of bed and looked out into the darkness but saw nothing, he checked on his son who was sleeping peacefully and went back to his bed. No sooner had he got under the blankets than he heard scratching again, he got out of bed once more muttering under his breath and once again looked out of the window into the darkness.  He staggered backwards, his heart clutched by the ice cold fingers of fear for standing there looking in was his dead wife.  Her face as deathly pale, her eyes lifeless and her once vibrant red hair hung matted and listless.  Peter felt a chill so cold that it felt as though his blood was freezing in his veins, it was her eyes that chilled him most of all for they appeared to be looking right past him and into the room.

 He turned to see what it was that she was looking at, her eyes were fixed upon the cot where Peter’s son lay sleeping and in that awful moment he knew why she had returned, she’d come for the baby.  He stared at her in terror, suddenly she vanished and he heard rattling at the door cottage, his heart missed a beat but then he remembered that he had bolted the door before going to bed, he sighed in relief.  His relief was short lived for suddenly he heard the sound of wood splintering and the outside door creaked open, she was in the cottage.

Peter was shocked into action; he placed himself between the bedroom door and his son’s cot.  There was a crack in one of the panels of the bedroom door and he saw her looking through it, a shaft of moonlight shone onto her hard stare but instead of coming into the room she moved away and into the kitchen area.  Peter held his breath, suddenly he heard the sound of movement and cupboards opening and closing, he peered through the crack of the door. The moonlight lit up the kitchen and he saw his dead wife devouring some cheese he had left in one of the cupboards, having satisfied her hunger she turned, went through the broken door and disappeared into the darkness.  Peter collapsed onto his knees, shocked, confused, and shivering in fright he began to imagine what could have happened. He prayed to god that his dead wife return to her grave and leave him and his son in peace.  Peter then remembered the old story about the walking dead and how to protect his child; he placed his clothes on the end of the cot and hoped that his god would answer his prayers.  If only it were that simple.

This sequence of events happened night after night, Peter’s wife returning only to search for food and leave.  Every night Peter cowered in his room, terrified of confronting the thing that used to be his wife, he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t work and spending his waking daytime hours in terror. It couldn’t go on; if she came again he would have to seek outside help, but what of his neighbours?

One night just as darkness fell, one of Maguire’s neighbours, a man called William Nixon was walking to Gilleese’s public house when to his horror he saw Peter’s dead wife walking the road between the pub and Maguire’s cottage.  She was dragging her bad leg behind her and keeping close to the hedge, her matted red hair had grown longer and was covered in lice and graveyard dirt; her filthy fingernails had grown and looked like the claws of a wild animal.  William ran to the pub and it was to take several shots of whiskey before he stopped shaking and was able to talk about what he had seen.

Back at Maguire’s cottage, Peter heard scratching at the window, he had brought his son into bed with him in order to protect him and he pulled the blankets over their heads.  He began to say his prayers, begging god for help, but it was to no avail.  The baby started crying and the sound of scratching began to intensify, becoming more frantic, then all went quiet.  Peter lowered the blankets and peeked out, he heard the bolts on the cottage door rattle but he had strengthened them and the corpse found the door barred against her. To Peter’s horror the baby started crying again and the sound seemed to incense the corpse, with a loud tearing noise the bolts gave way and she came crashing into the kitchen.

Peter shouted “In the Name of God go back to your grave and leave us in peace” It did no good, not even the name of god made any difference for as he held his son tight to his chest he saw his bedroom door slowly creak open.  Peter’s heart nearly stopped, she was in the room, standing at the foot of his bed looking into the empty cot she drew her dirt encrusted fingernails across the little white pillow where the baby had left an imprint of his head. Peter heard a low growl coming from her throat as she moved back through the door and back into the kitchen, from there she went out through the cottage door into the darkness. If something wasn’t done now then next time it may be too late.

Later that day Peter went to see his parish priest. The priest was from a rural background and was scared stiff when he heard Peter’s story, he had already heard his parishioners whispering about the strange things happening up at the Maguire cottage and even though Peter begged him in the name of god to help him he refused.  He did however offer to pray for him and he sent Peter away with a crucifix blessed by the bishop saying this would solve all his problems and don’t forget to put a few bob in the collection box.  Peter sadly walked away, disappointed and feeling abandoned, needless to say he kept his money in his pocket.

That night as dusk began to fall Peter took up a position by the window looking towards Arney crossroads; it was from this direction that his dead wife would come. Once again he threw his clothes over his son’s cot in order to protect him from evil and harm then he waited. As the sun slowly sank in the sky and twilight settled in Peter saw his dead wife walking slowly up the road, she was dragging her leg and keeping well in to the hedge. Peter gripped his crucifix tightly and as she dragged her finger nails across the glass of the window he thrust the cross against the pane but it only seemed to annoy her.  Her face was a mask of hatred, her mouth working as if cursing him although there was no sound. She turned and was gone from the window only to once more throw herself against the cottage door. Peter heard the door splinter and she was into the cottage again.

Peter raised the crucifix, keeping one hand on the coat that lay protectively across the foot of the cot where his son was sleeping, “Get back to your grave, you’ll never have my child, leave us alone”, the corpse turned and left the way she had come and Peter watched her limp away knowing that she would return, only now Peter had a plan forming in his mind.

