Two very unusual ghosts haunting churches or churchyards in Yorkshire.
By Richard Holland
Recently I had a stroke of luck at a second-hand bookstall: I picked up a first edition of ‘Haunted Churches’ (1939) by Elliott O’Donnell for less than a fiver. One of his scarcer titles, ‘Haunted Churches’ appears to be more useful than someof his others because more often than not he acknowledges his sources. This is not a common trait of O’Donnell’s. One can’t help admiring this prolific and entertaining writer (anyone who comes up with a fab title like ‘Trees Of Ghostly Dread’ is all right by me), but I, for one, tend to suspect that many of his yarns have come straight out of his head rather than from witnesses ‘who did not wish to be named’ or who are only presented to the reader by their initials.
But enough of my churlishness. ‘Haunted Churches’ has just introduced me to a new kind of ghost and with pleasure I present it here, too, in O’Donnell’s own words. The action takes place near a village in Yorkshire:
‘A farmer, who lived in the neighbourhood of Melsonby, was driving along a lane leading to the village one night, when his horse suddenly shied with such abruptness that he was all but pitched out of the trap, and then bolted. As soon as he had got it, in some degree under control, he looked around, to try and find out what had frightened it; but he could see only a big white goose waddling solemnly along by the side of the trap.
‘The fact, however, that it appeared to be moving slowly and yet was keeping pace with his horse, which was going very fast, filled him at first with astonishment and then with awe, as he recalled stories he had heard of the neighbourhood of Melsonby being haunted by a variety of ghosts. This must be one of them, he now felt sure, and his conviction grew stronger the nearer they approached the village. On reaching the churchyard, great was his relief when the ghost, making for it, entered it, by passing through the closed gate.
‘On another occasion, two well-known local poachers returning home one night., with rather less booty than usual, saw a fat goose waddling along the road in front of them. “That’s one of Farmer So-and-so’s geese, I’ll be bound,” one of the poachers said. “Let’s bag it, he’s got plenty more and will never miss it.” His companion agreeing, they both stole up behind the goose and grabbed at it. But, lo and behold, their hands encountered nothing, because nothing was there. The goose had inexplicably vanished, melting into fine air. The poachers did not look for any more quarry that night.’
Phantom animals are not uncommon, of course, but a ghostly goose is a new one on me. One can only speculate on the origin of such a spook.
As if this oddity wasn’t enough, O’Donnell refers to another strange animal ghost from Yorkshire: ‘There is a curious rumour regarding St George’s Church, York,’ he writes. ‘It is said that, occasionally, a phantom rabbit is seen at night, or in the early hours of the morning, scampering about the aisles. Attempts have been made to catch it, but always without success. It is supposed to be the ghost of Dick Turpin, who, according to a popular belief, was buried in the old cemetery of the church.’
Transmogrification of human souls into a variety of animal ghosts is an interesting topic in itself but one wonders in whose imagination the idea was first born of the daredevil legendary highwayman coming back as a fluffy bunny. British folklore really is wonderful, isn’t it?
[SOURCE: 'Haunted Churches' by Elliott O'Donnell, Quality Press, 1939.]
© Richard Holland 2008
