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There has been some absolute drivel coming over the wire recently, with several publications devoting far more copy space than necessary (ie some) to report this utter non-story from Gloucester.
Predictably, the Daily Mail has got in on the action (proving once again that the Mail newsdesk is a hotbed of ambition and integrity) but the Metro, MSN and Yahoo have also stooped to dangerous new levels of desperation in order to fill column inches.
To be honest, I try not to even bother writing about Ghost Photography anymore, which might explain why posts on Looking For Ghosts are less frequent than they used to be. Perhaps I’ve developed an immunity to them over the years but, as the old saying goes, there are only so many photographs of blurry, indeterminate objects you can look at before you start to feel your intelligence being insulted. Embarrassingly, my limit was 647. I’ve reached saturation point.
As I no longer have the energy to appear enthusiastic about some dubious picture you can clearly see is the result of double-exposure/photoshopping/dust on the lens/shadows/delete as applicable, this will be the last Ghost Photograph post you see on this blog. It’s beneath me to write them and it’s certainly beneath you to read them. I can’t even be bothered to be cynical about it anymore as it’s become far too easy to be rewarding. Think of it like kicking a sleeping puppy in the face; enjoyable at first, but the feeling of victory soon starts to wear off.
Anyway, here is it:
Stupid, isn’t it? This “apparition” was “captured” by John Gore, 43, whilst he was taking photographs of his pet cats (why?!) at his home in Cheltenham, Gloucester.
Despite the fact that it’s the easily the least convincing Ghost Photograph in existence, Mr Gore and his girlfriend have given the “ghost” the nickname Johnny Junior and have conducted the following intensive scientific research to find out the spirit’s identity:
“I showed it to a lady over the road who has lived here for years. She said somebody who lived in the house before us had a child who died of cot death.”
Right, so that’s settled then. It’s good to see a thorough investigation take place.
For the last time, there is absolutely no logical reason for ghosts to show up on camera. It does not happen. Please, let’s put this to bed for once and for all.
For the love of ghosts, can somebody, ANYBODY, give me something more interesting to write about?
We all know that Americans love to sue. It’s what they’re famous for. Doctors, employers, plastic surgeons, fast food outlets; no one is safe from the ceaseless deluge of lawsuits across the pond. When Americans are not suing other people, they’re being sued themselves. It’s a right old sue-a-thon over there. I’ll probably get sued just for writing that.
Crass generalisations aside, this story in USA Today takes insanity to a whole new level even by American standards.
A couple in New Jersey are suing their landlord because they believe the house they rent from him is haunted. If you’re looking for further proof that mankind is doomed, read that sentence over and over until the degree of idiocy we’re dealing with here is fully absorbed. Ready? Great.
The couple, both in their mid-thirties, claim that they have been driven out of their home after being terrified by paranormal lunacy such as “lights that switch on and off by themselves, clothes and towels mysteriously ejected from closets, unintelligible whispering, footsteps in the kitchen and a mysterious force tugging at bedsheets during the night.” As such, they want their $2,250 deposit back and are going through the courts to get it.
They even have irrefutable proof that the house is haunted to back up their claims. Well, not so much irrefutable proof as just some people saying things, but still.
Marianne Brigando, co-founder of NJ Paranormal Investigators of Old Bridge (or Garbage Peddlers Extraordinaire), has conducted an investigation (ie stood around in their house for a bit) and supports the couple’s view that their home is the “site of an active or intelligent haunting, one level above a residual haunting.” An intelligent haunting? That’s ironic, considering that the house seems to have been an intelligence-free zone of late.
Also, isn’t it kind of in her best interests to convince people that ghosts are real? After all, if people didn’t believe in ghosts there would be technically no reason for people like her to even exist. I’m not saying she has an agenda or anything (even though she absolutely does), it just seems a little convenient that paranormal investigators will invariably find some “evidence” of ghosts in any situation where they are called upon. Shouldn’t someone be regulating this madness?
Pastor Terence Sullivan of the Element Church in North Brunswick, who, to be fair, is an expert in things that don’t exist, has counseled the family through the ordeal and even blessed the house, before reaching the conclusion that “demonic possession” is at work. Right, that settles it then. Case closed. Give them their money back, pronto.
Well, not so fast. In response to the lawsuit, USA Today reports that landlord Dr. Richard Lopez has filed a countersuit claiming that the couple is using “the specter of paranormal activity as a cover for personal financial troubles. In short, he claims they can’t afford the place and want their money back.” Seems plausible enough to me.
His attorney also says that no one else has ever claimed before that the house is haunted.
So who to believe? Some chancers who have seen too many horror films for their poor brains to process, fed a load of horseshit by crackpot “experts” of questionable merit, or an exasperated landlord who is just trying to earn an honest buck? Clue: it’s the landlord. Definitely believe the landlord.
Hilariously, some people commenting on the message board beneath the story have had the temerity to disagree with me and seem to support the couple. Some have even mumbled something about “Full Disclosure laws” and how the landlord was obligated to disclose that the house haunted before renting it to the couple. Yes, that makes a lot of sense:
“So this is the second bedroom…”
“And this is the bathroom. As you can see, it’s a good size.”
“Oh, and the whole place is swarming with malevolent demons who will mercilessly tear your life asunder.”
“Sounds perfect. Where do I sign?”
Anyway, why should he have to declare something that he doesn’t even believe in? He might as well warn them that the Tooth Fairy lives in the loft and that they share the communal garden with a family of leprechauns. It’s total fantasy.
Reading the comments was, in fact, more alarming than the premise of the story itself, full of worthy “you don’t know them so please don’t judge them” types with their silly “unexplained things do happen, ghosts could exist” views.
Look, let’s be absolutely clear on this: there is nothing wrong with judging people who have already proven beyond all doubt that they are total morons. It’s what separates us from primates. If we all just went around giving people the benefit of the doubt and accepting their deranged theories about ghosts and aliens and God knows what else, then who knows where we would be? People like this couple would probably rule the world, at which point we’d be better off praying for Armageddon so that the human race can start all over again.
The story even ends on a delightfully tenuous link to the The Amityville Horror, revealing with triumph that the film was filmed in the same town as the house in question. Coincidence?
Yes. A thousand times yes.
Ever had your neighbours complain about the noise? If you’ve ever been young and reckless, or lived in shared student accommodation, the chances are that you probably have.
Not me. Even as a student my nights were an unrelenting spiral of solitude and despair; hours and hours of crushing loneliness punctuated only by an occasional fit of sobbing.
If, however (and it’s an ‘if’ bigger than Westminster Abbey), I ever did get invited to a social gathering of any kind, I could only dream of thinking of an excuse as brilliant and audacious as this for keeping the whole street awake.
Despite an ever increasing pile of wine and cider bottles building up in her back garden, young mother Leanne Fennell (pictured below dressed as an X-Rated Sgt Bilko) insisted that a poltergeist is responsible for the noise pollution rather than her party lifestyle. Ms Fennell claimed that the fun-loving ghoul would turn the music up to full volume when she was fast asleep in bed, and then throw cans of beer into the garden. What? It could happen.
Surprisingly, no one was buying this version of events and she was soon turfed out of her council house and ordered to pay a hefty fine.
Despite commendable defiance in the face of mounting evidence against her, Fennell let herself down by admitting on her Facebook page that “I love to party with my mates, well, the ones who can keep up with me that is.” Her defence, far from watertight to begin with, was shattered and Hull magistrates court, the highest legal power there is, found Fennell guilty of four breaches of her noise abatement notice.
The Metro reported that “Council Officers also seized four televisions, four DVD players and a CD player, which will now be destroyed”, probably in a manner so cold and brutal it would have made the SS seem like the Samaritans. Isn’t that a pretty pointless punishment anyway? It’s not like she won’t figure out how to make noise using other means. It’s like punishing a serial thief by hiding their swag bag.
Anyway, maximum points to Leanne for effort but this serves as a chilling reminder that the ghosts will always find you out.
Have you ever read a local newspaper? I wouldn’t bother. Nothing exciting ever happens locally. I know that technically everything that happens in the world has to happen somewhere and will therefore obviously be local to someone, but you know what I mean. Not in your town. Not where you live.
As a student, I once did a work placement on a local newspaper in a nondescript town somewhere in the UK. It was rubbish. I regularly had to check my pulse to make sure I hadn’t slipped into a coma. The highlight of my time there was conducting a phone “interview” with someone who worked in a petrol station about a new road that was being built around the town. He told me to “fuck off” and then hung up. I took his advice and have never looked back. I probably owe more to that man than any careers advisor I have ever spoken to.
Well, now I’m running a paranormal blog and living the dream. Who’s laughing now, petrol station man? Still you? Oh. Well, fair enough.
Local news stories of any public interest whatsoever are extremely thin on the ground, and none more so than at the Forest of Dean and Wye Valley Review (snappy title, guys!) where the barrel has clearly been scraped dry.
Their headline report on The Haunted Bus Stop is nothing short of absurd; an extraordinary attempt to fill their pages with something other than advertising space, classified ads and “Hands Off Our Forest” campaigns. They do love their forests in Gloucestershire. They just can’t get enough of bloody forests.
Anyway, the report claims that a bus driver, who wisely wishes to remain anonymous in case his employers think he’s mentally ill and his family disown him, has seen a ghostly figure waiting at a bus stop en route to the town of Cinderford. Twice.
The first encounter happened at the end of a shift when he noticed a solitary man waiting at the side of the road. As it was past midnight and no bus was due, the driver thought he would be helpful and offer him a lift. However, once he had pulled over and had a look around, there was nobody in sight. “I wondered if it had just been a reflection in one of the glass panels,” he mused.
After thinking nothing of it and putting it out of his mind, it has happened again at the very same bus stop. A mere 18 MONTH LATER.
The Forest of Dean and Wye Valley Review claims that the driver “remembered the figure had looked exactly the same and was even looking in the same direction on both occasions.” Of course he did. Why wouldn’t he remember something totally insignificant that he had all but forgotten from a year and a half previous? I’m sure we all would.
Hilariously, the paper are appealing for information on any tragedy which might have taken place at this spot which would cause such frequent (well, two) paranormal sightings. There is a telephone number provided so why not give them a call? Go nuts. I’m definitely not encouraging anyone to make stuff up for a laugh. I’m just saying that it’s a possibility, that’s all. At least think about it.
Evidently not afraid to tackle the big issues, the paper is even running a poll asking the pertinent question: Do you believe a bus shelter can be haunted? Alarmingly, 73% have answered Yes.
Read that back, take your time. 73% of the people who have read this article are convinced that, yes, a bus shelter can be haunted. Surely that’s enough evidence to get the entire population of the Forest of Dean sectioned?
Other unrelated headlines in the Forest of Dean and Wye Valley recently include ‘Dogs Blamed For Attack On Llama’, ‘The Little Girl Who Moved Men To Tears’, ‘Pigs With A Point’ and, my personal favourite, ‘Animal Armageddon’.
I’m not making any of this up.
Proving once again that the internet is an ocean of stupidity, never short of willing participants eager to dive in and drown, Looking For Ghosts stumbled across this photo which has apparently gone “viral”.
For those of you who might have actually lived a worthwhile existence during the last couple of years and don’t understand the language of smug, media bores, the term “going viral” is used to describe something gaining inexplicable popularity on the internet. The opposite of this blog, essentially.
According to the Daily Mail, who took time out from their usual routine of castigating immigrants and casual homophobia to cover this extremely important story, the picture has “divided the internet between the people who can see it, and those who cannot.”
Really? Not meaning to question the infinite wisdom of the Daily Mail, but what about the conveniently-ignored third group of people who can clearly see the face but have concluded that it’s an obvious hoax? Without presuming to know every reader of this blog personally (although we suspect it wouldn’t take too long), we’d like to think that most of us fall into this category.
