Mysteries and Legends of Essex Churches and Churchyards
Mar 14, 2021 18:26:19 GMT -5
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(3) St. Michael's Tower, Pitsea
Mysteries and Legends of Essex Churches and Churchyards
Spectral religious figures and graveyards are mainstays of British ghost stories and there are those who believe man-made structures somehow absorb human emotions. If true, then churches – where both the most joyful occasions of life (e.g., christenings and weddings) are held, as well as the saddest (funerals) – should be among the most haunted places on Earth.
The majority of English-speaking individuals with even so much as a passing interest in the supernatural are aware many British churches are hotbeds of paranormal activity, as well as other strange occurrences. Because there are so many haunted churches throughout the United Kingdom, the following list is confined to the churches and churchyards of the county of Essex, of which there are 24. For those who may not know, Essex is the county in which Borley Rectory, once known as the most haunted house in England, is located. Although the old rectory burned down in 1939, many believe at least some of the many ghosts that stalked its dark corridors and atmospheric grounds now haunt nearby Borley Church.
(1) Rom River (Romford). Heading north from London, the first “haunting” is attached to the Rom River, not an extant church. Many years ago, the prior of Hornchurch Priory applied to the king for permission to construct a chapel of ease. Unfortunately, the chapel, dedicated to St. Andrew, was situated a little too close to the Rom and every time the river overflowed its banks, the foundations were compromised. Additionally, as the settlement grew, the rather small edifice would no longer accommodate the increasing number of parishioners and a new chapel – consecrated in 1410 – was erected in the marketplace. Eventually, the old chapel of ease sank into the river and it is said that at noon every St. Andrew’s Day (November 30), a peal of sunken bells rings out from the murky depths of the Rom River. The sunken chapel was located just south of Oldchurch Road near its intersection with South Street. Unfortunately, approximately 120 feet of the river in said location now flows beneath a parking lot, so even if the phantom bells still ring, it’s doubtful anyone could hear them.
(2) Holy Cross Church (Basildon). A little more than 15 miles east brings one to this unappealing town of 107,000, where an ugly street light-type illumination is attached to the tower of its ancient church. The nave of Holy Cross Church dates to the 14th century, the chancel of handmade Elizabethan red brick was added in 1597 and the tenor bell, cast by William Chamberlain, is almost 600-years-old. Even today, surrounded as it is by unattractive rental housing, the edifice and churchyard convey a sense of tranquility.
For several centuries, people have reported seeing the apparition of what appears to be a monk in red robes floating about the churchyard. Two former priests of Holy Cross had been monks, one a member of the Franciscan order and the other Dominican, but Franciscans wear brown and the habits of Dominicans consist of a white tunic and black cappa (a long, loose, sleeveless outer garment). Because the phantom monk of Holy Cross manifests in red, some have surmised he is a cardinal. Others suggest he may have been a renegade monk who dabbled in the Black Arts. One witness who saw the spirit twice in 1964 remarked, “The second time I saw the monk, I cycled right through him. The air was cold and clammy. I went numb all over and could not speak.”
A former curate at Basildon denied ever seeing the ghost, but admitted there were occasions when he was working in the church alone and would hear someone walk onto the porch and hesitate, as though reluctant to open the door. Each time this happened, he interrupted his work and opened door, but no one was ever there.
In the 20th century, a rumor among young people claimed that running around Holy Cross counterclockwise on Halloween night would raise the scarlet-clad spirit.
(3) St. Michael’s Tower (Pitsea). Just south of Basildon is Pitsea and the lonely tower of St. Michael’s Church on Pitsea Mount, all that is left of a once important place of worship. Records indicate locals had worshiped atop the hill for centuries, the most recent structure dating to 1871, with the exception of the tower believed to have been constructed in the 16th century. Unfortunately, because of structural defects and a shifting population, by 1975, the church was all but abandoned, the last wedding having been held on May 24 of that year. Despite a nearby housing development, which church officials hoped would add to the congregation, the final service took place in 1982 and in March 1983, St. Michael’s was declared redundant.
Today, all that remains of St. Michael’s and its churchyard are the tower and the “witch’s grave,” a name bestowed upon the final resting place of Ann Freeman bearing the enigmatic epitaph:
ANN
FREEMAN
Born: 30th March 1837
Died: 20th March 1879
HERE LIES A WEAK AND SINFUL WORM
THE VILEST OF HER RACE.
SAVED THROUGH GOD’S ELECTING LOVE,
HIS FREE AND SOVEREIGN GRACE
FREEMAN
Born: 30th March 1837
Died: 20th March 1879
HERE LIES A WEAK AND SINFUL WORM
THE VILEST OF HER RACE.
SAVED THROUGH GOD’S ELECTING LOVE,
HIS FREE AND SOVEREIGN GRACE
While provocative, the stone marks the resting places of not only Mrs. Freeman, but her husband and two daughters. The inscription actually addresses original sin and the fact we are all destined to die as helpless worms and it is by God’s grace alone that we are anything more.
