It's nearly Halloween. In folklore this is a time when the veils between the worlds grow thinner allowing us to feel the presence of the other side. When the spiritual and material worlds touch and a potential exists for magical events to occur. I like a ghost story at Halloween, and I share one with you now. It is a sad tale, but it happens in such a lovely house.
"What's that in the mirror, and the corner of your eye?
What's the footstep following, but never passing by?"
Dr Who, Series eight, episode 4/12: 'Listen' (Saturday 13th September 2014 BBC1)
Have you ever had that feeling that you are not alone? It's impossible to describe, but once felt rarely forgotten. Like a shadow falling across your path, a cool breeze blowing over your shoulders from behind, when there is no open window. You may shrug it off, especially once back in the sunlight, and yet …. something remains. You feel changed.
It was a rainy Autumn day a few years back. I had recently moved to a new county in the English countryside and I liked exploring it without plans. Taking unexpected turns from main roads while out on errands. I'd been researching the area and had a raggedy folder stuffed with historical notes, clippings of places of interest, country homes and village pubs and shops. It would take me a very long time to get through my list of visits – but I was in no hurry.
Especially on that grey afternoon when the rain was coming down so hard that I could hardly see the road let alone follow it. I meant to visit the medieval Littlecote House, but not that day, not in that rain. Instead of taking my normal route home, following the road around the corner by that enchanting thatched cottage on the edge of the woods I found myself going straight on, on a road I had never traveled. I have no idea why.
It was misty with fog and very little light filtered through the trees lining the road. The thought crossed my mind how quiet it was, except for the sound of my windscreen wipers. I realised that I had turned the radio off, as if I needed to hear better, as I could not see well, there in the woods.
The road meandered down and at the bottom the front of Littlecote House came into view. It was magnificent, accented by the creeper that adorned it in a rich ruby red. There was no mistaking the antiquity of the house. I barely had time to admire it before the road swept around behind it. There I was, in a car park by the back gate to the gardens of Littlecote House.
I bolted through a tall wrought iron gate up the garden path with my head down to shield from the still falling rain. I found myself there, at the back door, past another gate, and through it into a hall.
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The house was eerily quiet, like it had been in my car. I felt I was in a different world, had gone through some threshold either driving, or running. Littlecote House has stood for a very long time. I do not think that the house is evil, but it has seen many lives pass through it in the hundreds of years which it has stood there proudly surrounded by it's woods.
If ever there was a house which was inhabited by ghosts, watched over by The Fae, Littlecote House with it's Gothic windows and ancient oak and stone - must be just such a place.
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| Fairies looking through a Gothic arch, in original frame |
This painting by the Victorian artist John Anster Fitzgerald is one of my favourites, appropriate for a midsummer night or for Halloween. I think it captures the ethereal quality of Faerie spirits so well. Beautiful free characters, magical but also mischievous and unpredictable. Littlecote House has this kind of magic about it and you can imagine coming upon a Faerie troupe gazing through one of the Gothic arches there.
ArtMagick describes the painting thus:
"This painting shows a night-time scene where a small troupe of fairies has arrived at the entrance to a Gothic ruin. Through the arch a brilliant light shines, illuminating the fairy group. One of them carries a wreath and a chain of flowers. In its original frame, this is one of Fitzgerald's most haunting and tantalising fairy paintings. The fairies are certainly acting with intent and may, indeed, be up to no good - which would be characteristic of Fitzgerald. If this painting is based upon an actual myth or story, that myth has yet to be unearthed."
Littlecote House is run as a hotel today but much of the house remains as it might have been centuries ago when Henry VIII, Elizabeth I, King James II, William of Orange or Charles II visited. It's said that Henry courted Jane Seymour here after the demise of Queen Jane. One of the owners was a champion of Oliver Cromwell and his campaign to rid England of it's monarchy, then abruptly changed sides and had Charles II and his French Catholic Queen to dinner for which he kept his head and became a Knight of Bath.
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A suit of armour beckoned me into the Great Hall.
The history of the house lays across it, like a fog permeating my sight and thoughts. The hotel was full of guests and yet I encountered no one. It was as if they had all just stepped out and would return at any moment.
There was a half finished jigsaw puzzle upon the enormous heavy oak sideboard.
Unfinished tea lay on a side table by the high backed raspberry velvet chairs. Light through the ancient stained glass window flickered and danced multi-coloured patterns upon the stone floor.