Near the Bars of Boho lived Ellen Mohan, she was known locally as Grey Ellen and it was widely believed that her lonely and isolated cottage was frequented by ‘The Gentry’ (the faerie folk).  She was aid to be very wise in the ‘old ways’ and had been given special powers by the fairies, it was Grey Ellen that Peter went to for advice.  He left his son with his sister and was anxious to return home before nightfall so even though he was scared he approached Grey Ellen’s cottage, knocked on the door and entered.  Peter told her his tale and it was only then that she spoke. “The walking dead is it? And ye’ve been to the priest, for all the good that will do ye for it’s well known that for all their big books and fancy learning the church knows nothing about the old ways”. Leaning towards Peter she gripped his arm with her bony hand, “The church is only any good if its backed up by the older powers of the earth and the land, now tell me does your wife wear any boots when she visits you?”, Peter thought for a moment, “No” he said, “She always comes barefoot and dressed for the grave”.  Grey Ellen asked him if he knew why this was and Peter shook his head, “It’s because of the iron nails in them” said Ellen, “Iron was always a magic metal from the old times, more powerful than the cross the priest gave you. Faeries and the walking dead can’t stand it anywhere near them”

Grey Ellen went to a small box and took out a handful of iron nails, handing them to Peter she told him to wear one on a string around his neck and to place another around his son’s neck.  When the corpse comes again she told him to throw a handful at her and that this would drive her away.  Peter took the nails, thanked her and left.  When he arrived at his sister’s cottage he took the cross from around his son’s neck and replaced it with a nail much to his sister’s amazement and set off for home.

By the time he arrived back at the cottage it was getting dark, Peter lit a lamp and put his son into his cot, placed his coat over him for protection and decided to go to bed and wait to see what the night would bring. As he turned he saw his reflection in a little mirror hanging on a nail by his bed, he looked old and weary, a lot older than his years.  As he stood gazing at himself he saw reflected in the glass the old wardrobe containing his wife’s clothes, suddenly he froze and his mouth went dry, the wardrobe door was opening slowly, long dirt encrusted fingernails curled around the edge of the door. Peter watched in horror as his dead wife’s head appeared, her eyes full of hatred, her long red hair dropping graveyard dirt and crawling insects onto the bedroom floor.  She sprang towards the cot with hands outstretched, Peter tried to stop her but she moved with supernatural speed. Suddenly she stopped and let out a terrible scream; she raised her head and looked at Peter, her eyes ablaze with hatred for she had seen the nail around the child’s neck. She spat and hissed making desperate snatching motions over the cot.

Peter cowered in terror but he realised it was the power of the iron nails that had prevented her from taking his son. Suddenly he remembered the nails he carried in his pocket and he flung a handful at her, she screamed and jumped back in fear, “Get back to your grave ye old witch” he roared. Seeing a single nail that had fallen to the side of the cot he picked it up and threw it at her, it caught her on her pale waxy cheek and the dead skin began to sizzle and burn. Once again she let out a blood curdling scream and ran out the cottage door into the darkness.  That horrific night was to be the last time Peter Maguire was to see his dead wife. Peter’s son eventually grew into a strong and sturdy young man who looked after his father in his old age, he married a local girl and his descendents still live in the area.

If ever you’re in the Arney area and fancy a quiet pint in Gilleese’s pub you may have to walk past the crossroads where Peter Maguire’s cottage used to stand my advice is walk fast and don’t stop, for the walking dead cast a long shadow.

Keep smiling.

The Radiant Boy.

The Radiant Boy.

Within Irish folklore the ghosts of children are a common phenomenon that can be found in every part of the country.  The ghosts known as ‘Radiant Children’ have a supernatural appearance and are surrounded by a brilliant flickering glow.  They are considered warning ghosts (similar to the Banshee) and if you see one of them it means you may not have long to live.  The following story concerns one of these unusual phantoms.

In the mid 1700s Captain Robert Stewart, a British army officer stationed in Belfast was enjoying a few days hunting in County Derry.  It was a lovely day that had started off sunny but without warning the weather turned ugly and a fierce storm began.  Captain Stewart saw a light in the distance and needing shelter he rode towards it.  As he got nearer there appeared out of the gloom an old mansion, the light he had seen came from one of the windows and from within he heard the sound of merriment and laughter.

Captain Stewart dismounted and called for help, several man servants came to his assistance, they informed him that there was a party in progress and the house was full of guests.  However, the Captain was made very welcome by the master and mistress of the house who also invited him to attend the party.  After the party many of the guests went to their beds, outside the weather had worsened, by now the rain and wind was battering the walls of the old house so Stewart’s hosts insisted that he stay the night, have a good breakfast in the morning by which time the storm should have died out.  The master of the house called one of the old servants who was standing nearby and said to Captain Stewart

“Hamilton here will show you to your room”

Gratefully Captain Stewart accepted the offer, the room he was shown was sparsely furnished but the servants had set a large peat fire in the grate that threw out  both a great deal of heat and a sweet smell yet despite this the room had a distinct chill. Stewart lay on the bed and was soon asleep.  He had only been asleep a short time when he was woken by the sound of a child crying in the darkness, he lit the bedside candle and looked around the room but saw nothing and the sound slowly faded away.  Thinking that it must have been a trick of the wind he blew out his candle and was soon fast asleep.  However it wasn’t long before his sleep was disturbed once more, this time it was not the sound of crying but a grey light that flooded the room.  Half asleep Stewart jumped from his bed believing the house to be on fire, looking across the room he gasped at what he saw.  Crouched in a far corner was a naked boy, he was crying bitterly although the sounds he made seemed to come from far away.  Stewart approached the boy and asked him why he was weeping but the boy made no reply, he reached out to touch the boy on the shoulder and as he did so the boy vanished and the room was plunged into darkness.

The following morning Captain Stewart confronted his host complaining that he was the victim of some practical joke that was in extremely bad taste.  However, none of the guests knew anything about it and the whole thing seemed to be a mystery.  Summoning the old servant the master of the house asked him which room he had given to Captain Stewart, the servant replied. “Well, sir, the house was so full with all the other guests so I had a fire made up in one of the back rooms that we never use”.

The master’s face went pale, “You don’t mean the Boy’s Room?”

“Yes sir” the servant whispered, “I didn’t mean anything wrong, I mean it’s just an old story isn’t it?”

Captain Stewart asked “To what are you referring, are you saying that what I saw last night was more than just a child?”

His host nodded “Some things are beyond our understanding”

The Captain laughed for he was a military man and didn’t believe such nonsense, “You don’t mean a ghost, you can’t be serious?”