Although their graves are now unmarked, whatever, if anything, is left of those buried in the now defunct churchyard still lie beneath the sod and the location is said to be haunted by a pair of Black Shuck-type graveyard dogs. According to a story from the late 1980s or early 90s, a group of teenagers visiting the witch’s grave were frightened by two phantom hellhounds that snarled and threatened them in unison prior to disappearing into thin air. Shortly thereafter, the thrill-seekers returned to the location with a Ouija board with the intention of raising the spirit of the witch, but instead deluded themselves into believing they had raised the Devil. The following day, one of the boys who had participated in the séance was allegedly found dead in his bed and this has led the superstitions to believe the black dogs of St. Michael’s are a portent of death.
(4) St. Margaret of Antioch Church (Bowers Gifford). A little farther east is the small village of Bowers Gifford, now surrounded by open fields. A narrow one-lane road leads to the church, where locals have reported hearing the organ playing inside when no one is about. In the mid-20th century, four boys visited St. Margaret’s one summer evening and took turns sitting alone inside the nave. Three of them heard and saw nothing, but as the fourth was languishing in the dim light of the empty house of God, the organ commenced playing. The lad rushed outside, where his friends also heard the music and accused him of somehow playing a trick on them. Nevertheless, they all ran for their lives and remained disturbed by their experience for days thereafter.
On another occasion, a Mrs. Bettany of South Benfleet and a friend visited St. Margaret’s one day and as they entered, Mrs. Bettany became aware of an old man with a short, white beard in one of the pews. She surmised he was a clergyman and when she laughed at something, he glared at her, clearly disapproving of her irreverent behavior in the Lord’s house. Embarrassed, she suggested they leave and once outside, remarked that the old man in the church was obviously annoyed. Her friend, taken aback, insisted she had not seen anyone inside the church.
One cool autumn night in 1956, members of the Phenomenist Research League visited the church to check out the phantom organist and while they did not hear the music, some claimed they felt “chilly psychic droughts” and the presence of a dead vicar – presumably the elderly gentleman observed by Mrs. Bettany.
There’s also a rumor of a hidden crypt in the church, the entrance to which has been walled over.
(6) St. Mary’s Church, Prittlewell
(5) St. Peter’s Church (Benfleet). Driving a couple of miles south brings one to Benfleet and St. Peter’s Church, one of the two churches of Thundersley Parish. The original place of worship on the site was erected in 1120, but in 1215, the edifice caught fire and burned, although parts of the church were saved. A new chancel was constructed and dedicated to Saint Peter on June 23 (St. Peter’s Day) in the year 1230. The chancel was replaced in 1885 and again in 1966, at which time a rather unattractive extension was added. Accordingly, very little of the old church associated with the haunting of 1871 remains.
In his book, The Ancient Parish of Thundersley, Essex, the Rev. Edwin Albert B. Maley relates that early one morning in January 1871, the occupant of a thatched cottage near the church heard two men quarreling. The pair entered the churchyard and got into a scuffle near an ancient elm, after which the lady heard “a great cry.” According to the church register, not long thereafter, the body of one Harry Witney, a stranger, was discovered beside the road and his corpse was buried in the churchyard at the foot of the old elm tree where the altercation had taken place. In the days following, at 7:50 each morning, people heard what Maley described as “a mingling of the moan of one in physical pain and the shriek of a lost soul.” He suggested Witney may have provoked his killer, who was “unhinged” and committed to an asylum for the insane, where he died. Maley also noted the cry did not come on Sunday mornings and after the church began celebrating Holy Communion on Thursday mornings, they weren’t heard on Thursdays either. After a period of time, the phenomenon ceased altogether.
In his book, The Ancient Parish of Thundersley, Essex, the Rev. Edwin Albert B. Maley relates that early one morning in January 1871, the occupant of a thatched cottage near the church heard two men quarreling. The pair entered the churchyard and got into a scuffle near an ancient elm, after which the lady heard “a great cry.” According to the church register, not long thereafter, the body of one Harry Witney, a stranger, was discovered beside the road and his corpse was buried in the churchyard at the foot of the old elm tree where the altercation had taken place. In the days following, at 7:50 each morning, people heard what Maley described as “a mingling of the moan of one in physical pain and the shriek of a lost soul.” He suggested Witney may have provoked his killer, who was “unhinged” and committed to an asylum for the insane, where he died. Maley also noted the cry did not come on Sunday mornings and after the church began celebrating Holy Communion on Thursday mornings, they weren’t heard on Thursdays either. After a period of time, the phenomenon ceased altogether.
(6) St. Mary’s Churchyard (Prittlewell). Some seven miles east brings one to Prittlewell, a bustling town of around 10,000. Surrounded by a low wall of brick, concrete and rough-hewn stones, most of which is approximately 4-feet-high, the large, impressive church and graveyard occupies a rectangular green space measuring around 233 x 277 feet. There is a school to the southeast of the church and the southwest corner is occupied by The Fish House, a fast-food restaurant specializing in fish and chips.
For more than a thousand years, a place of worship dedicated to St. Mary has served the faithful of the area, however, following the Reformation, the house of God fell on hard times and churchwardens were forced to sell the church plate (religious objects made of precious metals, usually silver or gold) to maintain the building. During World War II, St. Mary’s was damaged during German bombing raids, but daily services continued, and it is said the vicar at the time, Canon Ellis Gowing, had the magnificent 16th-century stained glass window removed from the Jesus Chapel and buried in the cellar of the old vicarage.
