Ravenswood House.

Ballater. Aberdeenshire.

Wandering around the cosy interior of Ravenswood House, you might chance upon a bearded figure, wearing an Arran sweater, the arms of which are rolled up to the elbows to reveal an old fashioned long-sleeved vest. You might bid him “good day” or words to that effect and might even be tempted to exchange a few pleasantries. What you might not realise is that you have met one of the two resident ghosts that wander the cosy and little changed interior of this delightful hotel.  Ravenswood is also the proud possessor of a fully functional Victorian lavatory, now used as the ladies toilet, the solidness and bulk of which is as impressive as it is fascinating!

It is presumed that he is the ghost of the houses builder and original owner, a seafaring man who erected the property in 1820. Since his cargoes consisted largely of tea and alcohol, for some reason a clause was inserted into the lease that forbade the house to sell either alcohol or tea. Such a ban presented few problems whilst the building remained a family home. But in 1970, the house became a hotel and the new proprietors set about overturning the restrictive clause. The ban on the sale of alcohol was lifted. But the one on tea was not. Thus the current owners, Scott and Cathy Fyfe will happily sell their guests the cup, spoon, water and milk, but the accompanying tea bag is free!

But to return to the ghostly mariner. His roving shade has been encountered by many guests and all have commented on how solid and real he looks. Indeed many of them have not even realised his true nature until they have asked Scott or Cathy who he is and are told that they have been honoured with a sighting of the house’s ghost.

Ravenswood’s other ghostly inhabitant is a spectral nanny who only becomes active when small children come to stay. She has never actually been seen, but babies sleeping in cots have been heard over the monitoring intercoms gurgling and calling “nanny” to some unseen presence. When adults go to investigate they often find the child staring at someone that it can apparently see but which adults cannot. On some occasions laughing babies have even pointed to their feet as if their ghostly supervisor is tickling them there! No-one finds her antics in the least bit frightening and all who have encountered her have commented that it feels as though her sole intention is to watch over children who come to stay and to ensure that no harm befalls them.

Set against a stunning backcloth of moody hills, the Prince’s House dates back to 1658 when it started life as a “change house” providing shelter and fresh horses for travellers traversing “The Road to the Isles.” It stands close to the spot where Bonnie Prince Charlie raised his standard in 1745, an act that signalled the start of the Jacobite uprising. Although there are no records of the Prince ever staying here, there are suggestions that he may well have dropped in for a “wee dram.”

By the 1840’s the “Stage House,” as the building was then known, had become a notable coaching halt for Victorian travellers. Its keeper had even achieved a modicum of fame as the tallest man in Scotland, although there is some debate as to his exact stature - six feet seven according to one account, seven feet six according to another!

It is, of course, inevitable that some of those who have crossed the threshold of this delightful white-walled house, have chosen not to leave, and at least two ghosts are known to haunt it. One is a grey lady who in the past appears to have been sighted regularly on the stairs, although the current proprietors, Kieron and Ina Kelly have yet to make her acquaintance. The other is the ghost of a bearded highlander who occasionally wanders the building, bothering nobody as he keeps to a well honed routine that he no doubt established in life and is loathe to give up in death.

Spynie Palace.

Nr. Elgin. Moray.

For over five hundred years Spynie Palace was the seat of the Bishops of Moray, and its hollow shell looks back at past ages of grandeur and glory, whilst the mark of history is blazoned across its time-scarred walls. It nestles in quiet seclusion, almost lost amidst tranquil countryside, and to delve into its rambling ruins is to walk in the footsteps of Kings and Queens, not to mention a rich array of historical and legendary figures from Scotland’s past.

One of the more infamous of its residents was Alexander Stewart, Earl of Buchan, whose mob of “wyld wykkd Heland-men” torched the town of Elgin in 1390 and burnt its Cathedral. Whether Spynie Palace suffered damage at this time is not known, but Alexander Stewart - known to history as the ‘Wolf of Badenoch’ - was later appointed keeper of the Palace by King Robert 111, following the death of the then Bishop in 1397. Although his tenure was no more than a year, he appears to have found its allure irresistible, and his sinister spectre has been seen many times leaning on a railing on the first floor landing of David’s Tower, gazing down on witnesses with seemingly wicked intent.