If you don’t fall into this category, ask yourself why a “demon” would be squashed under a sofa cushion. Then ask yourself why anyone would be taking a photo of a sofa in the first place.
In fact, it doesn’t even look like a demon: it’s just a normal face. There’s nothing remotely sinister about it. It’s not even making a scary expression or anything. The whole thing is absurd.
In order to try and disguise an obvious lack of material (something we would NEVER do), the article is padded out with some reactionary fluff from the world of Twitter, which is what Journalists do nowadays in lieu of actually having to do any work themselves. “It genuinely made me Jump when I saw it, be warned!” wrote Ryan Evans, sounding like a genuine moron.
Clearly struggling for content, the article lumps another unrelated “scary face” picture at the bottom of the article in a hilarious attempt to tie it all together. But this one’s even more farcical; it’s just one of the girl’s friends standing behind them.
If this is the kind of nonsense the internet is being used for, it should be taken away and replaced with a book.
Pete Doherty has to say some pretty demented things to keep himself in the news these days. Whereas once he would simply have to break wind to cause unbridled tabloid frenzy, now Doherty could probably soil himself live on Daybreak and no one would bat an eyelid. With the possible exception of Adrian Chiles, whose job it would be to clean it up.
Now that he’s not dating Kate Moss or creating music of any worth, Doherty’s star has faded so badly that even the NME, whose Journalists once queued up to give him blowjobs, no longer seem to care. Evidently Pete’s not even fashionable enough to appeal to the bovine readership of a magazine aimed squarely at people with an appalling taste in music, despite once being their poster boy. He’s so washed up even he isn’t sure who he is anymore.
Anyway, the former Libertine and hawker of shit music has apparently seen the ghost of his former friend Amy Winehouse, according to several newspaper reports.
The Sun claim that Doherty has fled to Paris after the ghost of Winehouse appeared to him at his Camden flat and is “too frightened to return”. A friend added that “he is utterly convinced that he has seen her ghost.”
“A lot of people will think his visions are probably drug-induced,” they added, accurately summing up the mood of absolutely everyone who reads the story, “but he claims he is clean.” Of course he does. But then again he once forced his cat to smoke from a crack pipe, so forgive us if we don’t take everything he says at face value.
Still, it comes to something if Pete Doherty has seen more ghosts than us. After all, he’s not even trying.
The problem we have here is that this story is simply too absurd to mock. It mocks itself. It’s just Pete’s junkie friends making up cheap stories, with scant regard for the grieving family of a much-loved singer. Doherty, and anyone who knows him, should be forced to move to Paris permanently and be beaten to death by burly Customs Officers should they ever try to return.
Anyone who has been subjected to the laughably self-indulgent second Libertines album will agree that punishment is more than fair.
Note: It was tempting to end this entry with a joke about how Pete Doherty had seen the sallow, haunting figure of a once talented musician in his flat, but then realised he was looking in a mirror. But we decided not to. We’re better than that.
Not much happening in the paranormal realm, folks. Not in these parts, anyway. It’s almost as if ghosts don’t exist or something. Weird.
With very little spookiness being reported in the national press recently, allow us to regurgitate some tawdry nonsense from a few months ago about police looking for ghosts in Scotland. Yeah, we know. It really has come to this.
In an article which does the Scottish Police force’s PR department absolutely no favours, STV reports that a recent Freedom of Information request has revealed numerous cases of police being called out to investigate paranormal activity, including UFO and ghost sightings.
Given this is Scotland we’re talking about, you’d think that officers would have better things to do than scurry about looking for ghouls like some kind of poorly-assembled Scooby Doo unit, but no. This is exactly what they’re doing, every single one of them, whilst citizens lie dying in the gutter. Probably.
STV explains that Tayside Police were contacted by one person claiming they were being “attacked by ghosts in their Dundee house” (no, that’s not a euphemism), but when officers arrived it was found that the “victim” was simply hallucinating. Which is probably just as well, because it must be pretty hard to arrest a ghost. The handcuffs would keep dropping onto the floor for a start.
The article goes on to talk about tedious and improbable UFO sightings, making a few hilarious Mulder and Scully references along the way, but the whole thing is such a yawning non-story that the fact that we’ve had to resort to writing about it is embarrassing for us. If anyone is still reading this, we apologise.
Actually, this whole debacle is summed up nicely by the following sentence: “… April 27, 2010, a Dundee resident reported a sighting of lights in the sky over the city, believed by the caller to be either UFOs or daybreak.”
That’s right: daybreak. Someone actually called the police because they saw the sun come up. Probably not something the Scottish Tourist Board want to draw too much attention to, but that’s the reality of living in Dundee.
Please, for the love of all things ghostly, let something vaguely interesting happen soon. The absolute dearth of decent paranormal material out there is really testing our faith.
We may spend a disproportionate amount of our time in pursuit of ghosts, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have our fingers firmly on the pulse of popular culture. In an effort to keep this blog as topical as we can, this post is dedicated to Glastonbury Festival, which takes place later this week.
For those of you lucky enough to have avoided the obligatory hype, Glastonbury is a festival of “music and performing arts” which takes place on a farm in Somerset every year. And, contrary to what people may tell you, it’s totally, unequivocally rubbish.
We hate Glastonbury Festival. We hate Glastonbury Festival without even having been to Glastonbury Festival. Anyone who goes to Glastonbury Festival, or even thinks about going to Glastonbury Festival, or who even says the words Glastobury Festival, or who writes a blog entry in which the words Glastonbury Festival are repeated ad nauseum, is an imbecile of towering proportions.
What started many years ago as a laid back, hippie-influenced love-fest has now evolved into a corporate, money-grabbing business empire with all the soul and atmosphere of a three-day marketing conference, where a man in a grey suit talks endlessly about sales targets and quarterly reviews.
Whereas many years ago pleasure-seeking locals could simply hop over the fence (or burrow beneath it) to avoid paying the extortionate entry fee, “Glasto” (as it’s affectionately called by utter morons) now has a multi-million pound security system which makes Alcatraz look positively welcoming. The parameters are patrolled by stormtroopers, who are programmed to shoot any revellers who try to gain unlawful access squarely in the back of the head without a hint of remorse. Even if they were probably just walking past.
Things aren’t much better even if you manage to successfully negotiate the Kafka-esque ticketing process and get in, where you’ll be charged roughly £4,800 for a pint of diluted lager whilst a group of insufferable public-school types (probably called Josh, or Toby, or Izzy) will try and hug you and inform you of what a “spiritual” time you’re all having. Anyone with a shred of intelligence or human empathy will have killed themselves by the end of the first day.
As we said, we know all of this without even having been to Glastonbury Festival.
Considering that spending three days in a muddy field listening to Coldplay seems about as enjoyable as spending three days repeatedly smashing your own forehead against a rusty nail, we don’t know why all the security is necessary. Most of the bands on this year’s line-up are so terrible that they should, to our minds, act as a deterrent to anyone who was planning on heading to Somerset during that period.
And if you’re thinking that this blog entry is just an excuse to spout anti-Glastonbury propaganda, you’re wrong. There is a ghost link, albeit it a very tenuous one:
The town of Glastonbury, according to reports which are definitely true and in no way made up by the pot-smoking, aromatherapy-admiring locals, is haunted. However, rather than a spectre that has been seen, this ghost takes the form of a smell which moves freely around the town centre.
Two words, people: Bob. Geldof.
After a quiet few months in the paranormal world, thank goodness we can rely on the Metro for ensuring ghosts remain in the public interest. Although a newspaper typically so tedious that it makes you feel like you’ve been ripped off despite the fact that it’s free, the London commuter’s rag of choice deserves special praise for publishing two equally preposterous ghost stories in quick succession.
Following the Texas child abuse story from last week, the Metro has now reported that a retired printer from Wales is being taught new songs (dramatic pause) by the ghost of John Lennon. We understand if you need to take a few moments to marvel at the sheer integrity and passion for hard news which must overwhelm the Metro’s newsroom.
Having recorded 50 of these songs, 56 year-old Mike Powell is planning on sending them to (God help us) Yoko Ono. Quite what she’s supposed to do with them we’re not sure, but considering she’s always looking for new and inventive ways to destroy the Beatles’ legacy she’s bound to think of something.
The problem we have is that it’s difficult to know where to begin picking holes in this story. Even presuming John Lennon’s ghost does exist (for most of us a gargantuan task in its own right), why on earth would he select someone with no musical ability to showcase his work from beyond the grave? Surely his son would have been a far better candidate or, at a push, Sir Paul McCartney. And if he was going to choose a musical novice as his representative on earth, he may as well have appeared to Ringo.
The real joke is that Mr Powell wasn’t even a fan of Lennon’s. He didn’t even like the Beatles. He wasn’t from Liverpool. This man had absolutely no connection to John Lennon, or the music industry in general, in any way. This story is so farcical that the Metro may as well have printed a summary of the plot of Scooby Doo 2: Monsters Unleashed as if it were a true series of events.
Anyway, we know what you’re all thinking: do the songs hold up? Has he managed to top Imagine? Decide for yourselves by listening to Yoko I Love You.
Personally, we prefer his earlier work. You know, from when he was alive and not having his name kicked through the dirt by desperate charlatans and fame-hungry maniacs like Mr Powell. And Yoko.
If running this blog has taught us anything, it’s that there is a certain stigma attached to being a paranormal enthusiast. As a topic most people take about as seriously as Morris Dancing, telling people you have even a fleeting interest in ghosts immediately invokes looks of pity or contempt. Either way, you’ll probably find yourself invited to far fewer parties. With your social status diminished to a low you never imagined possible, you might as well have told your friends you were a child molester.
One of the many problems we imagine paranormal enthusiasts often encounter is the lack of evidence to support their beliefs. “If ghosts exist,” many will scoff, “show me the evidence.” And then when you do try to show them some form of evidence, they’ll simply refute it with reasoning and logic. And, most likely, punch you in the face.
Frankly, when stories like this surface, it’s difficult to feel much sympathy.
This report from the expertly written and definitely not racist Daily Mail claims that a young family from Coventry (I know, but bear with us) have “fled their house in terror” after capturing poltergeist activity on video. Seriously, the Daily Mail again? We know it’s always looking for new and inventive ways to scare the life out of people, but it’s fast becoming the paranormal rag of choice. Who’s the Editor over there these days; Derek Acorah?
Anyway, the story drones on about phantom footsteps, doors slamming, lights flickering – the usual generic ghostly crap. Read it here if you’re interested; it’s far too dull to talk about at any length. Except for the bit about a dog flinging itself down the stairs. That was fairly amusing.
One thing you must do, however, is watch the accompanying video. This is the “evidence” the paranormal world has apparently been crying out for, and it takes the form of shaky video footage of a chair being pulled across a room on a piece of string.
“It’s like living in a scary movie,” wails Lisa Manning, mother of the family, although as a resident of Coventry this is presumably a sentence she’s uttered many times before.
Perhaps that’s the problem: knowing that this event took place in Coventry reduces the story’s credibility by approximately 98%. The other 2% is reduced by the canine suicide.
I think we can all agree that if, one day, irrefutable proof of ghosts does surface and there is to be a world-wide media storm, it isn’t going to happen in the Midlands.
Looking For Ghosts is always pleased when a ghost story is reported in the national press. Not because it lends credibility to the paranormal community (it doesn’t) but largely because it forces professional Journalists to write earnest features about orbs and use phrases like “things that go bump in the night” without a hint of irony. It’s probably not the Pulitzer-winning breakthrough story they dreamt of when they first joined the news desk as a fresh-faced, eager young graduate. As the article shuffles from one dubious eye-witness account to the next, the sense of the writer’s disappointment in their own work is almost palpable. It may as well have been written in tears.
