Post by Graveyardbride on Oct 26, 2013 17:07:06 GMT -5
The Ghoulish Ghosts of Greyfriars
If there is any truth to the theory that buildings record the events that take place within them and walls are charged with the energy, personalities and emotions of those who have lived therein, then the area in and around London’s Greyfriars Churchyard has nigh on 2,000 years and hundreds of thousands of incidents crackling within its ancient fabric. It is here that a 16th century gatehouse stands cheek-by-jowl alongside a marvelous Norman church and a cherubic fat boy marks the spot where the Great Fire of London ended in 1666. It is where the Romans constructed sturdy walls to protect their city of Londinium and much later, magnificent medieval monasteries flourished. Additionally, some of London’s grimmest prison stood in this area and citizens in the thousands flocked to the square on execution days to witness macabre spectacles.
Greyfriars Passage and Two Murderous Wives. The location around Christ Church Greyfriars (above) is the site of an ancient burial ground wherein lie the mortal remains of the “She-Wolf of France,” Queen Isabella, wife of King Edward II. With her lover, Roger Mortimer, she instigated the overthrow of the king and had him imprisoned at Berkeley Castle. On the night of September 21, 1327, the king was brutally murdered by means of a “kind of horn or funnel ... thrust into his fundament through which a red hot spit was run up his bowels.” His screams could be heard far outside the thick castle walls and are still heard on the anniversary of the horrific event. Isabella and Mortimer’s reign was short-lived for in 1330, Isabella’s son, Edward III, deposed and executed Mortimer and claimed his rightful throne. Isabella lived in considerable style until her death in 1358 and was buried at Greyfriars, with the heart of Edward II placed on her chest. (She had been presented the heart in a silver casket when her husband died in 1327.) At twilight, her beautiful, but angry, spirit flits about among the trees and shrubs, clutching the beating and bleeding heart of her murdered husband in her hands.
Lady Alice Hungerford was a great Tudor beauty and she, too, murdered her spouse, in her case, with a lethal dose of poison. In 1525, she was boiled alive for her heinous crime and she, too, was laid to rest at Greyfriars, where her lovely, serene specter was sometimes soon drifting through the cloisters and aisles of the monastery. Following the Dissolution of the Monasteries, a wraith, believed to be that of Lady Alice, has occasionally been reported in the graveyard that sprang up on the site.
Witchcraft at the Central Criminal Courts. At the corner of Giltspur Street and Old Bailey, stands the criminal courts buildings, better known as the Old Bailey (above). The site was once occupied by Newgate Prison and public executions were carried out on the square from 1783 until 1868, some of which drew as many as 20,000 jostling spectators vying for the best positions to watch the grisly exhibitions. The prison was demolished in the early 1900s and the court buildings erected. The courts are open to the public and visitors are invited to attend trials and other proceedings.
It might come as a surprise to some to learn the last witchcraft trial in England was held at the Old Bailey as recently as March 1944. The unfortunate defendant was the Scottish medium, Mrs. Helen Duncan. The specific charge against her wasn’t witchcraft, but pretending to “raise the spirits of the dead.” The case so annoyed Winston Churchill that he fired off a an angry missive to the House Secretary demanding to know why the 1735 Witchcraft Act was “being used in a modern court of justice.” The defense even offered to hold a séance in the courtroom and allow the dead to testify on Mrs. Duncan’s behalf, but the judge, disappointingly, declined the offer. The unfortunate medium was found guilty and spent nine months in Pentonville Prison. Her supporters maintain her trial and imprisonment were the result of official paranoia because the government actually feared she might “see” and reveal the preparations for the D-Day landings. As a direct result of the trial, the Witchcraft Act was repealed in 1951 and replaced by the Fraudulent Medium’s Act.
Poltergeist of the Viaduct Tavern. This pub (above), on the corner opposite the courts, dates to 1875 and is London’s last surviving example of a late Victorian gin palace. It also is prone to poltergeist activity. The entity inhabiting the pub is infamous for taking customer’s drinks when they aren’t looking and switching the lights off in the ladies’ room. Much of the activity emanates from the cellars, which patrons are allowed to visit provided a member of staff is available to accompany them. The first thing people notice as they descend the flight of creaking, rickety steps to the cellar, is the sudden drop in temperature. Two heavy, wooden doors lead to an inner section that smells musty and damp and contains five brick cavities set back from the main cellar. Standing in the far cavity to the right – where several mediums have sensed “something” – visitors are often overcome by a feeling of melancholy. The light in the room is dim and shadows creep up the walls and spread across the ceilings. Some members of staff refuse to work in the cellar alone for they know that entering this area of the pub unaccompanied leaves them open to the unwelcome attentions of “Fred,” the resident ghost. A manager tidying the end room one Saturday morning was suddenly plunged into darkness when all the lights went out. Feeling his way to the door, he found, to his dismay, that it would not open. Fortunately, his wife heard his frantic screams and discovered the doors – which would not open from the inside – were unlocked and easily pushed open from without.