His host shook his head slowly, “Not exactly a ghost, more a vision. In our family there is an old tradition that the boy, we call him the Radiant Boy, appears only to those destined for great power. However, the person chosen is also destined to die a violent death”.

Captain Stewart laughed once more declaring that he had never heard the like, he then went on to spend the rest of the morning enjoying the hospitality of his hosts.  After lunch he made his farewells mounted his horse and headed back to Belfast.  He was never to see the old mansion again.

Years passed and Stewart rose did indeed rise to power eventually gaining a seat in the House of Lords with the title Lord Castlereagh. He was also a member of the British government under William Pitt serving first as Minister for War then as Foreign Secretary during the Napoleonic Wars.  He was extremely unpopular with the Irish people especially in regard to the part he played in the 1801 Act of Union.  He became ill and just one year after becoming the Marquis of Londonderry his mind collapsed.  At the age of 53 he committed suicide by slashing his own throat with a razor.  The prophecy had at last been fulfilled, he had risen to power, he had died a violent death filled with deep despair.


No one knows if the Radiant Boy ever existed as a real person so it is a matter of historical and folklore conjecture. The origin is lost in time although they seem to appear in the folklore of many different countries, is he a ghost, a spiritual remnant of a departed life, or is he a spirit emissary delivering a warning from the spirit world to those living that are destined to be touched by the far reaching hand of fate? It has even been suggested that the Radiant Boy is comparable to the Banshee in many ways and may only appear to certain families. Once again I will leave it to you the reader to decide.

Keep smiling.

The above image is of Captain Robert Stewart. 

A story by Mrs. Crow included in Yeats’s Fairy and Folk Tales of the Irish Peasantry (1888)

 

A Druids Ghost.

A Druids Ghost.

There is a passage tomb somewhere in the west of Ireland where druids buried their dead in stone containers, is it possible that one of their number protects their sleep?

There is a story told of a figure that looks human that has been seen at night.  It has been described by those who have seen it as “having a face that no human ever had”. It has terrified locals for generations; those who have attempted to speak to it only see it disappear.  Records tell us that it was first seen around the 15^th century when a hunting party came upon a strange creature outside the entrance to the passage tomb, as they fired at it with their bows it just vanished into thin air.  Within one month of seeing the creature each member of the hunting party met with a fatal accident.

The first records of people actually being attacked by the spirit concern the occupants of a cottage that had been built a short walk from the tomb.  It was around the beginning of the 19^th century.  The cottage was rented by Padraic MacLoughlainn and his family that worked for a local landlord.  They were an ordinary hard working family and well liked by their neighbours. It was shortly after they had moved in that they heard scratching and chewing noises from outside their cottage door, it sounded like some large animal trying to get in.  Padraic picked up his slash hook, opened the door slowly and looked outside; there was nothing there and not a mark on the door.  This happened each night and yet nothing was ever seen, after two weeks the noises ended without warning.

It remained quiet for a while and the MacLoughlainn’s thought that it may have been some of the young men of the area just trying to scare them a little, maybe playing a silly prank on the ‘blow ins’, the newcomers and having tired of their nightly game had now decided to go back to their normal business.  It wasn’t going to be that easy.  One night when the children were all fast asleep and Padraic and his wife were sat by the fire they heard whispering, checking to see if it was one of the children they found them fast sleep. Over the next couple of nights the whispering became more intense and was followed by groans. One night the blankets were pulled from the children’s bed and one of them screamed in terror, she had been slapped by an invisible hand and this was followed by strange laughing noises. Padraic went to the local priest and even though he feared retribution from the landlord he told the priest about the nightly visits and how one of the children had been attacked.  The priest agreed to go to the cottage and say a mass.  It was to go quiet once more.

However, as before it was not to last.  Padraic became ill, he had difficulty swallowing, he couldn’t talk or eat and he became very pale.  The local fairy doctor (herbalist) gave him a few herbs and he slowly recovered. A week later he was to develop other symptoms, this time he had severe stomach pains, he couldn’t sleep and he had difficulty working, this was a great worry for without work they would be evicted from their home.  It seemed as if the family was under some kind of curse. Padraic called for the priest once again but it seemed to make matters worse.  The attacks increased and even the priest began to avoid the family.

In desperation Padraic went to the landlord and begged him for help.  Surprisingly the landlord agreed to send his agent to the cottage with instructions to spend the night there. Padraic did not know that the landlord was fully aware of what had been happening and unlike Padraic who was unaware of the druids spirit the landlord knew the history only too well.  The agent arrived that evening and was given the use of the MacLoughlainn’s bed and whatever they could provide in hospitality.  He sat in the best seat by the fire and began to make light of the MacLoughlainn’s nightly visitor. This made things worse, for the first time the druid was heard to speak; it mimicked the voice of the agent and threw him from his seat.  The agent screamed out and fled from the cottage as if the devil himself was chasing him.

The whole parish began to talk about the druid’s spirit and the terrified family; people began to point at the MacLoughlainn’s and whisper.  No one wanted to visit the cottage anymore and if anyone had to pass by they were seen to make the sign of the cross and the sign of the evil eye.  The MacLoughlainn’s felt all alone, even the children were shunned.  It wasn’t to end there, the MacLoughlainn’s were accused of committing minor crimes in the area and although they were found to be innocent of all charges they felt more and more isolated and alone.

The parish had abandoned their neighbours hoping that by distancing themselves from the MacLoughlainn’s they would be protected from what had now become known as the druids curse.  It was not to be.  The whispering of the druid began in the streets of the parish, in the blacksmiths forge, in the local shop, even in the church.  What made it worse for the people of the parish was that their private thoughts concerning their neighbours were somehow revealed to each other even the landlord became aware of what people truly thought of him and his agent.