Its is within and around the unyielding bulk of David’s Tower (named for Bishop David Stewart who began its construction in the 15th century) that much of Spynie Palace’s paranormal activity is centred. Visitors approaching it have caught glimpses of a hazy face gazing at them from its upper storeys. Once inside you find yourself almost overwhelmed by the vastness of the stone walls that soar six storeys above you. The inner walls and vaults have long since collapsed leaving a gaunt shell to whose sides a tenacious covering of dull plaster clings defiantly. Mysterious rooms and dark recesses are set into the tower’s east wall and here a veritable cornucopia of phantoms and presences are known to lurk.

Many visitors have reported sighting a ghostly woman sitting in an arched niche to the tower’s right side as they enter. Trudging up to the next floor and traipsing along the narrow stone corridor some people have been overcome by a nauseous feeling accompanied by a headache. However, is all they have to do is politely say ‘excuse me,’ step to one side and the feeling quickly passes, as the unseen entity responsible simply moves on by. More disturbing is the column of white mist, human in size, that has been known to materialise in mid air and drift briskly towards astonished witnesses. On one occasion this unnerving phenomenon succeeded in knocking a startled sceptic to the ground as it swept over him! A mysterious phantom skull often appears on photographs taken inside the tower, as does the indistinct form of a ghostly lion, said to be the revenant of a pet once owned by one of the Bishop’s.

Spynie Palace is one of Scotland’s eeriest and most haunted buildings, yet it possesses an atmosphere that both captivates and engrosses. Its history is fascinating, it’s location enchanting, and its ambience is greatly enhanced by the chance of an encounter with a resident wraith.

Leith Hall enjoys a lovely location amidst peaceful and rolling countryside. It is a squat, grey building resplendent with round towers and an abundance of chimneys. Although owned by the National Trust for Scotland it possesses the intimate feel of a family home, due largely to the fact that for over three hundred years, from its construction in the mid 17th century to its handing over to the Trust in 1945, it was owned and lived in by successive generations of just one family, the Leiths. Following the tragic death of the last laird in a motor cycle accident in 1939, his mother set about researching the lives and histories of the Leith ancestors, and although stating that “There is no haunting” she did acknowledge the house “some of [the family] come out of the shadows into clear light and live and speak..”

One former family member who most certainly does haunt the house is John Leith, the 3rd Laird. At the age of twenty five he married Hariott Steuart of Auchlunchart, and set about turning Leith Hall into a suitable family home. She bore him three sons and was pregnant with a fourth when, just before Christmas 1763, John rode to Aberdeen to dine with friends. Copious amounts of alcohol flowed at the meal and John reacted angrily when one of the diners accused him of adulterating the grain sold from Leith Hall. There is confusion as what happened next. Either John challenged his detractor to a duel or else his accuser simply shot him in cold blood. Whichever, on Christmas day 1736 John Leith died from the head wound he received from his adversaries pistol, and his widow was left to run the estate as best she could.

The tragedy appears to have left an indelible stain on the psychic fabric of Leith Hall and his ghost has been both sensed and seen at several locations. In 1968, guests who were sleeping in the master bedroom reported that they found its atmosphere somewhat unsettling. There discomfort was not helped by the fact that in the early hours of one morning, the wife awoke to find a man in highland dress, his head swathed in bloody bandages, standing at the foot of the bed. She later commented that he bore an uncanny resemblance to the portrait of John Leith that hangs elsewhere in the house. A female ghost of unknown identity but dressed in the garb of the 18th century has also been seen about the property, whilst ghostly footsteps, slamming doors have also been known to shatter the silence of the night hours.

It would seem that the ghosts of those to whom this lovely old house has been home are still active about the property, and there are certainly parts of it where you can sense them gazing at you across the centuries, telling you in no uncertain terms that this is their house, and although you are welcome, you visit it strictly on their terms.

The Well of the Seven Heads.