The Golden Boy of Pye Corner. The Golden Boy (above) on the wall marks the spot where the Great Fire burned itself out in 1666. The fact the fire began in Pudding Lane and finished at Pye Corner was considered by Londoners a clear sign from God that the conflagration was punishment for their overindulgence, hence, the writing beneath the Golden Boy:
This boy is in memory put up for the Late Fire of London
Occasion’d by the Sin of Gluttony 1666
Weird Tales of St. Bartholomew’s Hospital and Smithfield. Above the main hospital gate, built in 1702 by stonemasons working on St. Paul’s Cathedral, is the only statue of Henry VIII in London. And in the depths of the city’s oldest hospital is the “Coffin Lift.” During the silent hours of early morning, the elevator has been known to take bemused passengers down to the basement, irrespective of their destinations. The story is that a nurse was once murdered in the elevator and it is her spirit causing the malfunction, which leaves staff members stranded in the dark underbelly of the building. Many who take the stairs from the basement level find to their horror that the lift begins to move up the well around which the stairs twist following their progress from level to level. The hospital also is haunted by the “Grey Lady” of Grace Ward, said to be the ghost of a nurse who administered a fatal overdose to a patient and, in her remorse, committed suicide. Nurses have reported feeling what they describe as a light tap on their shoulders, after which they suddenly become aware of the apparition shaking her head in warning.
Farther along Giltspur Street one can still see the shrapnel damage from a 1916 Zeppelin raid. Additionally, in August 1345, Sir William Wallace was executed at this location, which was then known as Smoothfield (now Smithfield). This wide open space was the site of public executions and many unfortunate souls suffered a variety of gruesome deaths that included boiling and being roasted alive. During the reign of Queen Mary Tudor, more than 200 Protestants were put to death and many were burnt at Smithfield. “Bloody Mary” insisted that green wood be used for the burnings because it smoked and victims were likely to suffocate before suffering the full agony of the flames. Today, black cabs park where the stake once stood and trucks arrive from all over Europe, offloading animal carcasses for the Smithfield Meat Market, opposite. Nonetheless, those who work in the area say that sometimes, early on misty mornings, the smell of burning flesh wafts across the square and occasionally, someone hears a faint, yet bloodcurdling, scream of unknown origin.
As one passes through St. Bartholomew’s Gate underneath an Elizabethan structure dating to 1595, an uneven flagstone path passes by a churchyard wherein the tombs are some six feet above street level as a result of numerous corpses buried one atop the other.
Priory Church of St. Bartholomew the Great. The pathway leading to the entrance of London’s oldest parish church (above) slopes downward and the ancient structure is overhung by huge trees, the gnarled branches of which reach across and scratch its dark, flintstone exterior. Founded in the 12th century by a monk named Rahere, who began his career as a jester to the Court of King Henry I, the air within the dimly lit house of worship, now surrounded by a concrete jungle, is heavy and musty even on a bright summer’s day. Beneath the floor in dusty vaults that have not seen daylight in many years lie those who worshiped here in the 17th, 18th and 19th centuries. Occasionally, the silence is shattered by an unseen organist, whose tuneful wailing bounces off the walls, rebounds along the aisles and fades into the gloomy shadows of the building’s hidden recesses. Massive stone pillars and graceful arches span walls that literally drip with atmosphere.
To the left of the altar is the tomb of Rahere, the stonework at the rear revealing the results of a hasty repair carried out in the 19th century when authorities decided to check the state of the founder’s body. It was well-preserved and even his clothing and sandals were still intact. Two days later, one of the officers of the church fell ill and confessed that when the tomb was opened, he had taken a sandal. He returned it and recovered from his illness, but the shoe was never replaced on the foot of its rightful owner and since that time, Rahere has haunted the church as a shadowy, cowled figure, who appears from the gloom, brushes by astonished visitors and fades slowly into thin air. However, on some occasions, usually during the month of July, he is more active. Early in the 20th century, the Reverend W.F.G. Sandwich was showing two ladies around the church when he saw a monk standing in the pulpit silently delivering an animated sermon to an unseen congregation. The ladies apparently saw nothing, but to be certain, Sandwich directed their attention to the pulpit, observing, “I don’t think that pulpit is worthy of the church, do you?” The visitors merely nodded in agreement, obviously unaware of the phantom monk.
Ye Old Red Cow. On nearby Long Lane, one comes to Ye Old Red Cow, a pub that was for many years under the tenancy of Dick O’Shea, a colorful Irishman who attracted the likes of Bernard Miles and Peter Ustinov to try his legendary hot whisky toddies. The pub opened at 6:30 a.m., serving the workers after their evening duties at Smithfield Market, opposite. Dick would sit in his rocking char on the upper balcony keeping a proprietary eye on his customers below. He died in 1981 but, for almost a year afterward, regulars often caught sight of his apparition sitting on the balcony, rocking back and forth, as genial and watchful a host in death as in life. Sadly, the pub has been radically altered and the balcony is no more.
Sources: Britain's Haunted Heritage by J. A. Brooks; The Good Ghost Guide by John Brooks; Paula and John Conway, "Spirits Wander: the Streets and Landmarks of Historic London," The Milford Daily News, Milford, Mass., October 29, 2003; Walking Haunted London by Richard Jones; Great Saint Bartholomew; Ghost & Vampire Tours of London; and Scandalous Women.