Inevitably, by the time the article is complete, the transformation into a bitter, degraded old hack, scrambling around for tedious stories like a pig in the dirt, is complete. If the author in question is a Daily Mail Journalist, this makes the process all the more enjoyable. It’s like watching someone have a bucket of misery poured all over their dreams. Ha!
This is precisely what the newswire has thrown up at us today, as we’re fed this load of utter horse shit about a French couple who have spent over £3,000 on hotel bills after being run out of their home in Frodsham, Cheshire, by poltergeists.
The article explains how musician Jean Marc Mariole and his wife Charlotte are regularly forced to check into the local Holiday Inn during the early hours because of “stamping noises, flying blobs and even levitating bed sheets.” All of which sounds perfectly plausible, as long as you’re prepared to have your beliefs stretched to breaking point and the bit of your brain that filters out logic and common sense surgically removed.
According to the Mail, the couple have already invested £18,000 in decorating their “dream home”, which seems to consist of a rented flat above a butcher’s shop. It seems unlikely that this would ever be someone’s dream home; a flat above a butcher’s shop is not even the dream home of the Butcher in question. What were they living in before, a sewer? Also, as someone rightly points out in the comments section, why on earth would anyone invest £18,000 in decorating a rented flat? For that money, not to mention the £3,000 in hotel bills, they would have been much better off just moving somewhere else.
With the rationality of this couple looking decidedly fragile already, their ghost stories become increasingly hard to believe.
“It’s terrifying. We see black silhouettes on the walls and hear screams at night. Sometimes it sounds like a grown man crying,” explains Jean-Marc. Perhaps they live next door to a Daily Mail Journalist?
“The noise is very distressing – it’s like something out of a horror movie and does not help our sex life.” Thanks. That’s good to know. We were all wondering…
Anyway, read the whole story here if you want to be further repulsed by an old French couple rutting away like a couple of sweaty, grunting boars.
Don’t forget to inundate the Mail’s message board with hateful obscenities!
Fancy living in a Haunted House? No, didn’t think so.
Nor, it seems, does anyone. Wymering Manor, reportedly the most haunted manor house in the UK, was recently up for auction for £375,000 but failed to sell. Perhaps buyers were put off by the fact that this Grade 2 listed building needs roughly £150,000 worth of restoration work to stop it from crumbling down around them. Or perhaps it’s because it’s located in Portsmouth, Britain’s answer to Chernobyl.
But mainly, we suspect, it’s because it’s chock-full of ghosts. Around 20-30 of the bastards according to “investigators of the paranormal” (or “peddlers of bullshit” as they are known to everyone else).
As you’d expect with any house which is purportedly haunted, Wymering Manor comes complete with sudden drops in temperature, the sound of “children laughing and whispering” and “a host of unseen hands which reach out to touch those passing by.” Cryptically, it also lists “a ghostly choir of nuns who scuttle across the hall” as one of its features. God only knows what that must look like.
The former monastery, featured in the 1086 Domesday Book , boasts two “priest holes” (unfortunately not nearly as rude as it sounds) where Catholics hid to escape persecution. In Portsmouth, this could have been as recently as 2003.
Hilariously, security guards who patrol the manor have also attested that there is something “fairly spooky” going on, which is about as conclusive as it’s possible to get without actually seeing anything paranormal happen. Which we never will.
Amazingly, this absolute gem of a property is still on the market. Chartered surveyor Jeremy Lamb remains upbeat: “It’s certainly a unique selling point…” he offers hopefully.
So if you’ve got half a million to spare and fancy living in a decaying wreck with a load of ghouls whilst you question your own worthless existence, why not make a bid?
Alternatively, why not make your own haunted house? Follow these easy steps:
- Remain in your current house
- Turn the heating down
- Make up some stuff
Congratulations! You now live in Britain’s most haunted house. Why not call in some paranormal “experts” to agree with your laughable stories, nodding their heads in admiration as you tell them that your bathroom was built on an ancient burial ground? No one can disprove anything, you’ll be fine. You might even make the national news!
This story was brought to our attention by the ever-ludicrous Daily Mail, by the way. Read it in full here.
It has been a difficult few months for England Manager Fabio Capello.
Aside from England’s dreadful performance and subsequent early exit from the World Cup, the Italian was also left with egg on his face when his involvement with the controversial Capello Index was exposed. Both events prompted a fierce media backlash, with the press openly questioning his selection policy, tactics and more crucially, his integrity. After such a promising start, the cracks have started to appear.
Add to this the number of off-field issues he has been forced to address with his philandering players and he could be forgiven for simply giving up. John Terry’s unwillingness to keep “Terry Jnr” in his trousers, Ashley Cole’s abject refusal to honour his wedding vows (culminating in a very public divorce) and most recently Wayne Rooney’s penchant for visiting prostitutes must have tested Capello’s resolve to breaking point. Who was he coaching here, the England football team or the cast of Fatal Attraction? Things couldn’t get much worse for the under-pressure manager.
And then someone releases a story that you believe in ghosts. Great.
Yes, Chelsea manager Carlo Ancelotti has claimed in his autobiography that compatriot Capello used to be spooked by a presence in the coach’s room at Milanello, AC Milan’s training complex, during his time with the Italian club.
Ancelotti revealed: “The first time I walked into that room, I had a distinct impression. I could see an array of presences. I was sleeping in the bed that had belonged to Nereo Rocco, Arrigo Sacchi and Fabio Capello.
“In the old days, Capello – under the influence, I believe, of the director of the sports centre, Antore Peloso – used to claim that there was a ghost, wandering freely down the hallway, especially after sunset.”
Wow. Fabio is undoubtedly delighted that this story has surfaced. It’s probably just what he needs; an already-critical nation questioning his mental health. But Ancelotti isn’t done yet:
“I never understood which was crazier, Don Fabio or that ghost, who had decided to pick on him of all people. It really got to be a problem.”
Quite a problem indeed; an improbable presence occasionally wafting up a corridor at night. Sounds inconvenient to say the least. However did they cope? Carlo tells us:
“I can still see Capello, shoulders thrown back, chest swelling with righteous indignation: ‘Be gone, go **** yourself, evil spirit. This is not a team of dead men’.”
So say what you will about Capello’s ability to manage a football team, but may his powers of exorcism never be called into question.
Searching through some online audio clips recently, which is nowhere near as much fun as it probably sounds, Looking For Ghosts discovered an interesting debate on an American radio show from a few years ago. It featured Most Haunted’s Yvette Fielding, who had agreed to take part in a phone interview with the guys from US TV programme Ghost Hunters.
Fielding was, presumably, entering into what she thought would be an amicable discussion about the paranormal, a mutual interest of both parties. However, despite the two shows having an almost identical format, what followed was an astonishing attack on Fielding and the credibility of her beloved Most Haunted. You can hear it in all its punishing glory here.
Not wishing to take sides, or start an Anglo-American slanging match (after all, both shows are ostensibly bullshit), we couldn’t help but find this exchange a little unfair. As Fielding herself was keen to point out, when she wasn’t busy trying to defend herself from a verbal mauling, both shows share the same problem: they both address a subject matter that most people don’t take seriously. Transatlantic rivals they may be, but rather than squabbling, she reasoned, they should show some solidarity and work together to bring ghost hunting to “the masses”.
Despite making some salient points, Fielding didn’t come out of the debate very well. Clearly frustrated by the hostility shown towards her, she eventually lost her cool and resorted to personal attacks, hilariously retaliating that some of the Ghost Hunters team used to be plumbers. They gave her enough rope and, by rising to the bait, she duly hung herself.
Granted, she was outnumbered by two to one and she evidently came unprepared for such an argument (perhaps highlighting her own naivety), but the result was clear. In the end, she was a broken woman being mercilessly picked apart by her American counterparts.
But who is the real winner? And, more importantly, is there any value whatsoever in ghost hunting shows like these?
Most Haunted has more than its fair share of critics, with people seemingly queuing up to bring it into disrepute. This won’t have been helped by numerous tabloid reports that some aspects of the show are faked, including revelations by one of the show’s former stars, Dr Ciaran O’Keeffe, that viewers are being misled by “showmanship and dramatics.” He also makes the epoch-shattering claim that the show’s resident medium, Derek Acorah, can’t really talk to dead people. Hold the front page!
Derek Acorah is easily the least convincing medium on the planet. His thick Liverpudlian accent makes any spirits he’s supposed to be “channelling” sound like a deranged Ringo Starr, so he was never fooling anyone anyway. His only real purpose was to act as a comic interlude to break up the monotony of the rest of the show, which consists of some people standing in dark rooms listening very hard. He might as well have dressed up as a hotdog for all of the integrity he added to proceedings.
But all of this is irrelevant. No one watches Most Haunted because they believe what they are being shown is real, unless they are criminally stupid. You would have to have had several lobotomies to give any credence at all to the notion that any of the knocks or bangs captured on tape are caused by anything more than shuffling cameramen or warping floorboards.
What Most Haunted is, primarily, is entertainment. The “showmanship and dramatics” that O’Keefe is so eager to lament is actually what draws viewers in. And it obviously works: you don’t get to series number 14 without doing something right.
No Clean Hands
The tabloid negativity that Most Haunted has faced is evidently what fuelled the Ghost Hunters team when launching their assault on Fielding, but they too have been accused of exactly the same thing. Search for “Ghost Hunters fake” on YouTube and you will be shown hours of footage highlighting details of their own embellishments. There are no clean hands here.
They claim to approach the paranormal from a “scientific” angle, even though a ghost hunt is about as far away from a scientific experiment as it’s possible to get without actually living in a different galaxy from one altogether. Watching their team pratting about with scarcely-believable electrical gizmos is almost painfully embarrassing at times and only serves to make them look far too worthy and righteous for their own good. At least Most Haunted doesn’t take itself too seriously.
But Ghost Hunters also pulls in a big audience, so who cares? The common ground Fielding was alluding to is that both shows are in the business of making good television; whether you choose to use pseudo-science or theatrics in order to achieve this is surely immaterial.
By laying into Most Haunted, Ghost Hunters look like they’ve missed the point entirely. The point being that they are both peddlers of absolute garbage and they should just sit back and enjoy the spoils.
What do you think? Whether you agree or disagree, or even want to leave us some abuse we can masturbate to, we encourage you to leave your comments.
In fact we insist.
You may have seen our top ten paranormal films that we compiled a few months back. Lingering just outside that list was Burnt Offerings, a tour de force of paranormal cinematography.
For those of you who aren’t acquainted with the film, here’s a short synopsis:
Oliver Reed goes spastic and acts his socks off when an a haunted mansion sends him and his man-beast of a wife ga-ga. Here’s a sneak preview.
It’s great. Reed’s quality shines through and some chilling moments of genuine suspense (check out the swimming pool scene and the final minutes of the film). A slightly wonky support cast, including Bette Davis and Karen Black, add to the slightly peculiar feel of the movie.
The film works because you don’t actually see any ghosts. Just Oliver Reed and his family slowly deteriorating into a violent, bloody mess. Brillo.
However, Burnt Offerings didn’t quite make it into the Looking For Ghosts top ten paranormal films because it lacks inventiveness. Its storyline is a bit weak; bog-standard ghoul fare really. And, at times, it fells like a vehicle for Reed’s fantastic acting (which, incidentally, isn’t such a bad thing).
*MOVIE TRIVIA* The house used in Burnt Offerings is the same one that’s in So, I Married an Axe Murderer.
Visiting London’s ‘Magnificent Seven’ cemeteries was supposed to a haunting experience for Looking For Ghosts. Many tales of ghouls and spirits have surfaced from old burial grounds and we were anticipating myriad spook sightings.
In fact, we had quite the opposite experience. If anything, these wondrous spectacles of monuments and mausoleums serve as a reminder that, arguably, the only life after death is experienced in the messages on the weather-beaten gravestones that have survived for numerous years. Seeing rows upon rows of graves was a stark reminder of how ludicrous the concept of ghosts really does seem.