The History of Rochford, published in 1867, tells of an altar tomb sacred to the memory of Samuel Brown, Esq., who died November 15, 1827, at age 30. Someone heard a noise coming from the tomb and in short order, the churchyard was filled with the curious, hoping to hear the strange sounds themselves.
In recent years, someone posted online that on two occasions when passing the church on a cold, winter night when there was snow on the ground, she and a companion heard what sounded like someone calling from the rear of the churchyard, but saw nothing. Two years later, when passing St. Mary’s with a different companion, both she and her friend heard the same thing emanating from the same location.
(7) St. Nicholas Church (Canewdon). Heading north, one leaves the crowded, busy towns and heavy traffic and comes to Canewdon, population just above 1,000. The tower of the 12th century church, buttressed almost to its crenelated top and a good example of its time period, soars high above the tallest trees. The village has long been associated with witchcraft and because many believe anything with a connection to the Dark Arts is also haunted, Canewdon is claimed by some to be the “most haunted village in England.” According to legend, any woman who sought membership in the local coven was required to dance round the church 12 times at midnight and summon the Devil, who would appear and perform her initiation into the weird sisterhood. It also is said that when a stone falls from the tower, it is an indication a witch has died and another has replaced her.
Additionally, there are rumors that St. Nicholas serves as a portal to other dimensions, á la the merry-to-round in Ray Bradbury’s Something Wicked This Way Comes, and it is said that anyone who runs around the church, widdershins (counterclockwise), three times on Halloween night, will be taken back in time.
A frightening and malevolent entity in the shape of a headless witch is said to materialize near the church and float through the churchyard at midnight and those unlucky enough to encounter the apparition, end up in a nearby ditch.
In 1957, the Phenomenist League organized a “ghost hunt” at St. Nicholas during which the churchwarden told members if a person circles the church alone at midnight, the ghosts and witches of long ago will come out and sing. Several participants reportedly felt a paranormal cold spot near the altar and two saw a weird aura of light at the top of the tower. Another member of the group, Mr. Godfrey-Bartram, performed color tests using a small bottle of blue liquid containing strontium and other ingredients which is supposed to turn black in the presence of psychic phenomena. A bottle of mercury is used in the vibration test. Neither test was positive, but Godrey-Bartram explained this was expected since it was too early for anything to happen
There are at least two other mysterious “beings” associated with the churchyard: In the 1980s, a man visiting relatives in Canewdon rode his motorbike to the church and was turning around when “something demonic” came running out of the graveyard and chased him. He claimed the thing, whatever it was, kept up with him in spite of the fact he was going at full speed and didn’t disappear until he entered the driveway of the home where he was staying. Also, on two separate occasions, drivers in the vicinity of the church late at night have reported driving through what appeared to be a gigantic black dog with glowing eyes.
In 1957, the Phenomenist League organized a “ghost hunt” at St. Nicholas during which the churchwarden told members if a person circles the church alone at midnight, the ghosts and witches of long ago will come out and sing. Several participants reportedly felt a paranormal cold spot near the altar and two saw a weird aura of light at the top of the tower. Another member of the group, Mr. Godfrey-Bartram, performed color tests using a small bottle of blue liquid containing strontium and other ingredients which is supposed to turn black in the presence of psychic phenomena. A bottle of mercury is used in the vibration test. Neither test was positive, but Godrey-Bartram explained this was expected since it was too early for anything to happen
There are at least two other mysterious “beings” associated with the churchyard: In the 1980s, a man visiting relatives in Canewdon rode his motorbike to the church and was turning around when “something demonic” came running out of the graveyard and chased him. He claimed the thing, whatever it was, kept up with him in spite of the fact he was going at full speed and didn’t disappear until he entered the driveway of the home where he was staying. Also, on two separate occasions, drivers in the vicinity of the church late at night have reported driving through what appeared to be a gigantic black dog with glowing eyes.
(13) St. Mary with St. Leonard Church
(8) St. Andrew’s Church, Ashingdon. Leaving Canewdon and heading west brings one to Ashingdon from which Church Lane leads to the church on the hill. Forests once bordered both sides of the narrow road, but have long since been bulldozed to make way for unappealing rental housing. Nonetheless, the elevation upon which the church stands offers a panoramic view of the city and countryside. The ancient church is said to be constructed on the site of a battlefield, where, in 1016, the Danish King, Canute, defeated Edmond Ironside. According to The Anglo Saxon Chronicle, four years later, Canute “caused to be built there a minster of stone and lime for the souls of the men who there were slain.” The first priest (1052-70) was none other than the Archbishop of Canterbury. St. Andrew’s stands on the site of this minster and may contain some of the stones from the old structure.