The curse was to eventually take a life, that of Padraic MacLoughlainn.  The sickness that he suffered from kept returning.  The priest and the local fairy doctor could do nothing and he began to sink lower and lower.  The priest was kneeling by his bedside one night when he heard a whisper, it was the voice he had heard before and he recognised it as belonging to the spirit.  It was to tell him that all the prayers to his new god would do him no good that MacLoughlainn would die as he had committed crimes against the sacred site of the druids. It transpired that Padraic had visited the passage tomb and found items that the druids had upon their person when they were interred within, thinking them to be of value he had removed them and sold them for a few penny’s to help with the rent.  One week later Padraic MacLoughlainn sat up in his bed and with a look of terror he was said to have pointed his finger at some invisible presence, fell back onto his pillow and died. A look of absolute despair upon his face.  The people present heard a strange sound like a low wind followed by whispering.

The family held a wake but very few people would spend the night with the corpse, they simply offered their sympathies and excused themselves.  He was buried within two days which was unusual at the time as a body would be waked for a week. As the body was lowered into the ground there was heard a sound of laughter but no one knew from where.  The family were unable to pay the rent as the head of the house was gone so as was the practice of the day the remaining family, mother and children were evicted.  The landlord could find none willing to live in the cottage and so he ordered it to be razed to the ground and all sign that it had ever been there to be removed.

That should have been an end to it; the druid had been avenged so all should have returned to normal. However, the spirit was seen many times down through the years by people who ventured too near to the passage tomb.  It was said that a group of English soldiers that had camped nearby and had entered the tomb in order to spend the night out of the rain suffered injuries by an unseen assailant, one of their number was to die of his injuries and those that survived were never the same again refusing to talk of what they had seen that night.

Some say that the ghost of Padraic MacLoughlainn is seen searching the area as if he is looking for something.  He has a look of sadness upon his face.  Some have even reported seeing various men dressed in the clothes of soldiers, some in chain mail, some in early twentieth century uniform, they all look lost as if they are searching for something also.

The location of the passage tomb has remained a secret now for close on two hundred years.  It is by having a family connection that you hear some of the tales but if you are an outsider then you will never be included in the telling of those tales.  You can try to find the passage tomb on old maps but you won’t be successful and maybe that’s a good thing because those who have found it before have lived to regret it.  Or maybe not?  The passage tomb was closed by the present landlords ancestors in the 1920s, the entrance concealed under tons of earth.  The druids of old have returned to their sleep and as for their protector, well if at night you pass by a certain place in the west of Ireland and hear a whisper keep walking, if you hear the wind and the sound of low laughter walk a little faster.

©

The Lighthouse Keeper.

The Lighthouse Keeper.

Lighthouses are lonely places, places of desolation, solitude and danger.  Those who live or sometimes just exist within that environment are trapped by some of the harshest conditions on earth.  Some lighthouse keepers were allowed to be accompanied by their wife and children, sometimes with tragic results as children were swept from the rocks by an unexpected wave, to join other lost souls drowned at sea.  Some keepers were condemned to work with assistants they may not have liked or even grew to hate, for long periods of time. 

Can you imagine being trapped in such circumstances, slowly driven mad, the waves crashing up onto the rocks, no access to the mainland for extended periods of time?  None of the modern conveniences that we have today and in cramped dark conditions often damp and uncomfortable, is it any wonder that the spirit of the lighthouse keeper, their families and even those souls that were lost at sea remain behind to haunt the place that was responsible for their unhappiness. 

There are many stories that have been told over the years, of jealousy, tragedy and despair. Were they stories based on true events or were they just made up by lonely or bored keepers for their own amusement?  We will never really know.

            One such story concerns a lighthouse perched high upon a desolate piece of rock off the west coast of Ireland.  It was almost impossible to get to the island during the long winter months and once there it became your prison until the boat from the mainland arrived in the spring.  The story concerns Fergal O’Malley who was found guilty of poaching by the local magistrate who was also the local landowner.  He was given the option of transportation for life or the job of Keeper of the Lighthouse where he would remain for the rest of his days.  O’Malley chose the latter stupidly believing that it couldn’t be as bad as people made it out to be and as he had recently married he could take the wife with him so he’d have a bit of company.

The following day O’Malley and his young wife were taken by boat to the island, they were allowed to take with them only what they could carry, together with the supplies provide by the landlord.  O’Malley knew his wife would feel lonely on the island so he brought with him a tin whistle for her to play a bit of a tune.  He was unable to read music but his wife was better educated and she was able to read music so he presented her with the whistle and a sheet of music that had upon it just the one tune.  She was delighted and having settled in and lit a fire they began to feel quite happy with themselves and she played her tin whistle much to O’Malley’s delight. 

The late summer turned into autumn and the nights grew longer, the weather began to turn and stormy nights kept them imprisoned within the stone walls of the Lighthouse.  O’Malley’s young wife played her tin whistle, over and over again, the same grinding tune slowly driving him insane even when he suggested to her that she played something different she continued to play the same tune over and over again.

Eventually he could take no more, reaching for the axe he used to chop wood for the fire he tore the whistle from her hands and smashed it to pieces.  She screamed in protest and turned upon him in desperation trying to wrench the whistle from him, in a rage he hit her with the axe, again and again to the tune he could hear in his head he brought the axe down upon her.  As his rage began to leave him he realised what he had done but by then it was too late, she lay upon the stone floor her eyes staring up at him as though accusing him in death.  He went up to the lighthouse platform and taking down one of the ropes that hung upon the wall he fashioned a noose, placing it around his neck he stepped over the edge and hung himself. 

A couple of days passed and the people of the mainland noticed that the light had gone out and realising something was wrong they went to the local landlord, he ordered that on the first calm day a boat should be sent to the island to find out why O’Malley was failing to carry out his duties.  As they approached the island they saw his partly decomposed body swinging in the wind, inside they found his wife lay where he had killed her.  

