SPOOKS THAT HAVE BEEN LAID AT CHRISTMAS

Bay of Plenty Beacon, Volume 10, Issue 64, 18 December 1946, Page 2 (Supplement)

SPOOKS THAT HAVE BEEN LAID AT CHRISTMAS

CHANGING CUSTOMS THAT

MAKE RESTLESS SOULS

What has happened to the ghosts of yester-year? Stories of ethereal knights in armour, of the clanking of medieval chains, and of the tragic laughter of court jesters, no longer appear prominently in contemporary records of Christmas “spooks.” The explanation appears to be that spirits cannot remain earthbound for an indefinite period of time. As soon as their earthly haunts are destroyed, their visitations are at an end.

A farpous ghost which appeared each Christmas Eve for many years in the northern wing of an ancient castle was never seen again after the castle had been pulled down and a housing estate built on the site.

Ghostly visitations, in fact, tend to become modern in character because the spooks of earlier years have been released from their earthly bondage. Thus it is not surprising to learn that phantom motor cars, driven by spectral chauffeurs, have been seen in various parts of the country. A very grotesque vehicle is said to have been seen in the vicinity of a downland village—a mere cluster of thatched cottages of incredible age, which have remained untouched by the onw&rd inarch of civilisation.

A motoring visitor to this village had spent Christmas Eve in the bar parlour of the inn where his modern views had not proved popular with the local patrons. He had showed scant respect for ancient beliefs and customs. Leaving the inn, he walked vigorously, and in a manner which seemed to show contempt for his rural surroundings. It was a fine, clear night, and the moon shone brightly. The visitor decided to walk a couple of miles before he sought his bed. Soon after he had left the village street behind him, however, he suddenly realised that he was completely out of harmony with the peace and quiet dignity of the countryside. For some obscure reason he began to feel uneasy. He continued to walk with energetic strides, but his uneasiness increased. Suddenly, with his heart beating' wildly, and the veins in his forehead throbbing violently, he dived into the ditch, just in time to avoid an uncanpy “something” on whdels which had appeared without warning round a bend in the road. He only caught a glimpse of it, but he had observed with frightened eyes that it was an ancient automobile, equipped with heavy wheels, and with no hood or roof to protect the apparently frozen passengers who sat huddled in rugs on the rear seats.

This queer motor car, moreover, was drawn by four white horses who pressed eagerly forward along the road. The driver, holding both steering wheel and reins, wore chauffeur’s uniform, but he was obviously an old coachman who had loved horses and had lived only for their welfare. Oh his face there was a demonic expression which seemed to combine fierce hatred with intense exaltation. The terrified visitor quickly retraced his steps to the village inn where he recounted his experience. Most of the occupants of the bar parlour, however, laughed at him, and ridiculed his story. But an old man—the oldest inhabitant of the village—silenced them and declared that he had seen the same phantom car the previous Christmas. “And,” he maintained, solemnly, “the driver was none other than old Joe Kemp who used to be coachman up at the Hall. Well I remenmer how indign&nt he was when the Squire sold his horses and coach, and told Joe that he must learn to drive a motor car.

“I’ll never drive those stinking, rattling boneshakers, Joe used to say. But he did. And he was never the same man again. He was killed in a motor accident, two years after the horses were sold, and if I know old Joe, he died, saying that there would be a horse for him to drive in Heaven.” * * * Another ghostly visitor of recent times appeared in the form of a music-hall comedian. In his lifetime he had delighted thousands of people with his wit and humour. And everyone had known of the tragedy which wrecked his private life. His wife and only son had been drowned at sea. But with only his work to live for, this gallant comedian restrained his deep sorrow and continued to make his audience laugh.

Shortly after he died, following a sudden attack of pheumonia, the music-hall where he had appeared regularly for many years was adapted for use as a cinema theatre. The original structure was not changed to any substantial degree, and apparently because of that the spirit of the departed comedian was earthbound to the building.

It was only a few years ago, on a night shortly before Christmas Day, that the' manager of the cinema was making his last rounds before locking up. As was his custom he walked into each of the side rooms, one of which had been used as a dressing room by the famous comedian. In this particular apartment the air seemed tainted with the odour of stale grease paint. The manager paused, feeling strangely reflective. Memories of old-time entertainments came to him, and he wondered whether cinema really offered better facilities for wholesome amusement than the Victorian music hall.

Then, as he walked towards the door, with his head full of strange fancies of bygone days, a grim, spectral laugh filled the room. Standing before him, and waving him back, was the figure of the comedian, ghostly white, but seemingly dressed in the old unkempt clothes which he had always worn on the stage. Then the manager must have fainted, for some hours later he was discovered in a semi-conscious condition by the night watchman. But he retained very clear memories of the comedian’s strange re-appear-ance.