Loch Oich

As you drive along the road that skirts the shore of Loch Oich you pass a bizarre column, surmounted by seven severed stone heads, that has a particularly gory history. It all began on 25th September, 1663 when Alexander MacDonald, the young Chief of Keppoch and his brother Ranald, were stabbed to death by rivals within their clan. Nothing was done to avenge their deaths until Iain Lorn, the Keppoch Bard, nagged MacDonald of Glengarry and Sir James MacDonald of Sleat to punish the criminals. Two years later, the Privy Council in Edinburgh issued letters of "Fire and Sword" against the murderers. Another member of the Keppoch family, Ian Lom (Bald John), with the help of the MacDonalds of Sleat sought "ample and summary vengeance" for the murders by killing and decapitating the seven murderers. It is said that on his way to Invergarry castle, to present the heads to the chief of Clan MacDonald of Glengarry, Lom stopped at the spring to wash the heads to make them more presentable. Ever since then the spring has been known as Tobar nan Ceann, the Gaelic for Well of the Heads. Later, the heads were sent to Edinburgh and ordered to be "affixit to the gallowes standing on the Gallowlie between Edinburgh and Leith". The bodies were said to be buried in a nearby mound and have since been exhumed, thus providing evidence for the truth of the story. In 1812, the then chief of the Clan McDonell ordered the construction of the roadside obelisk to commemorate both the crime and the summary justice meted out to the perpetrators. Sitting atop the column is a sculpture of a hand holding a large dagger and around it are seven severed heads.

Although the well is most certainly not a holy well, it is interesting because the legend has parallels with the Celtic Cult of head and water worship, whereby the head was taken as a trophy of success over a vanquished enemy. It also seems to show a continuation of the belief of the supposed magical properties of the severed head and water, a common in thread in ancient mystical beliefs. That aside the well itself is neither picturesque nor particularly mysterious. You enter its chamber by a long tunnel that is somewhat claustrophobic and which photographer, John Mason, summed up perfectly when he stated that “its smells like death.”

The history steeped walls of Meldrum House sit peaceably amidst glorious surroundings of woodland and parkland. Reached via a long drive that meanders past an 18 hole golf course, the house itself is a sprawling baronial mansion that sports impressive round towers and exquisite chimney stacks. Its origins go back to the 13th century, although considerable additions and renovations were carried out in the 17th, 19th and 20th centuries respectively.

The house’s oldest resident is the mysterious white lady. She is believed to be the ghost of Isabella Douglas whose portrait hangs above the fire place in the hotel’s cosy reception area. Women in particular are susceptible to her spectral attentions and several housekeepers have reported feeling their apron strings being tugged by her invisible hand. Her shade has frequently been seen around the hotel and she often appears when the air is heavy with thunder. Indeed in 1985, during a raging thunderstorm she gave a male guest quite a shock when she suddenly appeared from nowhere and planted a cold kiss upon his cheek! At other times staff can actually tell whether she has happy or agitated by the way in which her phantom moves around. If she is content she walks slowly, but should she be discontented she will glide around premises, chilling the blood of any who encounter her. She seems to have settled down considerably since her portrait was moved from elsewhere in the hotel to its current over the fire location. Maybe it’s because she is now able to greet guests as they enter her house, but as one member of staff told me “she’s been a lot happier since the move.”

Finally, should a male guest who is even remotely descended from either the Meldrum, Seton or Urquhart families - the three dynasties with whom the house’s history is most indelibly linked - is placed in room three, he can look forward to being woken in the night by the alarming sensation of an invisible female scratching his chest. Staff confess that they are at a loss as to whether or not the ghost of Isabella Douglas is actually responsible for this!

Killiecrankie, a name derived from Gaelic and meaning “wood of aspens”, is a tranquil oasis, set amidst dramatic and spectacular scenery. The distant views of moody-grey mountains; the foaming waters of the River Garry, tumbling between steeply wooded cliffs; and the picturesque pathways, that twist their way through the dense undergrowth, all combine to lend the gorge a soothing aura of peaceful detachment. But scattered about its tree-lined tracks, are numerous reminders of a long ago sunset, when the sudden sound of gunfire shattered the stillness, and a bloody battle exploded across the sylvan slopes of the ravine.