The Lighthouse is no longer in use, it is now a bird sanctuary and tourists are taken over to the island by arrangement with tour guides on the mainland.  It is said that on quiet nights when the winds are silent if you listen carefully you can hear the sound of a tin whistle playing a soulful tune, or could it just be the sound of far off sea birds?  I’ll let you decide.

My exams are now complete and I await the results sometime around the 17th June.  Thank you for your good wishes. 

The Death Coach. Cóiste Bodhar

The Death Coach.


In Irish Folklore the Death Coach is known as Cóiste Bodhar (Koe-shta-bower), meaning death or silent coach and if you see or even hear it then either you or a close relative will die in the very near future. The belief is that once the coach has come to the land of the living it cannot return empty. Once death has come to collect there is nothing on earth you can do to prevent it. The headless horseman that drives the coach is known as the Dullahan. The Dullahan is also known in Irish as Gan Ceann, meaning without head and it is usually seen either driving the coach that is pulled by six black horses or riding alongside on a black stallion. The eyes of the Dullahan are massive and are always darting around and the mouth is constantly grinning and showing a nasty row of sharp teeth. The flesh of the head has been described as smelling, looking, and having the feel of rotten cheese.

The Dullahan carries a whip and this is said to be the spinal column of a human corpse, the coach is also decorated with the remains of corpses, skulls take the place of candle holders, the cover of the coach is usually made from the shroud off a coffin. When the coach reaches the abode of the person picked by death the Dullahan calls out their name and they immediately die. There is no point trying to block the road against the horseman for as he approaches all locks and gates open and if you look upon him he will throw blood at you and this is said to mark you for death. They have even been said to snatch your eyes out with the whip. One way of protecting yourself is through the use of gold. Carry a gold pin or coin for they are said to be frightened of the yellow metal.

The Banshee, also known as Bean Sidhe in Irish sometimes accompanies the death coach flying alongside wailing and screeching out a warning to certain families that one of their members is about to die.

This story is based in folklore throughout Europe but especially in Ireland and it is a legend that is both widely known and feared. In every country where it is recorded in folklore it is treated with fear and respect for it always represents death. It seems that the one thing that unites all people is the fear of the unknown, especially when it comes to death. Why do we still believe in these old tales of superstition and signs of ill omen? Maybe it’s because it is still the one thing we have no control over, yes we may put it off for a time, but in the end it is inevitable. It is the one journey that we will all take for as the old saying goes “There are only two things we can say are certain in this life, death and taxes”.

The Cóiste Bodhar is mentioned by W. B. Yeats in his collection Folk tales of Ireland

The Death Coach.

The sound of the church bell can be heard in the distance. It is midnight on a cold winters evening. The streets of Westport are silent and most people are tucked up safely in their beds after a hard day’s work. The night is dark, clouds blocking out the moonlight, the wind sounds mournful as it rattles the window pane.

In one of the houses a man sits by the window waiting patiently for a sign that the doctor approaches. In the bed his dear wife lies silent. By the flickering light of the fire he can see her face, older now but still as beautiful as she was the first day he saw her at the village dance all those years ago. She looks drawn and every so often her face wrinkles as if in pain, the drugs don’t seem to work as they used to and it upsets him to see her so. He walks over to the bedside and strokes her brow, she holds his hand tightly and he can feel the coldness of her skin. She is barely breathing now, shallow and quickly and he knows in his heart and soul that she is slowly drifting away. In one way he is happy for her as it means she will be free from pain but for this he feels guilty, he cannot bear to see her in so much pain, sometimes she looks as if she wants to scream out in desperation “Don’t leave me” and yet he knows he must for he cannot go with her on this journey. Not tonight, not yet.

He hears the sound of horse’s hoofs and the clatter of wheels rolling over the cobbles. He gently frees his hand and walks over to the window expecting to see the doctor arriving. It’s not the doctor’s carriage he sees outside, it’s a black coach that has no horses for the shafts are empty, and yet he can still hear the sounds of hoofs and heavy breathing. The doors of the coach are closed; there are black holes where there should be windows. Slowly the coach approaches.

He breathes out a heavy sigh and is filled with deep sorrow for he knows it is the Death Coach. His wife knew that it would come for her tonight but he had told her not to be silly, she would soon be up and about, wasn’t the doctor coming and he’d give her some medicine. He didn’t believe in such nonsense, he didn’t want to believe. However, his eyes told him what his heart knew to be true for now it stopped outside and the door slowly opened. His heart was thumping in his chest as he looked upon the terrible sight and he walked over to the bed, he clutches his wife’s hand once again, she opens her eyes and smiles, that gentle smile he knows so well, she tries to squeeze his hand in return but is now too weak.

“Is it here?” she asks, her voice a bare whisper, he nods.

“I love you so much,” he says to his wife as he leans down and kisses her, as he does so he can feel her last breath on his lips, it is as if her very soul has passed through him. Her grip loosens and her hand gently falls away, she has gone from this world and he knows she has died. He stands up straight and looks upon her face with great tenderness and love, the tears flow silently down his cheeks.

“Goodbye my love.”

As he stands there knowing not what to do he sees a movement out of the corner of his eye. He looks over and sees his wife standing by the door. he looks back to the bed and sees the body of his wife lay there looking for the entire world as though she is asleep. He looks back at what he now believes to be his wife’s spirit; she smiles at him, turns and walks through the door. He hurries over to the window and looks out, hoping to see her just once more. He sees her walk over to the open door of the coach, pausing just for a second she looks towards the window; it’s as if she knows he is stood there. She raises her hand and gives one last gentle wave; he waves back, his heart breaking, tears streaming down his face. She turns back and steps into the coach and the door closes behind her. The horseman raises his whip and the coach slowly moves away and then is gone.

“Goodbye my love,” he gently calls. In a way he knows her pain is over but for him it has just begun and with a heavy heart he turns away. Hearing a knock at the door he opens it and standing there is the doctor. “Hello, doctor, she’s dead” he says, and the tears flowed once again.