In Highgate Cemetery, we vaguely searched for the Highgate Vampire but, as it dawned on us that the story was so stupefyingly idiotic, we immediately halted and absorbed Highgate’s fantastic gothic architecture.
For those of you not familiar with Highgate’s most famous nocturnal character, we’ll explain what happened. Someone saw a goth visiting his granny’s grave. Case closed.
Similarly, Nunhead Cemetery features in the spooky tale of a “tall dark stranger”.
The peaceful surroundings and impressive architecture at the cemeteries in Highgate, Brompton and Kensal Green left a particular impression on us. Especially the detail and importance that the Victorian era placed on preserving the memory of the buried and entombed.
However, despite our belief in ghosts diminishing, we still scoured the cemeteries in search of nefarious spirits.
But there seems to be a lack of ghouls living in London’s cemeteries, even those we expected to be overwhelmed by spirits. The most interesting aspect of visiting the cemeteries was discovering who was buried where.
Abney Park: Salvation Army founder William Booth, the daughter of African slavery emancipator Olaudah Equiano, Joanna Vassa.
Brompton: founder of the V&A, the Royal Albert Hall, the 1851 Great Exhibition and inventor of the Crimbo card, Henry Cole, actor Brian Glover, leading suffragette Emmeline Pankhurst and anaesthetist John Snow.
Highgate: sci-fi author Douglas Adams, novelist Beryl Bainbridge, dog fan Charles Cruft, George Eliot, Michael Faraday, Alexander Litvinenko, Karl Marx, original punk Malcolm McLaren, comedian Max Wall and artist Felix Topolski.
Kensal Green: original computer nerd Charles Babbage, tightrope expert Charles Blondin, Isambard Kingdom Brunel and his father Marc Isambard Brunel, author Wilkie Collins, playwright Harold Pinter and novelist Anthony Trollope.
Tower Hamlets: Ahh…
West Norwood: Sir Henry Tate of gallery fame, CW Alcock, founder of test cricket and the FA cup.
Nevertheless, while visiting and researching these seven cemeteries and London’s other countless used and dis-used burial grounds, we began to understand that the city truly is necropolis – a home for the dead. The architecture and lay-out of London succumbs to the needs of the dead.
And, while searching Brompton Cemetery, we found a group of graves that were too worn to read. Among these half-submerged memorial lay the resting place of William Charles James Lewin, a murdered actor better known as William Terriss. It is the ghostly stories that suggest that Terriss does not, in fact, rest here but wanders the streets of London, that sent Looking For Ghosts to London’s theatreland in search of a glimpse of his ghoul.
As a result of the heat wave currently engulfing most of the UK, Looking For Ghosts felt an almost unnatural urge to get outside and get some sun on our faces. With our sallow complexions currently resembling custard as the closest colour match, it’s about bloody time.
So we headed for Highgate, a leafy, affluent North London suburb and, somewhat fortuitously, a haven for ghostly activity. How much fear we’d experience on a sunny Saturday lunchtime was unclear, but we figured it would be somewhere between “very little fear” and “no fear whatsoever”.
We noticed our first point of interest minutes after leaving the station. Ascending a steep pathway, stopping halfway up to peer through the foliage, we observed an abandoned train station in the mid-distance. This was originally built as part of London Underground’s Northern Heights project, but development was cancelled during the Second World War. Now the station stands empty, barely visible amidst mounds of twisting bracken, but there are several reports of a “ghost train” steaming along the tracks after dark. However, considering that no actual trains ever used this line makes this story about as credible as a Jeffrey Archer testimony.
Moving on we found ourselves in The Flask, another of London’s haunted pubs. Only slightly concerned that it was still technically morning, we sat down to ponder the pub’s history over a pint of something intoxicating and delicious. It is claimed a maidservant, who took her own life when an illicit romance turned sour, still frequents the pub and announces her presence with a sudden drop in temperature before going berserk with the lights and moving glasses along the bar. Yawn. Why can’t ghosts ever do anything more interesting than that? Flip the odd table over, maybe. Or put the Beastie Boys on the jukebox for four hours.
However, the Flask is an endearing pub with excellent food and even comes complete with a local lunatic who insisted on talking to us, for what seemed like an eternity, about soup. Perhaps he was a ghost? Frankly, we were too bored to check.
Leaving the pub we passed Pond Square, known in paranormal circles for being the site of a rather unusual haunting; the ghost of a chicken. No, we are not making this up. According to Walking Haunted London: “In 1943, one Terence Long was crossing Pond Square late at night when he heard the sound of horses hooves accompanied by the low rumble of carriage wheels. Suddenly, a loud raucous shriek, split the silence, and the ghostly chicken appeared before him and proceeded to race frantically around, before vanishing into thin air.” Alarmingly, this spectre has been seen several times since. Give us strength.
As laughable as the ghost chicken story undoubtedly is, at least it’s original. After all, if you’re going to make something up, make it interesting and faintly ridiculous rather than some vague and generic account of a jilted lover who slams doors and sometimes makes the air a bit chilly. Come on; get creative with your lies!
Slightly underwhelmed with Highgate’s supernatural offerings so far, we concluded our soirée by visiting somewhere ghouls were bound to be in abundance; Highgate Cemetery. Home to such luminaries as Karl Marx, George Eliot and, erm, Jeremy Beadle, surely this place would be alive (pardon the expression) with famous ghosts, swirling around the place with unbridled glee? Yes?
Well, what do you reckon? You’ll have to wait until our next post to find out…
Believe it or not, even a ghost hunter needs a holiday. But even when Looking For Ghosts were trundling down the runway at Heathrow, set for our week in the sun, we were still right near another reported spot of ghoulish activity.
On March 3rd 1948, a Sabena Douglas DC3 Dakota OO-AWH aircraft crashed in fog at the airport. Of the 22 passengers, 19 died. The ghost of one of the victims is said to roam Runway 1.
It is alleged that, in 1970, radar showed someone walking on this runway. Police were directed to the exact spot found nothing and were told they were driving through the blip on the radar monitor. A curious tale but surely one that can be attributed to a technology error.
However, the ghost has also been seen by human eyes. He is said to be tall, wearing a bowler hat and cavalry trousers. According to reports, shortly after the crash occurred, officials involved in the rescue of the passengers were approached by a man fitting this description, who then asked if they had found his briefcase. He disappeared before they could reply and was later found among the corpses that were retrieved from the wreckage.
This Pathé newsreel shows the wreckage. The flickering images of figures searching through the debris and torn metal are haunting enough without the thought that someone was already looking over their shoulders.
A chilling story for a mundane piece of tarmac.
However, why has this ghost only been witnessed by a handful of the millions of people that pass through Heathrow each year?
PS. Heathrow is also supposed to be haunted by the ghost of ex-Sex Pistol and ex-punk twat Sid Vicious after his mother accidently dropped his ashes on the runway. So also keep your eyes peeled for a talentless, drug-addled murderer whilst you’re ascending.
A few months ago, we launched the Looking For Ghosts Grand Ghost Poll to find out if our readership believed in our paranormal pals. You have voted in your multitudes and, although the poll is ongoing, a trend has already emerged.
It seems, unbelievably, that 63% of you believe in ghosts, while 25% of you have seen sense and voted “no”. An unfortunate 12% of readers didn’t know if they were coming or going.
Looking For Ghosts asks you, dear 63%, what’s wrong with you? Where is your evidence? Please let us know. Have you seen a ghost yourself? If so, please tell us all about it on our “Your Stories” page.
Meanwhile, our poll will continue (it’s down the left-hand side of this page). The outcome could still all change.
Ta-da! It’s the second installment of our regular perusal through the news for recent paranormal japes. Last time we gave you Jordan and Piers Morgan… but this time the celebrity thermometer is hitting boiling point with the world’s favourite transvestite, a bloated rock corpse, an ex-Blue Peter presenter and a famous film with actors nobody has heard of in it. Enjoy.
Lady GaGa is great isn’t he/she? No? Oh dear. Well, like it or loathe it, GaGa has seen a bloody ghost, so we have to feature it. According to well-loved British lie machine The Mirror, pop-tart GaGa spent three grand on ghoul catching equipment recently to rid its back-stage area (ohh err!) of bad spirits.
GaGa has a history with ghosts. Earlier this year, it claimed the ghost of its dead aunt saved it from coke addiction.
In other news, the lizard king himself Jim Morrison apparently haunts the toilet in a Santa Monica restaurant according to this entirely not-made-up report. The bog used to be the recording booth where the ex-Doors frontman recorded he vocals for the band’s hit LA Woman in 1970. Office manager Christine Chilcote steals the show by suggesting: “Funky things happen all the time we can’t explain.”
In many ways, customers could say they were pissing on the ghost of the Doors, which unfortunately, Ray Manzarek’s “tribute band”, The Doors of the 21st Century, have been doing for some time.
In news that has shook the ghost-hunting community to its very core, Yvette Fielding left her role as presenter of Most Haunted. Fielding, who also created Most Haunted, presented the “serious” ghost catching programme since 2002 but now, the future of the hilarious show hangs in the balance. We at Looking For Ghosts feel we must start a campaign to keep the programme going because of its monumentally high levels of entertainment. But we won’t.
Maybe Lady GaGa could replace her.
Also, good news for fans of scary films… the new trailer for Paranormal Activity 2 has been released into cinemas,earning a prompt ban in Texas for being too scary. Great stuff. Hopefully the film will be as good as the original, which came in at number 6 in our top ten paranormal films of all time.
Whilst our previous Ghost Photography features may have been unconvincing, this one isn’t quite so easy to dismiss. However, we will still give it our best shot.
This photograph of Wem Town Hall in Shropshire was taken by a local in 1995 as the building was burning to the ground. For those of you who are short of sight, there is a clear image of a little girl standing against a backdrop of flames.
The generally accepted story by slathering paranormal maniacs is that this is the ghost of Jane Churm, a girl who inadvertently destroyed many of Wem’s wooden houses in a similar fire in 1677. After being clumsy with a candle, much of Wem, including poor Jane, perished in the flames. Could it be that her spirit returned to watch the latest fire to ravage her town? Our instincts say yes. There is literally no other explanation.
Well, other than these:
- Double exposure. Accounting for roughly 90% of all “ghost photographs”, this is a common technical glitch which simply results in a previous image being superimposed over the last. It can be either intentional or unintentional , which leads us to…
- Lying. The Photographer could have simply tampered with the image and added the little girl in, as is the case with hundreds of other hoaxes. This may seem cynical, but it seems to us that if you’re the kind of person who stands there taking pictures of a burning building rather than rolling your sleeves up and getting busy with the hose, then you could very easily be the type of person who would make up a little girl ghost. Admittedly, an expert analysing the photo at the time claimed that: “the negative is a straightforward piece of black-and-white work and shows no sign of having been tampered with.” But he could be lying too. People lie all the time. This whole planet is a fetid sphere of stinking dung occupied solely by repulsive, hateful liars. Get used to it.
- Tragedy. This is a long shot, but the girl in question could just be a real girl trapped in the flames. Hopeful that someone will call the emergency services, all she got instead was some loon with a camera snapping away.
Anyway, that’s enough of our inconsequential opinions, get in touch and let us know what your inconsequential opinions are.
Inspired by the current football World Cup, Looking For Ghosts has been researching paranormal occurences in the world’s favourite sport.
The first story that we came across is that of the Ivory Coast, who are currently competing in the World Cup. When the team won the Africa Cup of Nations in 1992 after a marathon penalty shoot-out against Ghana, the supporters credited the victory to the witch doctors who had been employed by the country’s Ministry of Sport to aid the team. However, these witch doctors said that their services had never been paid for, thus cursing the Ivory Coast team. Error.