The Battle of Killiecrankie took place on 27th July 1689. It was fought between three thousand four hundred government troops, loyal to William of Orange, led by General Mackay, and two thousand five hundred Jacobite highlanders, supporters of the deposed King, James V11 of Scotland (James 11 of England), commanded by Viscount John Graham of Claverhouse, better known as “Bonnie Dundee”. As the opposing armies faced each other amidst the woodlands of Killiecrankie, the smaller Jacobite force claimed the higher ground and waited for the sun to move behind them, before Dundee gave the order to charge. Dazzled by the sun, the government troops watched helplessly as a screaming avalanche of tartan terror swept down the slopes of the gorge towards them. As the Royalist soldiers scattered, the ferocious Highlanders threw down their muskets and continued the fray with the flash of cold steel. A government soldier named Donald Macbear, took one look at the advancing hoard and, pursued by a gaggle of deadly highlanders, ran for his life. Arriving at the rocky shore of the River Garry, he escaped by jumping 18 feet to its opposite bank, leaving his pursuers gazing in astonished fury across the gap, which is still known as “Soldiers Leap” in commemoration of the amazing feat. By the time the sun sank over the battle site, the Jacobite troops had inflicted a crushing defeat upon the government forces. But their victory was a hollow one. For “Bonnie Dundee” suffered a fatal wound, as he waved his highland warriors on to victory. The Jacobite force never really recovered from his death and their army was later forced to disband after failing to capture Dunkeld.

In the Pass of Killiecrankie, a dull red glow has been known to bathe the area in its ruddy hue on the anniversary of the battle. Some people have been startled by the sudden appearance of ghostly troops, marching through the ravine in the fading light of day; others have heard the distinct volley of invisible muskets, firing in the air close-by them, and one woman looked up from a picnic she was enjoying, to see the phantom forms of several dead soldiers lying on the ground nearby!

Fyvie Castle.

Turriff. Aberdeenshire.

Fyvie is one of Scotland’s most magnificent castles. Its soaring baronial walls are crowned by five majestic towers; each, so tradition claims, a monument to the five families – Preston, Meldrum, Seton, Gordon and Leith – who, over the centuries, helped create this spellbinding stronghold of rambling corridors and splendid rooms. Although now run by the National Trust for Scotland, it still has the feel of a family home, and the ghosts and legends that have collected both around and within its sturdy walls, lend it definite air of haunting mystery.

The best-known spectre here is that of the “Green Lady”, thought to be Dame Lilias Drummond, wife of the Alexander Seton, owner of the Castle in the early 17th century. Although they had five children, they were all daughters, and this rankled with the ambitious Seton who longed for a son. One day his discontented eye fixed upon one wife’s relatives, a young woman named Grizel Leslie. She was more than welcoming of his Lordships advances and, very soon, the two were enjoying a passionate affair. Neglected by her husband, Dame Lilias retired to their house in Fife where she became ill and died on 8th May 1601. She was barely cold in her grave before Alexander Seton had married Grizel and brought her to live at Fyvie Castle. But on their wedding night, they were disturbed by moans and heavy sighs from outside their bedroom window. Seton comforted his terrified wife, assuring her that it was just the wind. But the next morning, on opening the window, he found etched into the solid stone of the outside ledge the name D LILIAS DRUMMOND. The mysterious impression is still there; whilst her spirit, swathed in green, makes frequent returns to the stairways and corridors of the old castle, bemoaning her betrayal, and leaving the delicate fragrance of Rose petals in her ghostly wake. An Australian visitor saw her in the dressing room, off the Gordon Bedroom –where castle guides often complain of feeling that they are being watched - in July 2002. A member of staff, who one winters day was cleaning the castle armour, stepped aside to let a lady in a flowing dress pass by, and was astonished when she suddenly vanished. Another visitor was somewhat taken aback to see her reflection gazing through a green mist in a bedroom mirror. But, on the whole, she is a harmless spectre and those who accept her as simply the oldest resident of this special and spellbinding fortress.