Hope you enjoyed the story.

The House of Mystery.

The House of Mystery.


There is a lovely rustic house on the banks of the River Shannon in Baile An Taibhse a small rural village in County Clare. It is shown on records as far back as 1715. It was previously owned by the McDermott family until 1975 and was said to have had a tragic and sordid history whilst under their ownership. Was it this history that some say caused it to have been possessed by evil forces?

In the year 1975 a good, gentle man called John Murphy killed his entire family and then in desperation killed himself. Was it murder-suicide or was there some other darker force at work?

John Murphy was not a local man but those who knew him did not believe him capable of such horrific crimes. When the last remaining member of the McDermott family had died the house had been placed on the market but due to its dark history there was no local interest. However, it was seen by John Murphy who yearned for a simpler life and bought by him in 1975. He was at the time living in England and as soon as the papers were signed he, his wife and three children relocated. As a painter he was able to work from home, setting up a studio in one of the out buildings. May of 1975 was for the time being a happy time.

They say John had an interest in the supernatural and that he began to research the history of the house. Was it this interest that set the wheels in motion? His mental health began to suffer, he began to hear voices and he became paranoid suffering from feelings of persecution. His family became withdrawn and isolated; they refused to talk with their neighbours deciding instead to remain indoors as much as possible.

It was round the middle of November when it happened. John had a huge row with some of the locals, the reasons are lost in time. He stormed off and went home, later that night and for the next two nights passerby’s said they heard raised voices, yelling, angry voices, and then....

The police called at the house, receiving no answer they forced an entry, what they found caused some of the officers to become violently sick....It was a terrible sight. Dressed only in their nightclothes, Yvonne (the wife) and the three children (Claire, age 8; Anne, age 5; and Sabrina; age 4) were brutally murdered. Yvonne’s throat had been slit; a later autopsy indicated that this had been done after death. All the children had knife wounds. To make matters worse all four bodies had been propped up against the wall in a sitting position, eyes wide open, staring up at the ceiling where John Murphy was hanging from an electrical cord tied to a wooden beam. He was covered in blood.

Yvonne and the children had been murdered in their own bedrooms and their bodies moved to the room in which they were found by the police. Above each of these four victims was a message, written in their own blood. The murder weapon turned out to belong to John Murphy and the police decided that it was an open and shut case. One of murder and suicide. Case closed.

However, unless John had superhuman powers how did he get up to the ceiling? No ladder was present, no chair, no way he could have possibly have lifted himself up never mind tie the cord round his neck. Even so, he was a quiet man, non-violent. Had he become mentally ill and finally cracked? Had evil forces made him mentally ill? Was he under some demonic possession from the house? How did he end up hanging from the beam? Did some evil force kill him once he had carried out the murders? So many unanswered questions. None of the locals will talk about the house even now. It is known that John had argued with some of the locals just before the murders, were they the victims of some horrific crime and cover-up. The house and its reputation conveniently perpetuating folklore and keeping the truth hidden.

Some years later, the mystery of the house and the tragic events were still generating a lot of interest, in fact it had become quite infamous, so much so that a group of young people decided they would carry out their own investigation. They planned to break into the now boarded up house and spend a few nights there to see what they could discover. At first all went well, they set up the equipment they had bought in order to assist them in their endeavours and they settled down for the night. Some locals reported hearing angry voices, raised voices quarrelling, just like before. Of course no one realised that there was anyone in the house, they just thought it was the sounds of the house and its history and hurried pass.

Eventually, worried that no communication had been received from any of the young people their families decided to gain access to the house. The equipment was still running and there was even music playing on the radio. The young people, however, were nowhere to be found. They had simply vanished without trace.

Had the house claimed more victims? Did the evil forces within the walls of the house drive them away, if so where were they? Had they been murdered because they had discovered the secret of the previous killings? Again so many unanswered questions.

We may never know the truth, the truth lies buried within the walls of the house and the house remains silent. Some say as you walk past on a lonely winters evening you can hear moaning coming from the house. Or is it just the wind. I’ll let you decide. Sleep well.

Hope you enjoyed this ficticious story (or is it?).

Black Aggie.

I thought that this little story might entertain you. Enjoy. I will return to Folklore of the Hedgerow on the next post.

Black Aggie.

When Felix Agnus put up the life-sized shrouded bronze statue of a grieving angel, seated on a pedestal, in the Agnus family plot in the Druid Ridge Cemetery, he had no idea what he had started. The statue was a rather eerie figure by day, frozen in a moment of grief and terrible pain. At night, the figure was almost unbelievably creepy; the shroud over its head obscuring the face until you were up close to it. There was a living air about the grieving angel, as if its arms could really reach out and grab you if you weren’t careful.

It didn’t take long for rumours to sweep through the town and surrounding countryside. They said that the statue – nicknamed Black Aggie – was haunted by the spirit of a mistreated wife who lay beneath her feet. The statue’s eyes would glow red at the stroke of midnight, and any living person who returned the statues gaze would instantly be struck blind. Any pregnant woman who passed through her shadow would miscarry. If you sat on her lap at night, the statue would come to life and crush you to death in her dark embrace. If you spoke Black Aggie’s name three times at midnight in front of a dark mirror, the evil angel would appear and pull you down to hell. They also said that spirits of the dead would rise from their graves on dark nights to gather around the statue at night.

People began visiting the cemetery just to see the statue, and it was then that a secret society decided to make the statue of Grief part of their initiation rites. “Black Aggie” sitting, where candidates for membership had to spend the night crouched beneath the statue with their backs to the grave of General Agnus, became very popular.

One dark night, two society members accompanied a new hopeful to the cemetery and watched while he took his place underneath the creepy statue. The clouds had obscured the moon that night, and the whole area surrounding the dark statue was filled with a sense of anger and malice. It felt as if a storm were brewing in that part of the cemetery, and they noticed that gray shadows seemed to be clustering around the body of the frightened society candidate crouching in front of the statue.