From then on the Ivory Coast won jot all. A decade later, the country’s defense minister apologised to the witch doctors and offered them $2,000 and asked them to work for the team again. Since then, obviously, the Ivory Coast have won… nothing. If anything, their luck has got worse; they lost the final of the 2006 Africa Cup of Nations to Egypt on penalties.
However, most of the cases of ghosts linked to the sport come from England, where it has been played for hundreds of years. For instance, the main stand at Crystal Palace’s ground Selhurst Park is reportedly haunted by Billy Callender, a popular goalkeeper for the London club. Callender was deeply affected by the death of his wife from polio and he supposedly hung himself from a crossbar in 1932. His ghost has been seen in the stands and his presence felt in the staff room.
Selhurst Park itself is supposedly built on an orchard cursed by gypsies. In 1977, then manager and fedora fan Malcolm Allison employed celebrity psychic Romark to lift the curse and subsequently the club’s luck. However, an argument about money ensued and Romark put another curse on Palace. The curse may, or may not, exist to this day. Any excuse for their crap form last season…
Curses are also rumoured to have hindered performances at Preston North End, Leeds United and Turkish team Fenerbache.
A boggart is supposed to be a malevolent fairy that follows a family and causes things to disappear, milk to sour, and dogs to go lame etc. Boggarts a quite common in folklore in the North of England and, legend has it, that before Burnley’s Turf Moor ground was built, the Bee Hole Boggart kidnapped and murdered people. The skin of one victim – an old woman – was found in a rose bush. Maybe he was the world’s first football hooligan.
You may well ask which team Looking For Ghosts support. Well, isn’t it obvious? The Ghosts of course! Formed in 1884, Fakenham Town play in the Eastern Counties League and are nicknamed The Ghosts. However, we’re unsure of why they have gained this moniker. Anyone out there that can shed some light on the subject, please let us know.
Slightly underwhelmed by the famous South Bridge vaults, Looking For Ghosts decided to cheer ourselves up with a drink. After all, where better to look for ghosts than at the bottom of a bottle? With this in mind, we headed to Whistlebinkies Live Music Bar on the South Bridge to drown our sorrows.
However, to our utter delight, we discovered that Whistlebinkies is a frequent haunt (pun very much intended) of some rather unearthly guests.
Built into the South Bridge vaults, the bar is an underground venue with claustrophobic rooms and cellars which occupy a fair amount of these sinister caverns.
Perhaps unsurprisingly the pub is said to experience some strange activity from not one but TWO resident ghouls. We could hardly believe our luck; we only went in for a couple of white wine spritzers, we weren’t expecting paranormal nirvana!
The first ghost, The Imp, is an unseen but often mischievous entity who apparently likes to wind up the staff. Locking them in cellars, moving stuff around, stopping clocks – this ghost seems like a right laugh. Hilarious stuff! Not at all annoying, we imagine.
Possibly the best trick The Imp has performed is peeling a barmaid’s orange when her back was turned which, if true, is actually quite helpful rather than impish. He should probably be haunting the Del Monte factory, not a pub.
The second entity is menacingly called The Watcher. Less inclined to interact with people than The Imp, the Watcher simply…watches people. With long hair and 17th Century clothing, he’s often seen at Whistelbinkies by staff and customers but he’s also been spotted in other areas of the vaults too. He was even mistaken for a tour guide on one occasion, which was presumably a pretty confusing hour and a half for one group of tourists.
Despite our initial joy, it soon became apparent that neither of these two spectral figures were going to show themselves to us, probably on account of us being English and therefore on the wrong side of the border.
In fact, the scariest thing we encountered at Whistlebinkies was the jukebox, which seemed to alternate between melancholic indie pop one minute to aggressive, American metal the next. Making our excuses, we left with the disappointing impression that much of Edinburgh’s ghoulish past is embellished to dupe suggestible visitors.
We’ve not had much luck searching for spooks in London, so we cast our nets further afield to North of the border. Edinburgh to be more precise. Said to be one of the most haunted cities going.
Whilst in Edinburgh, Looking For Ghosts visited the dreaded South Bridge Vaults. We had previously seen videos featuring such luminaries as Boyzone and Joe Swash visiting the vaults for a right old spookfest and we were intrigued enough to visit ourselves.
We were able to visit the vaults as part of the many ghost tours that are available in the city. A host of ghouls inhabit the vaults; the most prominent being Mr Boots, a bawdy ghost that has been heard swearing and is known to pull and tug at visitors.
Other residents of the vaults are numerous. Every source we checked (our tour guide, books, internet sites, YouTube videos) all seemed to have different stories. This made us wonder how many had been made up for the sake of making the vaults just that little more scary. The ghosts of children suffocating in a fire, the spectre of a jealous woman who only touches females, a spooky hound, the ghost of Chevy Chase’s career. Every paranormal aspect is down in the vaults. And it’s very hard to believe any of it.
One, very plausible, explanation for the amount of paranormal activity here, is the steady stream of traffic that flows above the vaults into the city centre. Vibrations from the roads above leak into the rooms below giving off strange sensations and sounds.
Lighting in the cavernous rooms is just right to make you feel like you’ve just caught a shadow moving in the corner of your eye. While sudden drips from the ceiling and noises in the distance are briefly alarming. However, despite the best theatrical efforts of our guide and the squeamishness of some of the other members of our tour, it was hard to find the vaults spooky. After all, it is a tourist attraction and the tour, however interesting it may be, does feel sterile. The amount of ghost stories told down there by the tour guide also become a bit overwhelming. Ghost overkill, if you like.
We’d like to say we broke back into the vaults later that night and were chased around by Mr Boots et al, but no, at Edinburgh Vaults you can only be spooked on appointment courtesy of an offical tour.
After compiling our list of top ten paranormal films, Looking For Ghosts were moved to remember a forgotten gem from the past; Ghostwatch.
Little known outside of the UK (and, by all accounts, not even that well known in the UK) Ghostwatch was a hoax documentary which the BBC aired on Halloween in 1992.
The premise was simple; a family in Northolt, West London were purported to be experiencing strange poltergeist activity in their house. This activity included unexplained noises, stuff moving around and phantom scratches appearing on their faces; the standard ghostly crap. The family, consisting of an exasperated mother and her two young daughters, were driven to distraction by all of this so naturally they called in a TV crew to help. The lack of a father is all too ominous; presumably he legged it when the banging started.
Ostensibly dated by today’s standards, at the time Ghostwatch put the spooks up any children who were allowed to stay up to watch it and was regarded as one of the most controversial television programmes of its time. The BBC switchboard registered 30,000 calls in the first hour alone, presumably all of which were complaints from angry parents.
Billed as a live investigation, the programme featured chat show legend Michael Parkinson from the comfort of the studio, with Sarah Greene and detestable scouser Craig Charles as the roving reporters at the scene.
The Ghostwatch team were there to discover the source of the activity and to try and make it stop, although exactly what Craig Charles is supposed to do in a situation like this is anyone’s guess. He spent the entire 90 minutes stood outside in the garden looking thoroughly disinterested, whilst Greene was given the unenviable task of spending the evening cowering with the terrified family inside the house.
In fact Charles’ only significant contribution comes near the end when the sight of a police car approaching the scene almost sends him into anaphylactic shock as, we suspect, he momentarily forgets he’s on TV.
The chemistry between the broadcasting team in general was hilariously poor; Greene being far too simpering and easily convinced, whilst cynical old Parky sat in the studio saying insightful things like “absolute nonsense” every time something vaguely paranormal occurs. If only he was this candid when he was interviewing, say, Bono about his latest album.
However, the main problem with Ghostwatch was the family themselves: a more charmless bunch of morons you’d struggle to assemble. Instantly irritating, they manage to make it almost impossible for a viewer to feel any hint of sympathy for them. Watching them try and act their way through an hour and a half of supposedly live coverage was as comfortable as watching a kitten being kicked around a room by someone wearing an iron boot. At times the dialogue was so forced and unnatural it felt like they were hostages being forced to read aloud a ransom note by some unseen kidnapper, lurking just out of shot with a revolver.
Anyway, after a quiet 45 minutes to lull you into a false sense of security, the ghostly events start coming thick and fast before reaching a conclusion of near apocalyptic proportions. Even Parky is forced to rethink his own set of beliefs and it is his final delivery to the camera, as he stands alone in the deserted studio, which remains one of the most chilling moments in TV history.
With woeful acting, tedious plot-twists and characters so unlikeable you’d happily crawl through a vat of molten faeces just to avoid them, Ghostwatch simply shouldn’t work. Yet somehow it does; its flaws only adding to its charm and character. And the fact that so many people believed it was real only goes to cement its status as one of the finest cult TV shows of all time.
Luckily for you, the whole show is available to watch for free online so you won’t have to spend hours painstakingly trying to track down the DVD like we did a few years back. Bastards.
Oh, this post contains spoilers by the way. Too late. It doesn’t matter anyway, it really does have to be seen to be believed. Or not believed. Whichever.
We here at Looking For Ghosts like a good practical joke. However, none of our pranks register on the same scale as ferryman John Overs, whose ingenious stunt not only resulted in him getting his skull mashed to pulp but also has a hand in a quirky ghost story. Thus, resulting in much paranormal mirth for us.
Mr Overs was reportedly a real-life Ebeneezer Scrooge. He treated his servants badly and prevented his daughter Mary from marrying the love of her life by refusing to cough up.
Now, in his infinite wisdom, Mr Overs pretended to be dead for a day, so that his servants would mourn. The ensuing fasting would save his house from paying for a day’s worth of food. Yeah, we know, what a tit.
What was running through the old miser’s head as he lay in a coffin, as his servants had a massive party, we will never know. But we should think it was something along he lines of “bollocks”, for as he raised out of the coffin in anger, one of his employees beat him to death, thinking he was a raised spirit.
Mary, free from her father’s clutches, sent for her lover so they could be wed. Unfortunately, Mary didn’t have much luck with the men in her life, as lover boy was chucked off his horse to his doom whilst he was hurrying to her.
Obviously frustrated with the ineptitude of the male race, Mary founded he priory of St Mary Overies. Today, the priory is named Southwark Cathedral.
And, for any sticklers out there, the cathedral retains the alternative name The Cathedral and Collegiate Church of St Saviour and St Mary Overie. We say sticklers, we mean losers.
Admittedly, there isn’t actually a ghost in this story but its contents were so bizarre it intrigued us greatly. It seems that if the ferryman’s servants hadn’t believed in ghosts then the cathedral in Southwark would not exist.
Needless to say, this lack of genuine paranormal evidence was getting us down. So Looking For Ghosts retreated to a place where ghouls and ghosts are plentiful… the local film rental shop!
We rented out some old favourites and delved into our film collection for a night or three of unparalleled horror. As we watched film after film of wooden acting, hilarious make-up and stupefying plot twists, it became clear to us that the best horror films are the ones that remain scary, even after numerous watches.
This can be said of The Blair Witch Project. Its realism scared the living daylights out of us as under-age patrons in the cinema and, eleven years later, its effect still remains. Also, did anyone know it’s based on a true story…
More recently, we’ve enjoyed REC, The Orphanage and Paranormal Activity. In addition to this we also cowered from The Ring and The Tale of Two Sisters, both efforts from Eastern cinema.
However, some of our favourites paranormal movies come from an era where special effects were not available. This, in fact, works in some films’ favour, giving them a believable quality. The Innocents and Whistle and I’ll Come To You fall into this category.
Here are Looking For Ghosts current top ten paranormal films:
1. The Blair Witch Project
2. The Exorcist
3. Ringu ( リング)
5. The Shining
6. Paranormal Activity
7. A Tale of Two Sisters (장화, 홍련)
8. The Orphanage
9. Whistle and I’ll Come To You
10. The Innocents
So there it is; our top ten. Just missing the cut was Nutty Professor Two: the Klumps and also Three Men and a Baby, possible one of the only movies ever to capture a ghost on film. No, not the ghost of Ted Danson’s career… look a little closer.