Such an ancient and historic church wouldn’t be complete without a ghost and several decades ago, a gentleman who regularly attended services claimed to have experienced frequent visions inside the church, recording as follows:
“I saw literally scores of individuals, many of them dressed in costumes centuries old. Some appeared in the nave, but most in the chancel, all during divine service. The most prolific period was during the two or three weeks following the rededication, when a whole lot of men in Danish armor appeared, also a beautiful woman who seemed to be clad in a wonderful blue light. Once, while I was actually kneeling at the communion rail, I saw an Eastern man on the right side of the altar; he was clad in a wonderful dark purple robe. I was worried at the time about my sister, who was in hospital with internal trouble. I sought his help. My sister survived a major operation and was completely restored to health.
“One Sunday, during the 11 o’clock service, I saw a sturdy-looking monk in the prime of manhood issue from the tower and stand gazing toward the East end. He was dressed in brown habit and sandals.
“I attended the funeral of Mr. ______, who was organist at Ashingdon for many years. During the service inside the church, he appeared in the nave, dressed in his surplice as usual and holding a book. He was facing the congregation and looking rather puzzled. A little later, during the committal in the churchyard, I saw him standing by the grave side.”
(9) St. Peter and St. Paul Church (Hockley). The next church, some five miles southwest, is sited in the large village of Hockley, the population of which is close to 10,000. Overlooking the Crouch Valley, there are several indicators of its Norman past, particularly the unusual octagonal Portland stone font dating to 1160. A 1220 Lady Chapel, colonnade and chancel form the main body of the church today.
According to local legend, one summer day many years ago, a beautiful lady was traveling through Hockley when the horses swerved, causing her coach to hit a tree. Both the woman and driver were killed instantly. Since that time, it is said that those out alone at night during the month of August occasionally encounter four semi-transparent white horses pulling a spectral coach along Church Road. Some witnesses paying close attention to the mysterious apparition have reported seeing the white-gloved hand of a lady waving to them from within the dark recesses of the carriage, which subsequently crashes and disappears.
The Phenomenist Research League from Southend-on-Sea visited Hockley in August 1956 to research the tale of the phantom coach and all members of the expedition admitted the atmosphere was “unearthly” and recorded “strange, inexplicable experiences.” Several claimed to have heard peculiar sounds and two members insisted they saw a “shape” moving about at the top of the church tower. All present agreed it was the most eerie place they had ever investigated.
(10) St. Mary’s Church (Runwell). A 10-mile drive to the east brings one to Runwell. Located on busy Runwell Road, the church, with its imposing tower featuring a parapet and stair turret, occupies a significant green space sprinkled with large deciduous and coniferous trees. There are at least four fairly well-known ghost stories connected to St. Mary’s, the first being that of Rainaldus, a renegade priest who practiced the Black Arts. The once devout man of the cloth eventually descended into such wickedness that one night in the church, Satan attempted to snatch the soul from his living servant. The priest managed to escape, but the Devil left his claw mark on the inside of the south door.
During the English Civil War (1642-1651), Christopher Peacock, the parish clerk, frequently climbed the circular stair to the top of the tower to see if the Roundheads were approaching. Following his death, those in the church sometimes heard footsteps on the stairs when no one was there. Even the Rev. Dr. John E. Bazille-Corbin, rector of St. Mary’s from 1923 to 1961, reported hearing the phantom treads of the long-dead clerk. He also reported creaking and banging noises in the church that he suggested could have been the spirits of Roundhead soldiers destroying the original screen that spanned the chancel “with axes and hammer.” Another queer noise occasionally detected in the church is that of someone moving from pew to pew, sitting down and rising again to find another spot. This “haunting” is attributed to Anne, Lady Sulyard. The church’s first pew was installed for Lady Sulyard’s family after she spent a considerable amount of time picking a location that suited her.
Probably because of the Devil story concerning the evil priest, it is said that walking around the church three times will summon Old Nick himself. However, a second tale has it that circling St. Mary’s three times, counterclockwise, on Christmas Eve will raise the phantom coach said to haunt a location near Runwell Hall, which was rebuilt in the 1880s using the original brick. The structure is currently occupied by Toby Carvery Runwell.
(11) Church of St. Botolph (Beauchamp Roding). The next haunted place of worship is 35 miles northeast in Beauchamp Roding, where the ancient parish church stands on high ground, totally surrounded by fields. The dedication suggests there was a church at Beauchamp Roding prior to the Norman Conquest. The building consists of a nave, chancel, west tower and south porch. Local lore has it that when they were ready to build their religious center, people of the area rolled a large, triangular stone to the bottom of the hill where they intended to erect the church. The following morning, however, the heavy stone was back in its original position at the top. Supposedly, this happened three times and not wanting to incur the wrath of whatever was moving the stone, it was decided to construct the church at the top of the hill where St. Botolph’s stands today.
(12) All Saints Church (Springfield, Chelmsford). Driving 15 miles east brings one to Springfield Church, the abode of the Chelmsford Nun. Though encircled by an ever-encroaching city, All Saints, situated as it is a few yards from a splendid red brick Georgian mansion, retains the feeling of a country church. The 12th-century font is one of the finest in the country with floral scrolls around the square bowl and leaves on the base. Legend has it that if anyone is brave enough to run around the church 13 times at midnight, he/she will be chased by the angry specter of the aforementioned nun.