What had been a funny initiation rite suddenly took on an air of danger.

One of the society brothers stepped forward in alarm to call out to the initiate. As he did, the statue above the boy stirred ominously. The two society brothers froze in shock as the shrouded head turned toward the new candidate. They saw the gleam of glowing red eyes beneath the concealing hood as the statue’s arms reached out toward the cowering boy.

With shouts of alarm, the society brothers leapt forward to rescue the new initiate. But it was too late. The initiate gave one horrified yell, and then his body disappeared into the embrace of the dark angel. The society brothers skidded to a halt as the statue thoughtfully rested its glowing eyes upon them. With gasps of terror, the boys fled from the cemetery before the statue could grab them too.

Hearing the screams, a night watchman hurried to the Agnus plot. He was extremely distressed to discover the body of a young man lying at the foot of the statue. The young man had apparently died of fright.

The disruption caused by the statue grew so acute that the Agnus family finally donated it to the Smithsonian museum in Washington D.C.. The grieving angel sat for many years in storage there, never again to plague the citizens visiting the Druid Hill Park Cemetery.

Is it true? I will leave it up to you to decide.

Leap Castle. County Offaly.

Leap Castle. Nr. Birr. Co. Offaly
The Most Haunted Castle in Ireland (allegedly).

Standing upon a vast throne of solid rock, Leap Castle was once the stronghold of the warlike O’Carroll’s and its eventful history is mostly written in their blood. In the 16th century, O’Carroll of the Leap held a lavish banquet at his family fortress and invited a rural branch of his own sept to partake of his hospitality. No sooner had the unfortunate guests sat down to dinner, than he massacred everyone one of them. Inter-clan bloodshed was a common occurrence and members of the tribe, attended family get togethers or re-unions at their peril! Following the death of Mulrooney O’Carroll in 1532, a bitter dispute over succession arose. As siblings battled each other for leadership of the clan, “one-eyed” Teige O’Carroll is said to have slain his own brother, who was also a priest, as he celebrated Mass in “The Bloody Chapel”.

However, the days of O’Carroll occupancy were drawing to a close, and they were about to lose possession in a suitably blood- thirsty manner. A 17th century daughter of the clan fell in love with an English soldier named Captain Darby, who was being held prisoner in the castle dungeons. She smuggled food to him and eventually engineered his escape. As they were making their way down the staircase, her brother suddenly confronted them, and the captain silenced him with a single sword thrust. Since his lover then became the heiress to Leap Castle, it passed into the ownership of the captain’s family when the two were later married.

The last of the family to own Leap Castle was Jonathan Charles Darby who arrived here on 16th July 1880. In 1909, his wife Mildred wrote an article for the Occult Review describing how she had held several séances at the castle during which she had attracted the unwelcome attentions of an elemental – a primitive and malevolent force that attaches itself to a particular place. Mildred Darby described how she was “standing in the Gallery looking down at the main floor, when I felt somebody put a hand on my shoulder. The thing was the size of a sheep. Thin gaunt and shadowy, its eyes which seemed half decomposed in black cavities stared into mine. The horrible smell, gave me a deadly nausea. It was the smell of a decomposing corpse” Mildred’s occult dabbling also appears to have awoken other malevolent forces within the walls of Leap Castle, and it was at this time that its fearsome reputation became firmly established.

The spirit is thought to be a primitive ghost that attaches itself to a particular place. It is often malevolent, terrifying and unpredictable. The Darby’s remained at Leap until 1922. Being the home of an English family, it became the target of the Irish struggle for independence. Destroyed by bombs and completely looted, nothing but a burned out shell remained. The Darby's were driven out.

Following its destruction by fire in 1922, workmen who had commenced gutting the interior, discovered an oubliette, a small dungeon whose name, derived from the French oublier, meaning “forget”, says it all, behind a wall of the bloody chapel. This room had a drop floor and prisoners were pushed into the room where they fell to their deaths - either impaled on a spike below, or if they were unfortunate enough to miss the spike and die a quick death, they slowly starved in the midst of rotting, putrid corpses. One theory is that some of the remains were those of Scots mercenaries hired by O'Carroll who had them murdered when it came time for payment. Mysteriously, among the bones, workmen also found a pocket watch made
in the 1840's. Could the dungeon still have been in use back then? No-one will ever know.

Over the next seventy years, it remained an empty shell, its fearsome reputation ensuring that the locals shunned it, particularly at night when all manner of ghostly activity was known to stir within its moss clad walls. From across the fields people would watch the window of the “Bloody Chapel” suddenly light up, as though hundreds of flickering candles were blazing within. Some, who dared walk amongst the ruins, experienced alarming encounters with a lustrous lady wearing a billowing red gown.

The Castle has now been restored to its former glory and is now a family home. Do the spirits still wander through the house? Well you’ll have to ask the present occupants.

Loftus Hall. County Wexford.

In keeping with Halloween I have added another ghost story. I hope you enjoy it. It is a part of Irish folklore.

Loftus Hall.

The Ghost Story:

The details that follow apparently occurred when Charles Tottenham and his family came to live in the mansion in the middle of the 18th century. Charles Tottenham's first wife had been the Honourable Anne Loftus (the second daughter of the 1st Viscount Loftus. Charles came for a long stay in the house with his second wife, (in 1770 he had married his cousin Jane) daughter of John Cliffe and widow of Rev. Joshua Trench of Bryanstown, co. Wexford), and his daughter Anne from his first marriage.

During a storm, a ship unexpectedly arrived at the Hook Peninsula, which was not far from the mansion. A young man was welcomed into the mansion. Anne and the young man became very close. Then, one night they were in the parlour; around this time it was not well-mannered for a girl to play cards, but Anne insisted and she played. When a card was dropped on the floor she went to pick it up, and she noticed that the young man had a hoof in place of a foot.