Nevertheless, we are far from horror film aficionados. We would like to hear from you what your favourite spooky films are. Be it old or new, a box office hit or an undiscovered gem. Please leave your comments.
Having rediscovered our ghost-hunting form, we continued our jaunt around haunted London.
The last couple of posts about churches may have been fairly interesting (mainly to us, we suspect) but were they really that scary? No. Standing atop a mound of buried bodies at Priory Church was fairly unsettling, but we wanted more than that. We wanted to soil ourselves with frightened glee.
With this in mind, our next stop would surely not disappoint; the most haunted house in London. Yes, you read that correctly – do not adjust your eyes. We really were going to the most haunted house. In London.
Arriving at 50 Berkeley Square on a drizzly Sunday afternoon, we were initially quite underwhelmed. On the face of it, it was just a normal house in snooty Mayfair. We couldn’t even go inside.
But the stories about this place are plentiful, each one more horrifying than the last.
In the late 19th Century, a nobleman apparently unconvinced by the ghoulish stories associated with the place agreed to spend a night alone in the most haunted room in the house. It was arranged that if he encountered any trouble he would ring the servant’s bell and his friends downstairs would come to the rescue.
Sometime around midnight they heard a faint ringing of the bell, which got louder and louder until it was almost deafening. By the time they had got upstairs and burst into the room, their disbelieving companion was sprawled on the floor with his face contorted in horror, eyes almost bulging from their sockets. He couldn’t speak to explain what filled him with such fright, but he was dead within the hour.
Blimey, if this place has got it in for cynics then we could be in serious trouble.
Understandably, 50 Berkeley Square was uninhabited for a long while after this with seemingly no one in London brave enough to house-share with a violent ghost.
Standing empty, the house still attracted reports of strange lights flickering in the windows, “disembodied screams” and, perhaps most chilling of all, the sound of a body being dragged down the stairs.
Eventually, two drunken sailors on shore leave stumbled upon the vacant house and, needing a dry place to rest, decided to break in. Not long after bedding down for the night they were awoken by heavy footsteps creeping up the wooden stairs, before a “hideous, shapeless, oozing mass” (no, not Chris Moyles) began to fill the room. One sailor managed to escape, but when he returned to the house with a policeman found his friend impaled on the metal railings outside the house with his face frozen with the familiar look of terror.
Fascinating stories but sadly, we suspect, stories nonetheless.
Why the house is haunted, no one knows. Theories range from the romantic (a jilted lover lived his remaining days in the house wandering around by candle light before, heartbroken, he took his own life) to the macabre (a Doctor locked his violent, lunatic brother in the attic until he died).
Whatever the reason, the house is famous amongst paranormal investigators for having a sinister and disturbing atmosphere, which is about as far away from scientific proof as it’s possible to get.
We noticed no such atmosphere and, despite pressing our faces against the front door, we noticed no significant feeling of despair or woe. No more than we normally carry, anyhow.
To contemplate our visit, Looking For Ghosts headed to Guy Ritchie’s nearby Punchbowl for a couple of ales where we encountered, no lie, an aging Clint Eastwood enjoying a meal with his family. By far the closest we’ve come to seeing a ghost so far.
Despondent from a lack of mummies at St Garlickhythe, we limped away to another church in the City of London. At the Priory Church of St Bartholomew-the-Great, near Smithfield market, we were met with an altogether different experience.
Now, if like us, you like to frequent graveyards in the darkness, you’ll realise that they are generally all quite spooky. However, Priory Church’s small graveyard is made all the more haunting when its grisly past is revealed.
Entering the churchyard at night is an experience in itself; old Tudor buildings border a shallow decline to the front of the church which is shrouded in deep shadow, away from electric light and the hubbub of the main street. To the left is the graveyard, which is much higher than the rest of the churchyard because of the extent of bodies piled up inside it.
The church is haunted by the eerie tunes of a phantom organist and by the ghost of its founder, a monk named Rahere. This spook is particularly miffed that one is sandals was nicked off is foot post-death.
However, even without the tales of ghosts, Priory Church is an unsettling place when the sun goes down. Unlike Looking For Ghosts‘ other favourite haunting churchyards – Christ Church Greyfriars and the Parish Church of St John in Hampstead - Priory Church is cut off from the rest of London by steep walls giving it a secluded yet deathly feel.
So, we’ve actually had a spooky experience! Praise be! Although, it didn’t actually feature a ghost. Still, it’s a start.
Now that we were out of the office and back on the ghost trail, Looking For Ghosts returned to the City to visit a location we had heard some fairly creepy stories about; St James Garlickhythe.
This picturesque church, nicknamed “Wren’s Lantern”, is tucked away on Garlick Hill by Upper Thames Street and was rebuilt by Sir Christopher Wren in 1683 after the original building was destroyed by the great fire. Thinking about it, the Great Fire of London was probably the best thing that ever happened to Christopher Wren, whose office rebuilt no fewer than 50 parish churches after the tragedy. Wonder how much he got for all of that? Quite a lot, we’re willing to wager. Not that we’re suggesting that it was in his best interests to start the fire in the first place or anything. It just seems pretty convenient.
Recent research has revealed the mummy is likely to date back to the 17th Century and could be one of the early Mayors of London, who were often buried here.
Several things have disturbed Jimmy’s rest over the years, including the church being hit by a bomb during the Blitz. After such events his spirit is often seen and heard on the site, possibly with his arms outsretched in front of him, making a low groaning sound as he walks. We just don’t know.
Many believe that the ghost of Jimmy Garlick is also responsible for items being moved around or mysteriously vanishing. Not surprised he’s so peeved; mummies are known to get easily wound up. Sorry.
Despite watching The Mummy Returns 17 times in preparation for our visit, the Looking For Ghosts team failed to spot Jimmy or his remains which have, sadly, been moved into the tower and out of public view.
And so, after studying numerous photographs, reading myriad charmless celebrity ghost stories and conducting extra research on our paranormal friends, we set out again in our never-ceasing search.
Looking For Ghosts travelled to the grand Apsley House on the corner of Hyde Park. Here, one of Britain’s biggest bastards has been seen as an apparition. And, for once, the person who saw the ghost isn’t some blithering eejit; it was our noble and forthright prime minister!
Arthur Wellesley was Tory Prime Minister (topical!) in 1832 when he caused outrage after opposing a Reform Bill. An enraged mob had gathered at Apsley House when, suddenly, the PM performed a U-turn and accepted the bill.
Why? Because of a ghost of course! Oliver Cromwell’s ghost obviously.
Legend has it that Cromwell appeared to Wellesley and cast his disapproving finger at the mob. Wellesley being quite the detective, deduced that this meant that he was making the wrong decision and thus, he gave an unexpected thumbs up to the bill.
Most probably the old Prime Minister didn’t want to be lynched by a revolting gang of ne’erdowells. What a wuss.
Unfortunately, we were far to eager in our ghost-gathering; we turned up too early to the house and it was closed. We will have to return another day to see the spot where Oliver Cromwell didn’t appear.
Footnote: Arthur Wellesley was the 1st Duke of Wellington who gave his name to the Wellington boot. Now, dear readers could a man with such sensible footwear really be mad enough to make up a ghost?
As we welcome the start of another glorious week, Looking For Ghosts brings you another instalment of our Ghost Photography series.
Ghost Child in Cemetery may sound like the title of a long forgotten Morrissey song, but it’s actually a “famous” ghost picture that has been doing the paranormal rounds for several decades.
Take a look. Horrifying, isn’t it? Go on, admit it; you almost soiled yourself when you saw it.
That’s okay. It’s not every day you see a huge, translucent baby sitting in a graveyard. Unless you spent your formative years doing mind-altering drugs, in which case ghosts are probably fairly low down on your list of problems.
According to legend, a woman named Mrs. Andrews was visiting the grave of her daughter who died at the ripe old age of 17. She saw nothing unusual when she took this photo, but when the film was developed she was astonished to see the image of a small child (whom she did not recognise) sitting happily at her daughter’s grave. Eerie!
Trouble is, the disproportion between the child and its surroundings coupled with the calm and playful expression on its cute little face would indicate nothing more than an unfortunate case of double exposure.
One internet account hilariously attempts to claim that “the ghost child seems to be aware of Mrs. Andrews since he or she is looking directly into the camera”.
Ghosts don’t pose for photographs!
This confirms what Looking For Ghosts have suspected for a long time: some people will believe any old shit.
So far, in our grand search for ghouls, we’ve not had much luck. We wouldn’t complain so much but it seems that there are people out there getting spooked all the time.
It looks like you might be more likely to come across a ghost while just minding your own business. Here, Looking For Ghosts highlights some of the lucky sods that have made the news around the world with their paranormal experiences.
We start with a case of ghosts fresh off the wires today. In a day centre in Wales, flying objects and over-excited printers have given workers the heeby-jeebies. A standard paranormal story? We’re just getting started.
For those of you who are not au fait with the model called Jordan, let us tell you now, she’s isn’t well known for her ghost hunting. Which makes it even more annoying that the orange-faced bint has been haunted by the apparition of a nurse. This story is replete with a terrifying picture of psychic blimp Russell Grant looking like a demented vicar.
In this tale of utter toss, we learn how a paranormal piece of rock was propelled at TV tosser Piers Morgan.
Not only are we subjected to a daft ghost story but we learn that the judges on X-Factor “asked for hot water bottles to keep their bums warm”. Thanks for that.
Finally, we pop over to New Zealand, where apparently an old building has been making strange noises. Well I never.
This story is made all the better by the picture of two gormless ghost hunters. The bloke on the right looks to be tackling the spooks with some sort of electrical kitchen appliance. What a tit. We all know all you need to catch a ghost is a butterfly net.
In conclusion, we’re moving to Wales, getting 34DD boob implants, keeping an eye out for rocks that move and stocking up on electric whisks.
Most people may know that the UK faces a crucial vote next week in the general election. However, what a lot of you may not know, is that there is an even more crucial vote that is taking place right now.
Yes, that’s right, the Looking For Ghosts Grand Ghost Poll, is a mere click away. Scroll down to find the most intense and rigorous paranormal poll that humankind has seen.
We intend to enter the results from the poll into a big computer to aid our long-suffering, and so far futile, search for ghouls.
Please vote. It’s below on the left. Ta.
If Looking For Ghosts has learned one thing from the whole ZOZO debacle it’s that the internet is awash with stupidity. For the most part, paranormal websites and forums tend to be frequented by people who are only a whisper away from being sectioned. These people, convinced they’ve seen a ghost, simply cannot wait to publish their scarcely believable accounts on the internet, often in near incomprehensible prose and with an enthusiasm which borders on manic.
It’s easy to sneer at other people’s efforts, but what a lot of people don’t realise is that it’s also a lot of fun too. So for your own amusement we have decided to link to our favourite worst stories here. Click on the story title to be transported to a land where logic, rational thought and basic grammar do not apply. Reader beware; the unquantifiable, half-baked theories and reactionary opinions within these accounts may cause you to have an aneurysm.
A visitor from France: This guy is being haunted by what we can only assume is some kind of electrical appliance. Observe how he describes, in unrelenting detail, the alterations in octave and pitch of the noise he heard with all the charisma of a record producer tirelessly describing the complexities of how he mixed Coldplay’s album. Comically boring.
Oh my, what the ….???!!!!??!: Never has a title so succinctly summed up the reader’s reaction. If you can work out what is happening here, then we’ll send you one of our famous Looking For Ghosts goody bags, consisting of a marmite sandwich and a Travelcard (zones 1-3 only). Frankly, we don’t have a clue.