(13) St. Mary with St. Leonard Church (Broomfield). Less than three miles north is Broomfield, a pretty little village with Tudor buildings, green spaces and tree-lined streets. Now a suburb of Chelmsford, the village still conveys a feeling of old England and the distinctive round tower – one of only six in Essex – of its church contains the only true fresco in an English place of worship. Christ Stilling the Storm was painted in 1943 by Rosemary Rutherford, the vicar’s daughter. While the fresco is impressive, most visitors who make a special trip to St. Mary with St. Leonard’s Church are more interested in the “Devil’s Head,” featured on a very old wall dating to the 15th century. Some associate the odd carving with a local legend, claiming that if one walks around a particular tomb in the churchyard seven times, the Devil will appear.
(14) St. Andrew’s Church (Hatfield Peverel). A 10-mile drive east brings one to Hatfield Peverel, a community of approximately 5,500 at the center of Essex, and St. Andrew’s Church, all that is left of a medieval Benedictine priory. According to legend, during the 11th century, a remarkable woman by the name of Maud “Athelida” de Ingelrica, daughter of a Saxon king, had an affair with William the Conqueror and their union produced a love child. Prior to her death, the lady was approached by Satan himself, who swore he would have her soul whether she was buried inside or outside the church. Maud died in the year 1100, at the age of 67 or 68, but the Devil didn’t get her soul, for the wily lady had decreed she be laid to rest within the thick walls of St. Andrew’s – neither inside nor outside the church. Today, her effigy lies in a window of the structure above the spot where her bones are interred.
(15) All Saints Church (Brightlingsea). A long drive east – approximately 27 miles – brings one to Brightlingsea, a coastal town of around 8,000 and All Saints Church, where in springtime, the graveyard blooms with daffodils. The soaring Gothic tower of All Saints dominates the skyline and is the first thing seen by boaters on the Colne River. In 1771, a man by the name of John Selleto of Harwich, a known atheist, declared from his deathbed: “When I am buried, if there is a God, an ash tree will grow up from my grave.” No one thought much of the prophecy until someone noticed a sapling sprouting from Selleto’s tomb. As the tree grew, it caused the tomb, which was situated near the door of the church, to tilt at a precarious angle creating a dangerous condition and in 1941, both the tree and damaged tomb were removed. A group of local lads hanging about while workers were completing the removal spotted a skull among the tangled roots, grabbed it and presented it to their science master. However, when the vicar learned of what he considered an act of sacrilege, he demanded the skull be returned forthwith and it was duly reinterred at the spot where it was found.
(16) Sunken Church and Village (Walton-on-the-Naze). A little more than 15 miles east is the seaside town of Walton-on-the-Naze – the original village of Walton, along with its parish church, lies beneath the waves a mile off shore. England’s eastern coastline is constantly changing and over the centuries, entire settlements have been claimed by the sea. In 1798, Walton’s ancient church, graveyard and every domicile nearby, save one, were swept away. Shortly thereafter, people began hearing the muffled tolling of the church bells, ringing out from the dark waters of the North Sea. Unbelievably, in January 1928, when the cessation of a storm brought an extraordinarily low tide, the lost church briefly reappeared and remained visible for several hours, during which time crowds gathered on shore to see the wondrous sight. Although it has now been more than 200 years since the church was lost, some say the tolling of sunken bells foretells a coming storm. Of interest, in early February (2021), a resident of Walton-on-the-Naze who lives near the shore reported on social media that he and his family heard the sunken bells just before Storm Darcy incapacitated much of the UK with heavy snowfall, freezing temperatures and high winds.
(17) All Saints’ Church (Wrabness). Approximately 12 miles north brings one to the tiny village of Wrabness, population 400, give or take one or two. The oldest building in the community is All Saints’ Church, a small place of worship dating to around 1100 and unusual because it is without a steeple or bell tower. In the 17th century, the bell tower collapsed and the single bell was “temporarily” housed in a cage in the churchyard until a new tower could be constructed. Unfortunately, every time the villagers attempted to build a new tower, it was blown down in the night, some say by no less a personage than the Devil himself, and to this day, the bell remains in its churchyard cage.
There is another caged bell in the village of Wix, eight miles south of Wrabness, however, there is no Devil or other supernatural legend concerning this bell.
(18) St. Osyth Priory (Clacton-on-Sea). Some 30 miles south of Wrabness on an estuary formed by the Stour and Blackwater rivers, one comes to what is left of St. Osyth Priory. The once imposing compound, dating to the 12th century, was one of the locations at which Death in Holy Orders, the 2003 mini-series based on the P. D. James novel of the same name, was filmed. According to legend, on October 7, 700, St. Osyth, a chieftain’s daughter who established a monastery at the site now occupied by the Priory, was beheaded in nearby “Nun’s Wood” by Danish invaders because she refused to worship anyone other than the Lord Jesus Christ. However, to the astonishment of her executioners, instead of collapsing where she stood, the lady picked up her head and holding it at arm’s length, ambled to the chapel, where she stood at the entrance and knocked several times on the door before finally slumping to the ground. It is said that every October 7th, her spirit manifests and repeats this miraculous feat. Additionally, the location is haunted by a spectral procession of Augustinian monks, a pale monk who walks the grounds at night carrying a lit candle, and a dark-robed monk who walks through walls in the laundry area. In the 1970s, at least two employees working in the laundry claimed that “something” jerked the rug from beneath their feet, causing them to slam into the wall, but no one knows if the phantom monk was responsible for these pranks.