How long I stood there in the shadows I do not know. The day was near end as something led me through a heavy door and up the stairs. Littlecote House is known to be one of the most haunted houses in England. A sign on the stairs points you towards The Haunted Bedroom and The Long gallery, also haunted according to local tradition. The last light of the day illuminated angels in an ethereal stained glass window on the stairs.
The bedroom is through an outer hallway with lush red carpeting and dark wooden panelling.
The room itself looks out over the gardens otherwise it is in semi darkness. The first thing which you see are two figures, of a man and a woman. You start - as they look so lifelike that you believe you are not alone in the small room. Or maybe it is just a feeling that you have. The man is dressed as if for travelling, in tall boots, a cloak and gloves. The woman is dressed modestly and she holds a bundle in her arms. You feel as if you have intruded upon some drama which you cannot understand.
Fantastically carved faces on the stark plaster mantel over the fireplace glow against dark wood panel of the walls.
A small Elizabethan oak canopy bed is simply dressed. In the dark corner by the fireplace is a side table, upon it a man's hat with a feather on it.
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An explanation of the scene which you witness is well known in these parts but has passed into legend so that details are impossible to confirm and there are many variations on the story. It is supposed to have occurred in 1575 during the reign of Elizabeth I. The man is Lord of the Manor, 'Wild' William Darrell, well known for his dark character. The woman a midwife known as Mother Barnes, who was brought to the house blindfolded by an agent of the Lord, sworn to secrecy to deliver an unidentified lady of a child she was carrying. A horrific scene ensued in which William Darrel himself snatched the new-born infant and threw it upon the blazing fire, and held it there by a boot until it had died. The true identity of the man, the lady and the poor child remain unconfirmed but many tales abound with various substantiation available. He was never tried for this crime although it was investigated after the midwife told authorities. But his story did not end happily. William Darrell made many enemies and accrued great debt. There must not be many who mourned him when he broke his neck in a fatal fall from his horse in 1589 while riding on the estate. We will never know for sure what spooked the horse, but locals like to believe that the ghost of a lady carrying a baby crossed his path. It is said that he haunts this room, the spot on the grounds where he died and the church at Ramsbury, two miles away.
Sir Walter Scott heard tell of this tale and used it for his poem 'Rokeby'
Although this manor is now a hotel, no one ever sleeps in this bedroom.
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I had been taking photographs of the house throughout my visit there and had found that I was having trouble focussing the camera. I put this down to the hour of the day and the lack of light causing difficulty. I quickly recorded this room. As the day grew darker yet I realised how late it was and I hurried through the house and out into the gardens towards my car. Outside Littlecote House seemed different. Had it shared a secret with me?
Months passed with little thought of that afternoon. One day I came upon the photographs from my first visit there and The Haunted Bedroom. All the images from that day are clear, throughout the house. But in the corner of the bedroom where the hat of the man lay on the old table there is a strange blue light, in every photo that I took.
I often visit Littlecote House. I have noticed that there are strange lights and shadows throughout the house, and in the gardens. Especially at this time of year, and particularly at twilight.
You never really feel alone at Littlecote, as if ancestors cling to a place they once loved.
There are faces everywhere, wax figures of past inhabitants, in paintings, tooled into the paneling, in the over mantels and on the furniture. The eyes of angels watch from stained glass windows, and darker beasts from carved oak.
The house itself has a melancholy air yet parts of the gardens are joyous even in winter, and in the mornings you may glimpse a Deer and hear the birds singing in the woods. But there are dark places and spirits here too.
I would not like to wander too far in the woods after nightfall. You may well meet with spirits there. It is said that should you stray close to "Wild Darrell's Leap," you might encounter him riding a half wild black stallion.
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| Arthur Rackham, master illustrator |
NOTES:
In another twist to this tale, the Popham family who owned Littlecote House after William Darrell owned a Derby winner who they named Wild Dayrell. Wild Dayrell was retired to their stud at Littlecote, and according to the site Thoroughbred Heritage, " he remained "an especial pet" for the rest of his life. He died, "of apoplexy," probably a heart attack, in his stall at Littlecote a few hours after finishing a hearty breakfast on November 27, 1870, age eighteen."
Thank you to Haunted Wiltshire, please see their website for wonderful images and information on Littlecote House. Read more
HERE:Littlecote House has a Wiki page,
HERE:The page on 'Fairies looking through a Gothic Arch' on ArtMagick, a most useful source for research can be found
HERE:
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