During the Civil War, Fulke Walwyn rode out through the 17^th-century wrought-iron gates of his family home, Hellens at Much Marple, and headed off to lend his support to a besieged Charles 1^st. Unfortunately when Charles was routed by the Parliamentarians, Fulke was unable to return and chose instead to keep a low profile in nearby Hereford. The grand gates, which had been locked behind him, were never re-opened and remain locked almost four hundred years later, just one of the many curiosities at this truly curious house, steeped in both history and legend.

It’s most famous ghost story is centred on the John Walwyn bedchamber named for the 17th century owner of the house whose youngest daughter, Mehettabel, or Hetty, eloped with a man whom the family considered to be beneath her social class. By the time she was twenty her husband had died and Hetty returned home where her unforgiving family, locked her in the bedchamber for thirty years, because she had brought social disgrace upon them and her indiscretion had rendered her unmarriageable. A length of rope, connected to a bell in the roof, still hangs through the ceiling into the room. This was her only means of letting the rest of the family know if she was in trouble. She whiled away her time gazing down onto the courtyard below and using her diamond ring to engrave upon a window pane the poignant lament: “It is a part of virtue to abstain from what we love if it should prove our bane.” Her words can still be read today and her ghost is the most prominent of several that wander the night hours at Hellens. Curator Nicholas Stephens, who lives at the house with his family, told a local Newspaper “…I did see Hetty myself a couple of years ago. I was sleeping in the room above hers when I saw her. It wasn’t a fleeting glance, she stayed there for a sustained time.”

Hellens other haunting centres on Queen Mary’s Room, so called because Mary Tudor is reputed to have stayed there. It belongs to the turbulent Cromwellian period when Catholicism was outlawed and an elderly Catholic priest was being sheltered by the family at the Hellens. One day a band of Parliamentarian soldiers launched a raid and caught the priest unawares in the hallway. Desperate to evaded them he fled up the stairs in search of a suitable hiding place. But the roundheads were in hot pursuit and having cornered him in Queen Mary’s room, they cold-bloodedly hacked him to death.

Needless to say the trauma of his demise has left traces on the surroundings and several people staying in the room have seen his ghost. On one occasion a naval lieutenant was sleeping there when he awoke to find a male figure dressed in a long dark dressing-gown with a hood frantically running backwards and forwards between the window and the door. So real did the figure appear that the lieutenant didn’t even realise that it was a ghost and thought he was witnessing “some dotty old member of the family who had escaped from his keeper!” It was only later that he learnt that he had in fact witnessed the revenant of the murdered priest.

Hellens is one of those special places where past and present mingle and where the mark of history is imprinted on every inch of the ancient fabric. As you explore its atmospheric interior you get the very real sense that the eyes of past occupants are upon you and it would come as little surprise if a figure in period costume suddenly stepped from the shadows and extended a hand of welcome to a house that is well and truly timeless and over which both a haunted and a haunting quality pervade.

A sense of genuine enchantment holds sway over the sylvan landscape that cradles one of Britain’s most enigmatic haunted houses in a tender embrace. Woodchester Mansion is approached via a long and rutted track that meanders through a tranquil valley where with every step taken you feel the modern age slip further behind you. Suddenly, you round a bend and there, huddled against a hillside, is a glorious apparition in golden limestone. Turrets and towers loom over you; hollow windows gaze outwards; whilst grotesques and gargoyles leer down at you from the soaring walls of an imposing house that time forgot.

The valley now occupied by Woodchester Mansion was originally the estate of the Ducie family. Legend holds that when the 2nd Earl of Ducie threw a lavish dinner to celebrate his succession to the Earldom in 1840, he was somewhat taken aback when his father’s ghost interrupted the festivities by occupying the seat that he was intending to sit in at the head of the table. Indeed it gave him such a fright that he left the place never to return.

In 1845 the northern part of his estate was purchased by William Leigh, an immensely wealthy gentleman and recent convert to Catholicism. Leigh set about planning a house that would stand as a lasting testimony to his Catholic leanings and approached the master of Gothic revival architecture Augustus Pugin, whose designs included The Houses of Parliament in London. The two men, however, didn’t exactly see eye to eye, especially where money was concerned, and by the 1850’s the project of realising Leigh’s vision had fallen to a much younger local architect, 21 year old Benjamin Bucknall.