The steely grey mountains that fret the skyline and dapple Glencoe in a cloak of sinister gloom, cast such strange shadows that you find yourself constantly on edge, ever vigilant against whatever unspeakable horrors may be skulking in the darker recesses of the eerie terrain. Ice-cold streams, brown with peat, babble amongst the great stone slabs that lie scattered over the brooding landscape. Jagged gullies and dark ravines, their slopes littered with bleak sedges and clinging trees, have been gouged from the rock by the unforgiving hand of nature. And, over the whole awesome panorama, there hangs a heavy stillness, tainted by the memory of a long ago act of such brutal infamy that it will haunt these parts for as long as the hills shal stand.

The Macdonald’s of Glencoe were undoubtedly as fearsome and ruthless a tribe as any other in the bloody history of inter-clan rivalry and warfare. But their officially sanctioned massacre at the hands of the Campbell’s caused such a deep sense of outrage, that many of their bitterest enemies viewed it with undisguised revulsion. This wasn’t just murder, this was “murder under trust” and, as such, it broke a moral code to which even the most brutish clan adhered. For it was an inviolable custom of the Highlands that you should provide hospitality to anyone who sought it, be they friend or foe.

It all began in December 1691 when, in a determined effort to bring the Jacobite Highland’s to heel, the authorities in Edinburgh decreed that, before the years end, every clan must swear an oath of allegiance to King William 111. The majority made the pledge immediately. But, prominent amongst those who didn’t, were the MacIans of Glencoe, whose Chief, Alasdair Macdonald, made the fatal error of holding out until the last possible moment. When he finally decided that resistance was futile an unfortunate combination of tragic error, bureaucratic obstinacy and atrocious winter conditions, meant he was several days late in swearing. Sir John Dalrymple, Secretary of State for Scotland, seized the opportunity to make an example of the Macdonald’s by “rooting out that damnable sect, the worst in all the Highlands”.

At the beginning of February 1692, Captain Robert Glenlyon was ordered to lead a hundred and twenty men of the Earl of Argyle’s Regiment - all Campbell’s and hereditary enemies of the Macdonald’s - into Glencoe. John Macdonald, the elder son of the chief came to meet them, and demanded the reason for a military force entering a peaceful territory. Glenlyon explained that they came as friends and merely sought suitable quarters against the winter snows. They thereupon received a warm welcome and were afforded food and lodgings. On the evening of February 12th, Glenlyon settled down to a game of cards with several members of his host's family. He laughed, joked, ate their food, drank their drink and, at the end of the evening, thanked them for their hospitality as he bade them goodnight. Yet all the while he carried in his pocket the clans brutal death warrant, instructing him that he was to “fall upon the rebels….of Glencoe, and put all to the sword under the age of seventy”

At precisely five o’clock the next morning, the silence of the frozen Glen was shattered by the sudden explosion of rifle fire, as guests began turning on their hosts, murdering them and their families. The old chief himself was shot dead as he rose from his bed, and his wife was so cruelly abused that she died of her injuries the following day. The whole valley echoed to the anguished screams of the injured and dying. As the first rays of dawn illuminated the grisly scene, the snow was red with Macdonald blood, and thirty-eight members of the clan lay butchered. The great majority, however, managed to evade their pursuers and hundreds of men, women and children fled into the mountains. But they were ill equipped for their flight and found themselves at the savage mercy of the elements. Many were overcome by the bitter winter temperatures, or else floundered in the deep snows where they perished miserably on the unrelenting slopes.

Today a chilling aura of indefinable restlessness hangs heavy over what is truly one of Britain’s most poignant and haunting landscapes. Every nook, crevice and cranny seems imbued with the terror and hopeless sorrow that washed across the valley on that long ago morning. Indeed, such is the stark and fearsome beauty of the place, that it is possible to agree whole-heartedly with Charles Dickens's sentiment that “anything so bleak and wild and mighty in its loneliness, it is impossible to conceive”.