(20) Effigy of Lord Marney
(19) St. Michael’s and All Angel’s Church (Copford). It is approximately 40 miles to the village of Copford – six miles west of Colchester – and its ancient church. The style and quality of the church, particularly its impressive medieval murals of religious figures, as well as the signs of the zodiac, suggest the edifice likely served as a chapel for early Norman bishops. The Catholic church held the manor until 1559 when Bishop Bonner was dispossessed of his holdings for refusing to take the oath of allegiance and supremacy to Queen Elizabeth I, the new protestant monarch. Bonner is said to be buried beneath the altar, but before his death, fearing reformers would loot the church, he hid the valuable church plate in a secret tunnel and this may be one of reasons his restless spirit still haunts Copford Church. Those who have seen the ghost say Bonner appears in ecclesiastical robes carrying his staff. Some years ago, a Mr. Morris of Chelmsford reported a woman he knew claimed she often heard footsteps walking up the aisle, banging on the pulpit and doors slamming when she was the only one inside the building. Additionally, an organ tuner was telling his assistant the story of the specter of Bishop Bonner and when the lad laughed, several old books that hadn’t been moved in years suddenly tumbled from their shelf to the floor, as if removed and dropped by unseen hands.
In 1950, The Essex Weekly published an article about five residents of Cressing who swore that during the winter months, they heard weird symphonies played on the organ at night when the church was empty. With the vicar’s permission, two members of the Braintree Fire Service made plans to wait for the specter. For two nights, they sat in the church from dusk to dawn, but saw and heard nothing. The moon was waxing and they decided to hide outside for the culprit to sneak into the church, but saw no one and the organ remained silent. Still, as recently as the 1990s, locals reported organ music emanating from the old church in the dead of night.
In 1950, The Essex Weekly published an article about five residents of Cressing who swore that during the winter months, they heard weird symphonies played on the organ at night when the church was empty. With the vicar’s permission, two members of the Braintree Fire Service made plans to wait for the specter. For two nights, they sat in the church from dusk to dawn, but saw and heard nothing. The moon was waxing and they decided to hide outside for the culprit to sneak into the church, but saw no one and the organ remained silent. Still, as recently as the 1990s, locals reported organ music emanating from the old church in the dead of night.
(20) Church of St. Mary the Virgin (Layer Marney). A little more than five miles south of Copford, one comes to the tiny village of Layer Marney and Layer Marney Tower, an impressive 16th century Tudor gatehouse – the tallest in England – along with a house and numerous other structures set in acres of gardens and parkland. And just a few yards from the gatehouse rises the splendid blue brick-patterned tower of the Church of St. Mary the Virgin. In spite of the tombs situated within, the interior is light and airy and of particular interest is the spectacular black marble effigy of Henry, 1st Lord Marney, who built the church and commenced construction of the magnificent gatehouse that he intended to be part of the largest and most fantastic palace in the land. He died May 24, 1523, before his palace was completed, and it is his ghost, or rather, his voice, that is said to haunt the church. But those hoping to experience this unusual auditory manifestation should make sure they visit during the month of May because this is the only month in which he speaks.
(21) All Saints Churchyard (Rayne). Return to Copford and drive 15 miles west and one comes to Rayne, a small village of a little more than 2,000. The stunning red brick church boasts a 16th-century Tudor tower, however, the Norman nave was replaced in 1840 and the sanctuary and vestry were added in 1914. A plain, upright stone near the tower bears a strange inscription – now worn away by the ravages of time – which reads:
Sacred to the Memory of
John Joslin June 5th, 1800, Aged 48 Years
This I have done for a
Kind and indulgent husband
Near and Dear to me
And it is nothing to you
What I have done
Or what I do
John Joslin June 5th, 1800, Aged 48 Years
This I have done for a
Kind and indulgent husband
Near and Dear to me
And it is nothing to you
What I have done
Or what I do
The story goes that around the turn of the 19th century, a lady living in Rayne married and buried her first husband and quickly wed another. Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before this man, too, became ill, but before he died, he swore to his wife his spirit would “walk,” should she marry again. It was during this time that neighbors began whispering that she had put pigeons’ feathers in the pillows of both her dead mates. According to an old superstition, pigeons’ feathers in a pillow will “draw the life” from the individual who sleeps upon them. Life was difficult for a woman alone in the 19th century and in order to marry again, the lady decided to try an ancient incantation and at dusk one evening, she entered the churchyard while some friends waited at the gate. When she reached the resting place of John Joslin, she stood at the head of his grave and pointing to the ground declared “John Joslin! May I marry again?” She then walked round the grave in “the way of the sun” three times and waited for Joslin’s answer. She neither heard nor saw anything, but decided “silence gives consent” and after erecting the stone with the odd inscription, married husband number three.