Bucknall set about designing a truly grandiose house, and for sixteen years craftsmen and builders laboured on its construction. But then suddenly in 1868, for reasons which have never been fully explained, the workers literally downed tools and left the site, leaving its rooms unfinished and its windows unglazed. Rumours persist that a murder on the site was behind the exodus. It has even been suggested that supernatural activity may have been responsible. The likeliest explanation is that the project proved too costly, even for William Leigh’s deep pockets and the money simply ran out. Whatever the explanation for the cessation of construction, the result today is that on entering the mansion you step into a time warp and stray onto a mid-19^th century building site. Victorian tools lie scattered about the interior. Ladders remain propped where they were left against exposed walls, fireplaces hang suspended in mid-air, doors lead nowhere, and upstairs corridors end at precarious drops from which you truly begin to appreciate the sheer magnitude of this remarkable house.

Following William Leigh’s death in 1873 his son, also William, asked Bucknall to furnish him with two quotes, one to complete the house, the other to demolish it. When both proved prohibitively expensive, the mansion was simply abandoned. There was a sudden flurry of activity in 1894 when the drawing room was hurriedly completed for a visit by Cardinal Vaughan, Roman Catholic Archbishop of Westminster, but this was the only room ever to be finished and thereafter its fortunes were left to time and fate.

During the Second World War American and Canadian troops set up camp in the pasture opposite and commandeered the house’s cellars to store equipment. They used the lakes in Woodchester Park to train for the D-Day landings and during one exercise a bridge over the lake collapsed and several soldiers were drowned. Their bodies were brought back to the mansion and despite over sixty years having elapsed since the tragic event, vestiges of it still seem to linger. Mediums have sensed the presence of people in military uniform inside, and the eerie sound of 1940’s music has been heard echoing along the corridors.

Without doubt one of the most curious and grandest parts of the house is the chapel. Some people have reported the strange smell of freshly extinguished candles there, although no candles had been burning prior to the appearance of the mysterious aroma. Others have caught sight of a short man standing in one of the chapel doorways. He does nothing except gaze up at the ornate windows and he gives the impression that he is somewhat concerned about them. It has been surmised that he may be the ghost of a stonemason and that his anxiety may be caused by the fact that water penetration during the years when the house was abandoned has caused a lot of damage to the chapel’s stonework. He may also be behind the small stones that visitors have from time to time reported being flicked across the room when there is most certainly nobody visible in direction from which they came.

A phantom female voice has been heard singing an Irish lament in the kitchen, whilst in this same room there have been reports of a youngish man crouched in a corner who is apparently hiding from somebody. He may have links to the revenant of a tall man who stands in the kitchen doorway and who appears to be searching for somebody as he leans towards the very area where the younger man has been sighted. Perhaps these two ghosts are in some way related to the manor’s past and their appearances related to some long forgotten incident? Indeed it would seem that only the fact that they choose to manifest at different times has kept the younger man from being found since, as many witnesses will attest, his hiding place is not that hidden.

A young girl has been seen skipping playfully up and down the house’s grand staircase, seemingly oblivious to the startled reaction she evokes from those who chance upon her. On the first floor corridor the spectre of a young woman has been both seen and heard and she has been known on occasions to stand at one of the windows watching the comings and goings of visitors below. The pet dog of the house’s caretaker seems to be more than aware of the ghostly presences that roam the building. On one occasion the caretaker watched it sit on the sofa and wag its tale at someone who it could obviously see but who remained invisible to the caretaker. Moments later the dog proceeded to lick thin air, and although no-one was visible, its tongue was definitely brazing against something!

Woodchester Mansion is a truly special and unique place and a true aura of enchantment hangs over the whole edifice. I can honestly say that I found it one of the most moving properties I have ever visited and it was with some reluctance that I walked back along the rutted track and left the house to its memories, mytsris and shadows.