A Visitor From England: This one is strangely brilliant. Be warned, there are no full stops so you’ll need to take a deep breath before attempting to read it. At first this story seems to consist of someone seeing a cat (not very scary), until the end when it takes a sinister, and frankly implausible, turn. Enjoy her pensive conclusion, as well.
There is a Ghost in my Room: Some nice butt-touching in this one. Perhaps the ghost of a serial pervert? Also, note how she clarifies that posters can’t talk. Thanks for that.
My Two Homes in England: As well as having an excellent opening line, this story features something far scarier than any ghost: Enya. A lot of the incidents in this story seem to draw from memories the author had when they were under the age of three, so perhaps take it with a large pinch (or an industrial-sized shovel) of salt.
The Shuffling Slippers: This story is unique in that it’s actually written by somebody with a faint grasp of the English language. In fact he obviously fancies himself as a bit of a wordsmith. This turns out to be his downfall, as he tries to be too clever and ends up looking a berk: “I frowned puzzledly ” is one such example. Still the best title of a ghost story we’ve ever seen.
Bedsit: Featuring glamorous Guildford, this story is actually strangely chilling. Two girls move in together (saucy) and soon all manner of paranormal hell breaks loose. Sort of. To be fair the clues where there when they first viewed the place, what with all the crucifixes lying around and such.
But don’t let our sneering pomposity stop you from posting your own ghost stories on this blog. We could always do with a laugh.
There’s not many things more terrifying than Dick van Dyke. Luckily for Looking For Ghosts, the world’s worst cockney wasn’t gracing the boards at Wimbledon Theatre in the latest interpretation of the flying car classic.
In fact we visited the theatre to seek the Grey Lady. This cackling head and torso appeared in one of the bedrooms of the theatre and has been accused of setting off the sprinkler system at the venue.
Another paranormal presence at the theatre is J B Mulholland, the original manager from 1910 who likes to return to the stalls to watch the new favourites.
We witnessed neither. However, we did hear some hideous wailing from the stage. We hope for the punters sake that it was a ghost and not rehearsals for Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.
Between boozing sessions in Hampstead’s antiquated pubs, we had to venture across the Heath. Reportedly used as a cruising ground for George Michael, Hampstead Heath is also one of North London’s most popular attractions.
Nearly 800 acres of woodland, lakes and rugged gorse make this space the perfect activity centre for a hot summer’s day. Swimming, rambling, cycling, bird-watching and cottaging are just some of the things that the thousands of Londoners who flock here every day can expect to enjoy. Why not take a Frisbee? Or enjoy a picnic whilst being tugged off by a senior Tory MP? The choices really are limitless.
We at Looking For Ghosts had other things on our minds, though. We were doing a different kind of cruising altogether: cruising for ghosts.
Back when Hampstead was a village on the outskirts of London, Highwaymen and robbers would hide out on the Heath to target the carriages of luminaries travelling in and out of the City. The tall, imposing trees and vast thickets made the perfect cover for sinister “Gentlemen of the road”.
Even to this day it isn’t considered unusual to be charged at by a phantom robber on horseback emerging from the trees, the hooves hitting the earth in silence even in full gallop.
So convinced was one lady she was about to be trampled, she threw herself to the ground and braced herself for the inevitable impact only to open her eyes several seconds later to find herself alone in the clearing.
All of this sounded promising, until we turned up one Saturday afternoon to discover that, even when cloudy and miserable, the Heath is one of the most populated places in the capital. There was even a marathon going on. In fact, there couldn’t have been more people on the Heath that day if they had been holding a nationwide People’s Convention, with extra bloody people. We literally couldn’t move for people.
All of which made for the least scary investigation we’ve done so far, with no sign at all of ghostly apparitions, wraiths or even Tree Spirits for that matter.
We did, however, talk to a very friendly gentleman who kindly informed us that if we were to come back at night, we’d find all manner of bandit just waiting to cover us in “ectoplasm”.
Sounds like a promising lead, we’ll keep you posted…
A lot of people like to drink alcohol. A lot of people like to get drunk. And a fair few people claim to have seen ghosts. See where we’re going with this?
Humans + alcohol = loads of bloody ghosts (H+A=GGGGGGGGGG!!)
We began at The Spaniard’s Inn at the peak of Hampstead Heath. Reputedly the home of highwayman Dick Turpin, customers have seen a shadowy figure striding around the pub in a domineering fashion. Black Bess’ haunted hoof beats are heard in the car park, while ghostly tugs at sleeves have been felt in Turpin’s bar.
While it is a fantastic pub, which no doubt has seen a lot of history in its 500+ years, it’s hard to be spooked by it when it’s packed to the rafters with tourists, clumsy waiters and whining children.
We plodded over Hampstead Heath, making sure to avoid any ghostly horsemen and found ourselves in Hampstead village. We recovered from our trek across the heath in The Flask Tavern. This pub is haunted by Monty, a former landlord who likes to pay the occasional visit to his pride and joy. In 1997, some definitely-not-pissed customers saw Monty moving tables and chairs around due to his annoyance at a recent refurbishment. We didn’t see Monty unfortunately, probably because we didn’t stay for long.
The pub benefits from an idyllic location and attractive interior, but on a negative point, all the customers seemed to know each other from a recent bank robbery they’d committed. Monty would not approve.
We re-located to the William IV. Legend has it that a doctor murdered his wife here and concealed her corpse in the pub’s cellar. Her ghost has ever since been a-haunting here. Obviously gagging for a pint. Although, we didn’t see here; she must have had a hangover. We stayed for a few more pints here, waiting for the second of the pub’s spooks to arrive.
The spectre of a young girl in a white shroud has been seen looking up at the pub from the high street. She is supposed to be a suicide victim that killed herself after some particularly atrocious dental treatment in a cunning tactic to avoid her next appointment. Maybe her ghost stands on the pavement thinking “bugger, maybe I should have just got battered here before having my molar done”. We raised a glass or two to her.
A bit of bush
We then stumbled through the back streets of Hampstead to the Holly Bush Inn. We trekked through graveyards, deserted streets and winding alleys, up and down the area’s hilly terrain. The secluded nature of Hampstead really reveals itself when wandering the sparse streets at night.
We finished our night with a few at the Holly Bush Inn, which is frequented by a phantom waitress. She didn’t serve us.
Let’s cut to the chase. We had quite a few drinksssh a we didn’t shee a sshingle bloody ghossshht.
That’ssh becausshhe they don’t exisssht. Right? I’ll tell you another thing, hic… I jusht felt shomething on me leg… What wassh that? Oh no, forget it… I pisshed meshelf again.
Sadly, we ended the day ghost-less. Half cut we flagged down the nearest ghost bus, paid the spectral driver and headed back to LFG HQ to hold each other’s hair as we vomited the night away.
After the disappointment of the Tree of Death, we at Looking For Ghosts were feeling despondent and disillusioned with the paranormal world. Why couldn’t someone throw us a ghost or two? Even the ghost of Rod Hull would have been a start. At this point we’re really not being fussy.
Trudging over from Green Park to neighbouring St James’s Park we were reminded of a tale involving the seemingly serene lake that tourists so gleefully flock to.
Little do they know, however, that the lake is an important aspect of a ghost story apparently so convincing that even the authorities seem to accept that it’s true.
In the 15th Century, so the story goes, a Sergeant in the military murdered his wife and to avoid her being identified he hacked her head off. As he was in the process of dumping the rest of the corpse in the lake he was disturbed by two soldiers returning to the nearby barracks. To this day, The Red Lady of St James’s Park is frequently spotted in a blood-stained smock, sometimes with the stump of her neck spurting blood, sauntering around the park looking for her head or, terrifyingly, rising slowly from the murky water.
In 1972 a motorist driving in the area crashed his car after seeing the apparition, only to be acquitted of dangerous driving after the court believed his tale. All of this leads us to ask why more misdemeanours aren’t blamed on ghosts? If only John Terry had been that creative with his excuses then England might still have a half-decent captain for the World Cup.
Try it yourselves. Late for work again? A poltergeist flung your alarm clock against the wall. Caught staring at a checkout girl’s chest? You were possessed by ZOZO. That hideous noise coming from your bedroom at night? Banshees. Help us fill the world with implausible ghost stories; if nothing else it will keep this blog in material for a lot longer.
Ever had the feeling you’ve been cheated?
When Johnny Rotten said this, we here at Looking For Ghosts know exactly how he felt.
For this is how we also felt when, on hearing about a haunted tree in Green Park, we were sorely let down by a thoroughly unspooky quest to find said frightening foliage. Imagine our chagrin when we discovered not one, but hundreds of trees in the royal park. All with branches. Gnarled branches.
The Tree of Death (whichever one it may be) is said to emanate a woeful feeling of melancholy. It has reputedly been the site of many suicides and, to add to an impressive list of questionable paranormal accolades, it is the source of a low unexplained gurgle and is avoided by even the parks animal residents.
Oh, and standard ghost-hunting fare; a shadow figure has been seen darting behind it on occasion.
We can report to you EXCLUSIVELY that none of these things happened while we prodded and inspected every bloody tree in the park. Seems like ghosts still don’t exist. What nonsense next? A ghost bus? Never mind the bollocks, here’s the ghost hunters.
Annoyingly, our paranormal quests often lead us into one of London’s many haunted pubs. Sometimes, if there are two or three haunted boozers in one area, the whole investigation can take on the form of a spectral pub-crawl; hour upon hour spent getting rat-arsed on flagons of ale and leering at attractive barmaids. The things we do for ghosts…
Returning to the City we settled in to the Viaduct Tavern in St Pauls, one of the last remaining examples of a Victorian London Gin Palace. Opposite the Old Bailey court house, the pub’s cellars still contain prison cells from the now demolished Newgate Prison. It is also supposedly home to some pretty frightening poltergeist activity.
Many staff members over the years have been disturbed by a particularly malevolent ghost, including the landlord in 1996 who, when stocking up on supplies, was locked in the cellar after the door slammed shut. Hearing his panicked shouts, his wife came down to let him out and found that the door, impossible to budge from the inside, could be easily opened from the outside. “Ha! Men…” She might have chuckled as her useless husband struggled upstairs with the Bacardi Breezers.
Add to that numerous tales of moving objects and terrified workmen and the Viaduct Tavern has built quite a reputation as one of London’s prime haunted sites.
To find out more Looking For Ghosts accosted a barman, who we figured would be thrilled to have his busy Friday night interrupted by a couple of half-cut ghost hunters.
As he led us down into the cells we were casually informed, with a mixture of sympathy and disdain, that tours of the cells are regularly requested by paranormal enthusiasts. With our social status diminished to the level usually reserved for those with leprosy, our doting guide ushered us inside. But had he ever experienced anything strange down here himself?
Easily the most unsettling place we’ve been so far, these cold, musty cells remain completely unused by anything other than cobwebs and damp. The eerie atmosphere is a huge contrast from the bustling City pub upstairs and provided us with a macabre insight into London’s grim Judiciary system.
Staggering outside after last orders we felt satisfied that our search for ghosts had taken us one step closer. But then again we always get emotional after a couple of Bombay Sapphires…
Now, there’s nothing we like better here at Looking For Ghosts than some spine-chilling ghost stories. Especially, if they claim to be true. So, imagine our unbound glee when we espied True Ghost Stories by George Finch in the library.
We were especially cock-a-hoop because of the book’s spooky front cover (below). A black cat with red eyes and some sort of phantasmal miasma surrounding it. Brilliant!
Now, we don’t profess to have read every ghost story compendium in the world BUT… this has to rank as one of the scariest ever. The monotonous prose, lack of coherent punctuation and absence of any bloody ghosts scared the living daylights out of us.