It is said that Anne screamed and the man went up through the roof in a puff of smoke, leaving behind a large hole in the ceiling. Anne was in shock and was put in her favourite room in the mansion, which was known as the Tapestry Room. She refused food and drink. She died in the Tapestry Room in 1775. A rumour states that the hole could never be properly repaired, and it is alleged that even to this day, there is still a certain part of the ceiling which is slightly different from the rest. This, of course, is a myth, since the present house was built more than a century after the events described above. Meanwhile it was believed that the stranger with the cloven hoof returned to the house and caused persistent poltergeist activity.

A number of Protestant clergymen apparently tried and failed to put a stop to this. The family, who were themselves Protestants, eventually called on Father Thomas Broaders (a Catholic priest, who was also a tenant on the Loftus Hall estate) to exorcise the house which he managed to do in spite of fierce opposition from at least one of the hostile spirits. The success of Broaders led to many concessions being made to local Catholics whose religion was still technically illegal. Fr. Broaders was parish priest of the surrounding area from 1724 to 1773.

Fr. Broaders later became parish priest of the united parishes of the Hook and Ramsgrange for almost fifty years.

Canon Broaders died in January, 1773, and on his tomb in Horetown Cemetery is the following epitaph;

"here lies the body of Thomas Broaders,
Who did good and prayed for all.
And banished the Devil from Loftus Hall".

The apparent success of Father Broaders' exorcism did not end the ghostly visitations at Loftus Hall. The ghost of a young woman, presumed to be Anne Tottenham, was reported to have made frequent appearances in the old Hall, especially in the Tapestry Room, until the building was finally demolished in 1871.

Although the present Loftus Hall is an entirely new building, interest in the ghost story has remained strong and many aspects of the story seem to have attached themselves to the newer house.

Subsequent Experiences:

1. The father of the Rev. George Reade stayed with a large party at the Hall some time about 1790, and was given the Tapestry Chamber to sleep in. "Something heavy leapt upon his bed, growling like a dog. The curtains were torn back and the clothes stripped from the bed". Suspecting that "some of his companions were playing tricks", he shouted to warn them and then fired his pistol up the chimney to frighten them. He then searched the room and, of course, found nothing. The door was locked as he had left it on getting into bed.

2. Some years later, when the 2nd Marques of Ely (who succeeded in 1806) was at the Hall, his valet, Shannon, was put in the Tapestry Chamber and woke the whole household by his screams in the night. The curtains of the bed, he said, had been violently torn back and he saw "a tall lady dressed in stiff brocaded silk". He fled in terror.

3. After a further period George Reade and his father were staying at the Hall. George knew nothing of his father's earlier experience, and chose the Tapestry Chamber as his bedroom. One bright moonlight night he sat up late reading an article in Blackwood's Magazine, when he saw the door open and a tall lady in a stiff dress passed noiselessly through the room to a closet in the corner, where she disappeared. For some reason the idea of a ghost never entered his head, and he went to sleep.

The next night the experience was repeated. He rushed towards the lady, threw his right arm round her, and exclaimed "Ha! I have you now". His arm passed through her and came "with a thud against the bed-post". The figure went on, and her silk brocaded gown "lapped against the curtain". Next morning he told his father, who said nothing; and the whole incident left little impression on him. He slept in the room without disturbance "many a night after". Some years later George Reade was again at the Hall, and heard the valet, Shannon, tell the housekeeper that "he would sooner leave his Lordship's service than sleep in the Tapestry Chamber". Reade asked him why; and Shannon then told him the story of Anne, which he had never heard before.

4. In 1858 the 4th Marques, who succeeded in 1857 at the age of 8, came to the Hall for the bathing season, with his mother (the Lady of the Bedchamber) and his tutor, the Rev. Charles Dale. The tutor was put in the Tapestry Chamber and came down to breakfast one morning in an obviously nervous state, but refused to say anything. In the autumn Lord Henry Loftus, uncle of the Marques, wrote to George Reade, told him about Charles Dale, and added that a Mr. Derringey had slept in the room and had had "a splendidly fitted dressing case" ransacked during the night. He asked him what his own experience had been. Thereupon Reade wrote to Dale, then in a parish in Kent, and the latter wrote back a long letter, in which he said that he had slept in the Tapestry Chamber for three weeks without disturbance - and without knowing anything about Anne Tottenham.

Then one moonlight night he had had the same experience as Reade's father - something heavy jumping on the bed, growling, and tearing off the bedclothes. He leapt out of bed, lit a candle, but could find nothing. He had, however, made inquiries and had talked with an old woman called Haggard, who lived to the age of 106. She had told him the whole story, and remembered Father Broders referred to above.

5. Finally, in 1868, Reade once more visited the Hall, which had been considerably altered. The Tapestry Chamber was now a billiards-room. He asked the old housekeeper how Miss Anne Tottenham had taken these changes, and she replied “Oh! Master George, don't talk about her. Last night she made a horrid noise knocking the billiard balls about!”

'History of Loftus Hall Part Two' by Thomas P Walsh in the Journal of Old Wexford Society (1971) gives a very detailed account of the ghost story and several alleged apparitions in the old Loftus Hall. According to Vol 4 of 'History of Wexford' by Hore a version of the ghost story was printed in the Cork Examiner August 11 1888 and was related to Queen Victoria by the Marques of Ely towards the end of 1860.

Loftus Hall, Co. Wexford which is described as "an old rambling mansion, with passages that led nowhere, large dreary rooms, panelled walls, and a Tapestry Chamber". It was built on a limestone promontory "stretching out into the Atlantic Ocean" by one de Raymond, a follower of Strongbow, who settled there. After the Rebellion of 1641 it was forfeited and became the property of the Loftus family. "A wild and lonely place".

Strangely enough if you know the history of the Irish Hellfire club you will recognise the same story of a stranger seeking shelter from the storm and playing cards. He too was found to have cloven feet and disappeared in a puff of sulphur smoke through a hole in the ceiling.