(22) St. Mary’s Church (Great Canfield). A drive of a little more than 10 miles east brings one to Great Canfield, a pleasant village of a little more than 400 in a rich, fertile part of the county, where many neolithic, Celtic and Roman artifacts have been unearthed. The ancient church, a fine example of Norman architecture, stands within a sylvan island in a sea of cultivated land, along with several large, private homes. Upon entering the porch, on a capital to the left is what is believed to be a representation of Odin with the ravens Huginn and Muinn whispering to him, as well as a row of swastika carvings. The opposite capital features another Norse face and what appears to be a snake.
Additionally, there is a reappropriated grave marker in the churchyard featuring Viking Ringerike-style carvings. This stone indicates the tiny village of Great Canfield precedes the Norman period and was once home to rich and influential inhabitants. Standing alone in the tranquil, yet atmospheric setting, it is easy to imagine ancient men and women from an era long past looking on from the direction of the ruins of the nearby motte and bailey castle.
(23) St. Mary and St. Clement Churchyard (Clavering). A 36-mile drive north through bucolic countryside brings one to Clavering, a pleasant country village reminiscent of those of the fictional Midsomer County of Midsomer Murders. The 14th-century church of grey stone – which can appear somewhat spooky under certain conditions – is dominated by an impressive battlemented tower without and wooden roof angels look down from the rafters within. One such angel, a six-winged seraphim, is covered in feathers. Alas, so far as is known, no ghost haunts the old church, but according to a story from the 17th century, a doubting lady of the parish declared that if she went to heaven, an ash tree would grow from her grave, but should a maple sprout from her resting place, it would signify she had gone to hell. Her family was relieved when an ash sapling made its appearance, eventually growing so large the trunk split the lady’s tomb.
(24) All Saints’ Church (Middleton). Another long drive – this time 35 miles to the east – is the village of Middleton, a community of around 10,000. Driving south on Rectory Road, a huge weeping willow tree on the right marks the entrance to the narrow lane leading to All Saints,’ a delightful little church with beautiful stained glass windows. All Saints’ isn’t haunted in the ordinary sense of the word. If it were, members and Church of England leaders wouldn’t cringe every time someone so much as mentions the Reverend Clive Luget and/or his visions.
Luget, an unmarried minister, arrived in Middleton from London in 1931 and quickly became acquainted with the Rev. Lionel Foyester and his wife, Marianne, and in short order, he was spending what some of his parishioners considered an inordinate amount of time at the infamous Borley Rectory, where the Foyesters resided. During his investigation of the hauntings at Borley, Peter Underwood, noted author and parapsychologist, met and interviewed Luget, later noting the clergyman “visited frequently and experienced a wealth of apparent phenomena.” He also credited Luget with what he described as “the fairest portrait of Marianne at the time,” writing:
“Marianne he found delightful, always cheerful and charming and an excellent hostess. He said she brought a touch of lightness and merriment to the rather somber Rectory. He could not understand why she was not more popular in the village but thought it might be due to narrowmindedness at their rector, a member of the Bull family they had long revered, being married to a much younger woman and in some cases ‘just plain envy’...
“[Marianne] appreciated being the center of attention; most callers simply wanting to see the rector. She was very attentive to him too. … she had a flirtatious side to her character but this often helped with visitors and local people who called to see the rector but it was exaggerated and not understood by some villagers. Lionel Foyster was essentially a shy and quiet man and Marianne was a considerable contrast but an important help to him.”
The Church of England had no problems concerning Luget’s association with the Foyesters and no one said anything when he and a few congregants saw the image of the Blessed Virgin from the dining room of the Middleton rectory. Mary, as it was reported, was standing atop a little mount with a halo of stars and light encircling her head. One witness, a churchwarden, is said to have approached the figure and fell onto his knees with his head bowed as the apparition raised her hand as if she were bestowing her blessings upon him.
Later in the year, on the evening of December 11, 1932, Luget reported seeing the Crucifixion floating in a light above the churchyard for approximately five minutes. Two days later, Francis Thornber, a 7-year-old boy, had a vision of All Saints’ Church as it looked in the Middle Ages and the Virgin spoke to him, but asked that he not repeat her message at that time.
On a Sunday in February 1933, early communicants at All Saints’ saw the vision of a beautiful woman. As the weeks passed, Luget and the Thornber lad experienced other Marian visions. According to Luget, the figure was sometimes dazzling white and at other times the woman, whom he estimated to be around 5'6" in height, wore a long, flowing robe of blue. She was young, he claimed, and her hair was covered, but she had a most beautiful face. “With the appearance,” he said, “I had a distinct feeling of warm rays just as you feel when the sun strikes you.”
Luget’s visions were widely-publicized and the religious and curious flocked to Middleton in droves. Luget was hoping the village would become the English Lourdes, but there were those who said he was more likely motivated by the alleged paranormal events attracting visitors to Borley Rectory, and later the unprecedented success of Alfred Hope Patten’s Our Lady of Walsingham Shrine in Norfolk.