The Ancient Ram Inn

Wotton-under-Edge, Gloucestershire

The Ancient Ram Inn possesses a genuinely chilling aura, and a reputation that is so menacing that many local people won't even walk past it at night. The building is thought to date from around 1145, and it has been suggested that the workmen who built the parish church opposite were lodged here. It served for a time as a priest' s house before converting to an inn. Its last pint was pulled in 1968. Once it had closed for business John Humphries, who is now the sole living occupant, purchased the building from the brewery. He has been battling to save the structure ever since, irrespective of the endeavours by former residents to interfere as much as possible.

The moment you enter the old inn, an aura of dreadful foreboding envelopes you. The bare walls, creaking floorboards, steep stairs and mysterious shadows are sufficient to elicit the coldest of shivers; whilst the legions of ghost stories that come marching from its mist-shrouded past can chill the blood of even the most steadfast cynic. "The atmosphere was awful," is how one visitor put it, "I can only describe it as pure filth...dark and heavy."

The first room that visitors encounter is the "Men' s Kitchen" . This reputedly stands on the site of a pagan burial ground, and the disturbing sound of a baby crying is often heard here. People ascending the steep staircase up to the first floor have been thrown up the stairs by invisible hands. A photograph taken here in June 1999 showed a mysterious white mist, about the height of a human, ascending the staircase.

On the first floor is The Ram' s most haunted and terrifying room, the Bishop' s Room. A medium pushing open its door was once lifted off the ground and flung across the corridor. The atmosphere inside is oppressive and disturbing. A ghostly cavalier has been known to materialize by the dressing table and stride purposefully across to the opposite wall. Two monks have been seen shimmering in one corner. Witnesses have heard the terrified screams of a man who was, reputedly, murdered here by having his head thrust into the fire. A phantom shepherd and his dog have been seen near the door, whilst those who spend the night in the room have often attracted the lustful attentions of either an incubus or a succubus. "Rather a lot for one room," observed John Humphries to me with decided understatement.

Climbing into the attic and crouching beneath the roof timbers, a feeling of intense melancholy appears to hang in the air. An innkeeper' s daughter is said to have been murdered in this roof space in the early 1500s, and people attempting to sleep in the Bishop' s Room below often hear the sound of  "something heavy" being dragged across the floor above their heads.

There is little doubt that the spirits and demons that reside within the walls of The Ancient Ram Inn are extremely active. It is a place where nightmares abound, and is certainly not for those of a nervous disposition. But to cross its threshold is to step back in time, and the chance of an encounter with one of its many ghosts is not to be missed.

Towards the end of the 15^th century Sir Thomas Vaughan resided at Hergest Court in the days when it was a much grander and more heavily fortified property than the farmhouse that greets visitors today. Vaughan was the very embodiment of the archetype wicked squire, and was known in the district simply as so ’Black Vaughan.’ During the Wars of the Roses he fought originally for the Lancastrians but switched his allegiance to the Yorkist cause and was killed at the Battle of Banbury in 1469. According to one version of events, he was decapitated, but no sooner had his head hit the ground than a fearsome howling echoed across the field of battle. Suddenly Vaughan’s faithful, black bloodhound bounded across the blood soaked ground, scooped up his master’s head and set off at full pelt for Hergest Court, with the gruesome relic jouncing in its jaws.

Thomas Vaughan’s headless cadaver was subsequently buried in the rather eerie family vault in Kington church. But his ghost remained at large taking the form of a black bull that rampaged about the district accompanied by a fearsome black hound. So terrified did the inhabitants become that they refused to leave their homes to the detriment of the town’s economy. It was therefore decided that an exorcism must be performed and twelve priests came together and summoned forth Black Vaughan’s evil spirit. It took a great deal of shouting, chanting and bible quoting, but eventually they reduced him to the size of a blow fly and confined him inside a snuff box which was then buried under a heavy stone slab on the bed of the lake at Hergest Court.

With a striking black-and-white timbered exterior, and an interior resplendent with flagstone floors, oak doors with peg latches, and a curved back settle by the fireplace that may well have begun life as part of a circular cockpit, The New Inn boasts an impressive pedigree stretching back almost 700 years. It started out as a farmhouse in 1311, which gives it the impressive distinction of being the oldest New Inn in England. The farmer' s wife began brewing and selling ale to the merchants at the nearby open market; thus began a tradition for hospitality that saw it evolve into a coaching inn that eventually doubled as a courthouse and a prison. Tradition holds that the 1461 treaty, by which Edward IV ascended the throne of England during the Wars of the Roses, was ratified in the courtroom here.