George Finch’s bid for Booker Prize is not helped by the fact that he’s a gibbering goon with an ever so slight grip on reality. The gist of these true stories is that George’s dead mother is following him around in spirit guise causing all sorts of mundane occurences.
Pigeon noises, erratic household appliances, spilt milk and funny noises. These are just some of the terror-inducing issues that George tackles in his brief, yet boring, accounts.
The book is full of astute observations such as: “We all know when you buy a wind-up clock, you wind it up and leave it to do its job; tell the time.”
Yep, that’s the harrowing tale of when George bought a clock that didn’t work and blamed his dead mother for cursing his failing luck in telling the time.
“We all have days when things go wrong, but mine was forever going on, like when I was transferring milk from a cardboard box from the Co-op into a bottle; I made sure everything was as it should be. I cleaned the place ready, and a nice clean bottle, then I opened the carton – somehow the milk was on the floor. How it happened, I just do not know.”
He transferring milk from a cardboard carton into a bottle? And the milk went on the floor? Eh? Didn’t he just drop the milk? And why does he need to clean everything beforehand? Does he have history of dropping milk cartons and blaming ghosts? Most confusing.
This goes on. And on. And on. With vacuum cleaners, radios, electric blankets, more milk. The Co-op does feature quite a bit, as do exotic locations such as Rotherham, Croydon and Bournemouth.
In its defence, the book is quaintly old-fashioned and charmingly English – “Flipping income tax!”.
But some of the chapters are nigh on unreadable. Confusing stories, peppered with phantom commas which appear in the middle of nowhere and are absent from where they’re supposed to be.
However, it is great entertainment reading the stories. Not because they’re ghost stories but because they’re just so rubbish.
In conclusion, if you want to read a book by some clumsy oaf who thinks his spirit mother is the root of all his mishaps, then this book is perfect for you. Actually, the joke’s on us; George got a book published and we’re doing this blog for free.
We’ll let George have the final nonsensical word:
“There’s one thing good about ghosts. If there are ghosts, then it proves for once and for always, that nobody dies. We either get buried in a grave, or lots of people get cremated – burnt. That’s what happens when you get cremated; only ashes are left of the body, that was once a body.
“If we were all to die, there would be no ghosts, but we do not, our souls live on as spirits in spirit“.
Still in West London, Looking For Ghosts ventured along Cambridge Gardens in fashionable Notting Hill.
Now, when we set out to investigate the paranormal we accepted that we would have our beliefs stretched, often to breaking point, on a semi-regular basis. However nothing quite prepared us for the tale we heard about a ghost bus. Yes, you read that right: a ghost bus.
There have been several sightings of the phantom no.7 throughout the decade, sometimes causing startled drivers to swerve out of the way to avoid the speeding double-decker. Witnesses would later deny there was any such vehicle in on the road (presumably because there wasn’t).
We did see a no. 7 bus, but it seemed pretty real to us. Not that we’ve ever used public transport; with a chartered jet to fly us to and from LFG Towers we have the luxury of arriving in style to all of our gruesome destinations.
To conclude, the very notion of ghost buses existing is so laughable that if you entertain the idea, even for a nano-second, then you may as well claim that Lord of the Rings is a documentary and live the rest of your life wrapped in tin foil in your bedroom claiming that Aliens are coming to get you.
Next on our ongoing search for paranormal friends, Looking For Ghosts visited Eaton Place in Belgravia. Sandwiched between the dim opulence of Knightsbridge and the gormless splendour of Sloane Square, it is no surprise that the ghoul that haunts this grand terrace is a posh div.
In 1893, Admiral Sir George Tryon was floating about in his boat Victoria off the coast of Syria. Our hero gave orders for his ship and the nearby Camperdown to sail merrily into each other. Clever move George.
Four hundred men died, including the loopy Admiral himself. Apparently, his last words were: “Oh bugger”.
At the exact time of his comeuppance, his spectre was seen by a room of party-goers at his home in Eaton Place. Preposterous really isn’t it? At the exact time we read this tale of idiocy on the high seas, we felt this spooky sensation of nauseous disbelief.
A load of old poop-deck.
More recently, Eaton Square has been home to more famous names: sexy food botherer Nigella Lawson and her husband Charles ‘artoholic’ Saatchi; professional eyebrow-raiser Roger Moore, Scarlett O’Hara (or Vivien Leigh to her friends), Roman Abramovich, Lord Boothby (he of questionable acquaintances), Neville Chamberlain, Jose Mourinho and last but not least, Sean Connery.
Churches, churches, churches. You can’t move for churches in London. So it was a relief when we stumbled upon The Old Red Cow; a haunted building in the City that isn’t a bloody church.
Rumour has it that the Barbican pub’s former owner, Dick O’Shea, can be seen in his rocking chair on the establishment’s balcony.
Nothing strange about that surely? Ah, but he died in 1981.
It’s a cosy pub with a suspiciously free jukebox and welcoming staff.
Unfortunately, Dick chose not to appear while we were there. So The Old Red Cow loses points on the hospitality front.
Still, the pub is located in part of London that is spookily quiet at weekends when the financial district is at its quietest. Located nearby are Smithfield market, several weathered graveyards and countless other ancient pubs, giving you a true sense of London’s history.
The City is the oldest quarter of London, yet now houses some the most modern skyscrapers in the metropolis. Old churches, pubs and cobbled streets are hidden from view by these new, towering structures, giving their existence a strange, off-kilter existence.
One of these older structures is St Botolph’s Without Bishopsgate, which sits behind Liverpool Street station and lies just opposite London’s newest skyscraper Heron Tower.
We visited St Botolph’s, hoping to catch a glimpse of this ghost.
Top right. On the balcony. Yeah, trust us. That’s supposed to be a ghost. That “ghost” was taken by Chris Brackley in 1982 while his was photographing a church that he says was only inhabited by him and his wife. Which begs the questions… Is his wife see-through?
Allegedly, a few years later, coffins were found in the wall of crypt revealing a preserved corpse of a woman who bore some sort of resemblance to the figure in the picture. Details are sketchy and wholly unconvincing.
So, Looking For Ghosts searched for this wispy madame but, unfortunately, did not find her. Probably because it was a smudge on the lens or, for want of a better word, bollocks.
Formerly a gothic church, the ruined gardens situated between the Old Bailey and St Paul’s Cathedral are allegedly the home to some feisty female ghosts.
This site was the last resting place of Isabella of France – the wife of Edward II and the mother of Edward III – who was given the dubious moniker of ‘She-wolf of France’. The conniving Queen consort plotted to depose her husband and, one night in September 1327, the King met with a death most foul. According to a rather teeth-clenching account, the monarch met his maker by way of ‘a kind of horn or funnel…thrust into his fundament through which a red hot spit was run up his bowels’. Hot stuff indeed.
Isabella was imprisoned by her son and died incarcerated. She was buried in her wedding dress at Greyfriars with the heart of Edward II on her chest. Lucky she was dead; red stains are a bugger to get out of white.
Apparently, Isabella’s beautiful but angry ghost can be seen at twilight still clutching her old man’s beating heart. Hell hath fury…
If one paranormal pin-up wasn’t enough for you, then maybe Lady Alice Hungerford will satisfy your needs. Alice, considered a great beauty of the Tudor Age – a time when false teeth and small pox scars were de rigueur among many high-class women.
Alice, like Isabella, was in a murderous mood. In 1523, she bumped off her husband with a dose of poison. She was put to death by boiling, which, even though it was nearly 500 years ago, seems like a ludicrous punishment. She too was interred at Greyfriars and she too spooks the graveyard.
Now this is were it gets saucy. Many years later, during the reign of Old Queen Vic, the spectral stunners were seen to be catfighting by a night-watchman. Ladies please. Let me loosen my tie.
So, when the Looking For Ghosts team turned up at Greyfriars in our dinner jackets, armed with red roses and Belgian chocolates, we were disappointed not to catch the slightest glimpse of these nocturnal nymphs.
Whilst we were in the City, we continued our search for ghouls by walking the short distance from Cornhill to Threadneedle Street and the Bank of England.
Standing outside these imposing metal doors many questions were racing through our minds. What dark secrets lie within? What of the strange, cryptic symbols emblazed on the doors? What time do you open? I’ve got a cheque to pay in.
The Bank of England houses one of the most famous London ghost stories of all time, that of the Lady in Black (or Black Nun) Sarah Whitehead.
We were confident of catching a glimpse, with us being something of a hit with the ladies and all…
In 1812 Philip Whitehead, a clerk at the bank, was found guilty of forgery and hanged. His sister, Sarah, was not informed of her brother’s execution until one day she turned up at the bank to ask of his whereabouts.
The news left Sarah devastated and she refused to accept his death, opting instead to turn up at the bank every day dressed in funeral attire to ask staff where her brother was. Eventually, the bank got so tired of her daily visits that they offered her a large sum of money to go away and never return.
A woman of principles, Sarah kept her promise. However, in death she was not so virtuous.
For several years after she died, late night city workers regularly encountered a lady, dressed in black robes, on Threadneedle Street or by Bank station always asking the same sorrowful question: “Have you seen my brother?”
Predictably, we didn’t see her. Either she was immune to our charms or, more plausibly, she never existed. Either way, our ghost count still stands at a paltry zero.
Now that we were suitably prepared, it was time for the Looking For Ghosts team to embark on our first hunt. We figured that a promising starting point would be the City of London itself, known as the “Square Mile”, whose grim and lurid past surely means that thousands of ghosts from centuries past spill out of every church, crypt and alleyway hidden away among the capital’s financial district.
With this in mind we stumbled across St Peter upon Cornhill, an ancient church curiously nestled between modern city buildings and designer boutiques, and soon discovered it boasts an interesting history.
According to an inscription in the churchyard, it is the oldest Christian church in Britain, with the original site founded by King Lucius in 187 AD.
Even if this is not the case (several churches in the UK have stated similar claims) the building, re-designed by Christopher Wren in 1687 after the original building was destroyed by the great fire, houses a more provocative tale.
In the nineteenth century, a vicar at this church noticed that plans for a building next door encroached on to church territory by a slight margin.
A bitter legal dispute ensued, with the architect forced to re-draw his plans. By way of revenge, he added three sinister stone gargoyles to the building to sneer down upon the churchgoers below.
The intimidating devil looming over the church door is said to be created in the image of the fastidious vicar (who by all accounts got just what he deserved for being such a kill-joy).
Verdict: whilst this building is of some historical significance (and the gargoyles are an unsettling sight on a gloomy Sunday afternoon in a largely deserted city), it’s no more haunted than your average branch of HMV. Ghost count so far stands at a pitiful zero. But we shall continue!
Catharine Arnold’s grimly fantastic book Necropolis: London and it Dead states that London is “above, a city thriving with life. Beneath, a city filled with the dead”.
Which is lucky, as the Looking For Ghosts crew – all two of us – happen to live in this very Necropolis. Spooks aplenty surely?
The coming posts will explore London’s most haunted buildings and areas. And, hopefully, we will be able to strecth our budget to reach further into the UK’s haunted regions.
Before we began our spooky search for the existence of ghosts, we referenced another book to find out what equipment we might need to help us catch sight of our intended targets.
How to be a Ghost Hunter by Richard Southall claims that a good ghost-hunting kit should include:
Microwave Radiation or Electromagnetic Detectors – oh yeah just happened to have them in my bedroom
Pad of Paper and Pen
Watch or Stopwatch
Laptop Computer - Mr Southall obviously wants us to be prime mugging targets
Flour - to bake a cake for any hungry ghosts?
Thread - for extra jumpers in case of inclement weather?
We studied this list and decided that our eyeballs and and a couple of cameras are the most useful tools at our disposal. Don’t expect any terrifying photgraphs of ectoplasm-dripping phantoms but we’ll try. Oh, and if we get bored we might chuck a bag of flour at a ghoul or two.