Eventually, Luget renounced Anglican liturgies in favor of the Latin mass and his services were becoming increasingly extreme. While there would often be no more than 25 congregants attending a service, hundreds of people would gather outside in the churchyard hoping for a vision of the Virgin Mary. During this period, at least five clairvoyants saw the Mother of God at the foot of the cross and several bizarre individuals joined Luget’s congregation. A hymn was written about the visions and Luget obtained written statements from people who witnessed the visions and heard Mary speak. This was a little too much for the average Anglican and Luget was summarily reported to the Bishop of Chelmsford and accused of being a Papist.
By the late 1930s, Luget was seeing angels on a daily basis, but his parishioners and acolytes were losing patience, the number of thrill-seekers was dwindling and despite the fact the rector had begun receiving written messages from a medieval monk called Brother Bramarte, he found himself ministering to an empty church. The dead monk, like one of the Borley ghosts, was even writing messages on the wall. It soon became apparent the parish was failing, the church itself was falling into decay and the Bishop had no choice but to intervene. Luget was quickly and quietly retired and died April 28, 1952.
(25) Borley Church
(25) Borley Church (Borley). From Middleton, a short 3.6-mile drive north brings one to the tiny hamlet of Borley, the site of the notorious rectory dubbed the most haunted house in England before it was destroyed by fire in 1939. Although the rectory is no more, many of those who believed the old benefice was a haven for restless spirits now suspect they’ve taken up residence in Borley Church. The rather plain house of worship situated atop an eminence overlooking the Stour Valley is primarily a 14th century structure renovated during the Victorian era. Recognizable from its topiary yew hedges and known for its magnificent marble 16th-century tomb and effigies of the Waldegrave family, thanks to the Internet, hundreds of unwelcome ghost hunters flock to the isolated location every year.
Phantom organ music is among the phenomena said to occur at Borley Church. Over the years, in addition to the organ recitals, there have been reports of both singing and chanting emanating from the ancient building when it is in total darkness. Most such claims are easily dismissed, but on one occasion, during the day, a minister, who had known Borley all his life, heard the organ playing and upon investigation found the place empty.
Another minister, the Rev. C. S. Kipking, did not believe any of the stories about the church or the old rectory until August 9, 1949, when he went to the church to read the lesson at the funeral of a friend and saw the heavily-veiled figure of a young woman who faded away before his eyes. Afterward, he had no doubt he had seen the ghostly nun of Borley Rectory.
Kipking’s sighting led Mr. G. Ahsard of Alpheton, Sudbury, to write a letter to The Essex Weekly News giving an account of what his two sons and a friend allegedly experienced at Borley Church:
“Most of the working class people do not believe in the haunting at Borley, so I asked my two sons and a friend to go over and see if there was anything. They went on Saturday night, September 10. It was a great night – full moon* and very quiet. They arrived there about 9 p.m. and sat in the church porch looking for the Veiled Girl. At 9:45, something dropped in the church. Then about 10 p.m. they heard a creaking noise as if a door was being slowly opened in the church. The door slammed and then there was an unearthly rumbling noise lasting about five minutes. They tried the door, but it was locked. Then they looked through the windows with a bright torch (flashlight) and there was no one there. It was a warm night, but it seemed cold in the Church porch. We now know for sure that all that has been said is true. We intend to pay further visits and feel sure we shall see the Veiled Girl and many other things. My sons’ ages are 21 and 17 and the friend’s age is 17.”
Although the foregoing encounters occurred more than 50 years ago, there are more recent incidents. Around the year 2000, a bridesmaid arrived late for a wedding rehearsal and when she heard organ music, decided she should enter with as little fanfare as possible, however, when she attempted to open the door, it was locked. Then she looked around and realized there were no cars in the parking area and the music was strange, more like what one would hear at a funeral. When she got home, she called a friend and discovered the rehearsal had been canceled and rescheduled for the following day.
Of interest, one of the graves in Borley Churchyard dated 1790 is enclosed in a mortsafe, a contraption designed to protect the dearly departed against resurrectionists (men who removed the recently deceased from their graves and sold them to medical schools). This indicates that prior to the Anatomy Act of 1832, even remote country churchyards like Borley were plagued by body snatchers.
Sources: Clare Youell, EssexLive, October 5, 2019; Michael Smith, Mythical Britain, October 28, 2017; The Essex Chronicle, September 2, 1949; The Essex Review, January 1983; Copford Church; Simon Knott, The Churches of Essex, December 2007; A Ghost Hunter’s Guide to Essex by Jessie K. Payne; Haunted Churches of England: Ghosts Ancient and Modern by Graham J. McEwan; British Listed Buildings; Historic England; Essex Churches; Hidden East Anglia; St. Mary with St. Leonard Church; British History Online; The Ancient Parish of Thundersley, Essex, by the Rev. Edwin Albert B. Maley; Lost Town; The Walton-on-the-Naze Network; Basildon History; History of Kelvedon Hatch; The Anglican Parish of Thundersley; Great Canfield Village website; The Essex Weekly News; The Anglo Saxon Chronicle; National Churches Trust; The Heritage Trust; Andrew Clarke, "Lawless, the Lodger: The 'Extraordinary' François De'Arles," 2003; Borley Miscellany, The Foxearth and District Local History Society; St. Osyth Priory; Orthodox Christianity; and personal files.
*In 1949, the full moon occurred on September 7, not September 10.
