Creative writing submission from the Rest Less community – submit your entry here.
When I was researching the ghost story of the nun at St. George’s Church and cemetery in Portland, I came across this wonderful story which I thought I ought to share for anyone who didn’t know it. It made me chuckle and, as my aim on this site is to spread goodwill and cheer, I thought you might enjoy it.
In the Daily Mirror in 1938, there was a small article about a group of superstitious housewives who fervently believed that the ghosts of horned, helmeted, Viking warriors who’d been haunting Portland for over 1,000 years were now destroying their gardens and stealing vegetables. Terrified, the women spoke of seeing strange, shadowy shapes coming past their windows at night and making unearthly noises. They were forced to lock their bedroom doors in fear for over a week.
The horrifying prospect of the haunting was debunked when, on going out to check her garden, one (perhaps more enlightened) woman discovered a host of cloven hoof prints in the grass and through the vegetable beds. It turned out that due to a shortage of food, a herd of wild goats had been invading the gardens of the local houses in search of tasty morsels.
I loved this newspaper report as it not only made me chuckle, but it was a wonderful example of how an ordinary event managed to take on an otherworldly life of its own. That said, I’m wholeheartedly a believer in ghosts, having many of my own personal ghosts – but that’s another story.
Unlike most people, I absolutely don’t believe that ghosts can hurt you in any way, being more of an echo of their former selves than a physical presence. OK, I accept that you might get in the way of some projectile or moved physical object, but I genuinely think that this is accidental, even playful, rather than any act of targeted aggression. I think it’s because we fear the unknown that we fear ghosts and, once fear is involved, it’s a short step to believing they mean us harm.
Of course, were my view the accepted version, a whole host of horror stories and films would lose their obvious attraction, but I don’t see any danger of that – human beings bizarrely love to hide behind the sofa and give themselves nightmares!
Still, if you’re in search of neck chills and a wobbly tummy, you could do worse than open yourself to a visit to Knowlton Church, the Abandoned Village of Tyneham, Athelhampton House, or even Weymouth Promenade. Here, it’s said that an old woman sits quietly on one of the Promenade’s corner seats and reeks of death.
It can’t be denied that all of these places share atmospheric conditions, sometimes extreme weather, and a slightly creepy sense of the past sitting firmly on your shoulder. Undoubtedly, even on warm, sunny days, there’s a touch of the bleak and a sense of desolation and loss – a feeling that time is somehow altering between past and present.
Closer to home (if, like me, you live in Dorchester), you might be lucky enough to be barked at by a large, black German Shepherd as you’re coming past the locked gates of the market on Maumbury Road late at night. The dog paces wildly on the other side of the gate but disappears when you approach. Or, you might encounter a crying child dressed in rags who clings to the narrow, wooden church door on the garden side of All Saints Church after one AM at dark moon.
When I first moved here I went on a ghost tour but, I confess, I was left very disappointed. We did the obvious walk past Hangman’s Cottage (where no actual ghost was mentioned) and were told the story of Judge Jeffreys, the ‘hanging judge’. It was a pleasant evening stroll, but me being me, I was looking for something a bit grittier, something more targeted at the many ghosts who do actually frequent this old market town.
For me, there’s no better story than that of a scorned woman, hanged for enacting her revenge. Or an adulterous wife, stoned to death on the church steps as she begged for sanctuary, whilst the priest, playing God himself, kept the doors firmly closed. I particularly enjoy the story of a headless horse that was once reported careering at full pelt down the High Street. But, sadly, with so many ale houses in the area, there’s much suspicion and little documented.
On a recent note, before the unveiling of the White Hart stag statue (which was returned to the site where the old White Hart Inn had once stood), there was an interesting sighting. The White Hart Inn dated back to the 18th century and was mentioned in a Thomas Hardy short story. The statue had stood on a plinth outside the Inn, over an arched doorway. During the period the statue was off-site being restored, a driver reported that when driving through the deserted town at three AM, he was forced to stop the car as a large, white stag was sighted in the middle of the High Street.
The driver reported that the animal turned and looked at him before casually trotting off in the direction of the river path. Being someone who didn’t know the town or that there had ever been a White Hart Inn or a statue, the sighting was somewhat interesting…but make of it what you will!
That said, I can’t make you any ghostly promises, especially not promises of hungry goats, regardless of the moon’s phase or cycle.
Are you feeling creative? We are proud to have a hugely talented community on Rest Less, which is why we’re so excited to open up a section of the site dedicated to showcasing the wonderful and diverse writing of our members. If you have a piece of creative writing that you’d like to share with the Rest Less community – you can do so here.