Loch Ness

The Loch Ness Monster.

Long ago there was no Loch in the Great Glen; instead the twenty-four miles over which the waters of Loch Ness now stretch was a rich and fertile valley, dotted with an abundance of farms and homesteads. At the centre of this lush dale was a magic spring guarded by a strict taboo. Anyone who drew water from it must immediately replace its covering stone the moment they had finished. Failure to do so would blight the lives of those who lived in the vale. But one day, a woman had just begun filling her bucket when she heard her baby screaming in agony. Panicking, she left the spring uncovered and ran to assist. Immediately, the well overflowed and a torrent of raging water cascaded behind her and flooded the valley. The inhabitants fled to the hills, crying as they went: “Tha loch nis ann” (There is a loch there now), from which came the name Loch Ness.

Loch Ness lies at the northern end of the Great Glen, a geological fault line that slashes across the Scottish Highland’s. Its twenty-four miles of dark rippling water, presents the jaded wayfarer with an ever-changing panorama of hill, water and woodland. No one knows for certain exactly how deep this mysterious Loch is, but its deepest and most sinister portion is that which ripples before the hollow shell of Urquhart Castle, beneath which, legend holds, exist underwater caves that are home to a colony of monsters. And, of course Loch Ness, despite its stunning scenery, is best known for the enigmatic creature that is said to lurk beneath its peat blackened waters, and whose forays to the surface, have made it one of the world’s most famous legendary beasts.

Whatever haunts the chilly depths of Loch Ness is neither a newcomer nor an idle legend to be derided out of hand. Indeed the very first recorded encounter with either “Nessie” or, more probably, one of her ancient ancestors, occurred in AD 565 when a disciple of the Irish missionary St. Columba, was swimming across the River Ness to fetch a boat for his master. Suddenly a fearful beast broke the surface and, “with a great roar and open mouth”, rushed upon the swimmer. St Columba immediately made the sign of the cross and bellowed at the beast “Think not to go further, nor touch thou that man! Go back…” The monster obeyed and, in the 1400 years since, despite making regular appearances, it has never harmed anyone nor, for that matter, emitted even the slightest sound, let alone a roar.

It was with the opening of a main road along the north shore of the loch in 1933, that the modern interest in Nessie began. In the December of that year, the Daily Mail sponsored the first endeavour to find the Monster, by engaging the services of big game hunter Marmaduke Weatherall and photographer Gustav Pauli. An immense amount of excitement was generated when, deep in the undergrowth by the side of the loch, the two discovered a large footprint, apparently left by a massive creature. Unfortunately, this was soon revealed to have been a hoax perpetrated with the aid of a dried hippopotamus foot, otherwise being used as an umbrella stand!

Then, on April 19th 1934, Harley Street consultant Robert Kenneth Wilson took the famous “surgeon’s photograph” of a seemingly long-necked creature, swimming across Loch Ness, and gave the world its most enduring image of the fabled beast. Although his picture has been proved a fake, there have since been over 1,000 reported sightings and, disregarding proven hoaxes, mistaken identifications of natural objects, optical illusions, or wishful thinking - and it must be said that these can certainly account for a large proportion of the sightings – their still remains sufficient evidence from sober, honest and publicity-shy witnesses, to suggest that something mysterious does indeed lurk in the murky depths of Loch Ness.

It could also be one of the great eels that are known to grow exceptionally large in Loch Ness. There is an old report of a woman who drowned in the Loch and whose husband hired a local diver to recover her body. After one dive, the man refused to return to the water, claiming that the eels made the risk too great. Dismissing the divers fears as nothing more than superstition, the husband appealed to the Navy who sent a diving party to assist. The first man down quickly returned to the surface, saying that the eels had made it impossible for him to protect his airline. The naval divers then also departed. Finally, the husband brought up divers from the London docks and personally escorted them from the station to prevent them hearing any “eel gossip”. But they too refused to remain underwater because of the huge eels that attempted to foul their airlines and wrap themselves around them. They are said to have warned the husband that they had never seen such terrifying creatures and that to dive amongst them was suicide!