Inevitably The New Inn is haunted, and it is generally agreed that its ancient walls reverberate to the spectral machinations of two ghosts. One is a young woman who awaits the return of her lover from some long-ago war. Nobody knows for certain which war, and whether he was killed or simply deserted her is up for debate. Interestingly, her mournful wraith appears to have had her fill of the fickle nature of the male of the species, since she only ever appears to other women.

Unrelated, though intriguingly coincidental, is the fact that the other spirit is that of a soldier who paces the corridors resplendent in a scarlet tunic, sometimes carrying a sword and at other times beating a drum. It is not known whether the two phantoms are aware of each other. One can only hope that the day (or night) will come when their spectral paths will cross, and the roving revenants of the old New Inn will be joined together forever in ghostly union!

From the de Somery’s, the castle passed by marriage to the de Sutton family, and then in the mid-16th century came into possession of John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, who set about creating an abode that would match the lofty, and ultimately fatal, heights of his dynastic ambition. When Henry V111 died in 1547, John Dudley became Protector to the young Edward V1. Following the Kings death in 1553, Dudley conspired to make his own daughter-in-law, Lady Jane Grey, Queen of England, thus by-passing the rightful heir, Mary Tudor. When the plot floundered, due to the country as a whole supporting Mary’s claim, his fellow conspirators quickly deserted him, and John Dudley was forced to surrender to the mercy of Mary 1st. This was not forthcoming and he, his son and the unfortunate nine-day Queen, Lady Jane Grey, were all executed. The castle reverted to the Sutton family and thereafter sank into decline.

Astley Castle.

Astley. Nr Nuneton. Warwickshire.

On October 24^th 1642 the first major clash of the Civil War was fought at Edgehill, where Charles 1st with an army of 13,000 men had blocked the retreat of a Parliamentarian force numbering slightly less, which was commanded by Robert Devereaux, Earl of Essex. The early advantage went to the Royalist Army, until Charles’s nephew, Prince Rupert of the Rhine, squandered it with an ill-advised cavalry charge that left the infantry exposed to an enemy attack. In the fierce hand-to-hand combat, the Roundheads succeeded in capturing the Royal Standard and killing its bearer Sir Edmund Verney. A Royalist cavalry officer, Captain John Smith, spotted a group of enemy troops making of with the colours. He charged after them, killed one, wounded another and, as the others fled, retrieved the standard and returned it to the King, with Verney’s hand still clasped around it!

Three thousand men lost their lives that October day and, with the outcome of the battle indecisive, both sides were quick to claim the victory. The truth is that the advantage probably did go to the Kings army and, had Charles then chosen to march on London, he may well have altered the course of history. But so appalled was he by the carnage of this, his first battle, that he was unable to concentrate on military strategy and opted instead to head for Oxford where he established his headquarters.

On 23rd December 1642, several shepherds at Edgehill claimed to have witnessed a spectral re-enactment of the entire skirmish. It began with the sound of distant drums which, as they got nearer, were joined by “the noise of soldiers… giving out their last groans”. There then appeared in the air “the same incorporeall souldiers that made those clamours” and a full-scale clash of phantom armies took place in the sky above the original battlefield. As the ethereal battle ended, the shepherds rushed to nearby Kineton, where they repeated, on oath, before William Wood, a Justice of the Peace, and the Reverend Samuel Marshall, the unbelievable details of what they had witnessed. The phantom armies re-appeared over several nights and were witnessed on Christmas Day by many people in “the same tumultuous and warlike manner.. fighting with as much spite and spleen as formerly”. When word of the miracle reached the King in Oxford, he dispatched six men of “good repute and integrity” to investigate the phenomena. They too were treated to a ghostly re-enactment of the dreadful battle and three of them, who had fought in the original conflict, actually recognised several of the ghostly combatants.

Edgehill is still said to occasionally echo with the spectral vestiges of the bloody skirmish. The hoof-beats of invisible cavalryman have been heard thundering down nearby roads in the dead of night, whilst the agonised screams of the wounded and dying are said to rend the air around which is still one of Warwickshire’s most striking hillsides.