Haunted London Read online

  Sarah lived on in a fool’s paradise, for her friends could not bear to tell her what had happened; they even arranged for her to move to new lodgings so that she would not hear the tolling of St Sepulchre’s bell when her brother was led from the debtors’ prison to the scaffold. Puzzled by his long absence, she journeyed one day to the bank to inquire about her brother and there the whole story was blurted out to her. She left the bank in a dream — quite unable to accept what had happened — and for the rest of her life she lived in a world apart, travelling each day to the bank where she would loiter outside and then suddenly slip inside and ask whether her brother was in that day. Always the answer would be, ‘Not today, madam.’ Often she would murmur, ‘Tell him when he comes that I have called,’ and she would depart, only to linger outside until the bank closed. All the bank employees came to know her and to feel compassion for the sad figure, dressed from head-to-foot in black, and her crudely-painted face earned for her the nickname of Rouge et Noir or the Black Nun (for her head was invariably covered with black material, like a nun). She was never in want, for the bank officials often gave her money as they passed; a room was provided for her and a small annuity ensured that she did not starve.

  Some people even think that she gave the Bank the name of the Old Lady of Threadneedle Street, for whatever the weather she made her pilgrimage every working day for nearly forty years, until her death, which occurred suddenly when she was about sixty. She was buried in the old churchyard of St Christopher-le-Stocks that afterwards became the bank’s garden, where her form has been seen wandering aimlessly along a stone pathway.

  One witness told me that he was in the gallery of the bank that looks down on the bank garden when a friend pointed out to him the figure of a woman in a black dress walking with curious uncertainty along a path in the garden. ‘It’s the Black Nun!’ my informant was told and he watched the odd figure walking in a groping, hesitant fashion, almost like a blind person, moving seemingly without purpose along the stone pathway composed of old gravestone slabs, her hollow and sad face glimpsed for a moment, crudely made-up with powder and rouge. Suddenly the figure dropped to its knees and seemed to beat a stone slab frantically with clenched fists, sobbing and shaking its head from side to side in an agony of grief. The next moment the figure had disappeared but the Bank garden, silent and still, an oasis in a busy world, continues to harbour its ghostly Black Nun.

  COCK LANE, CITY

  This is probably the best-known ghost of the City of London. In January 1762, the London newspapers were full of the popular mystery, and the sensation attracted the attention of many notables of the day. Oliver Goldsmith is credited with writing a treatise on the subject, whilst Dr Samuel Johnson concluded that the child concerned was consciously responsible. Horace Walpole changed his clothes before visiting the little terraced house, and even the Duke of York, accompanied by Lady Northumberland, Lady Mary Coke and Lord Hartford, made the journey to Smithfield; the latter writing afterwards about the ‘wretchedly small and miserable’ house in which fifty people were crowded by the light of one candle about the bed of the child ‘to whom the ghost comes’.

  The story revolves around a stockbroker named Kent who, following the death of his wife in 1757, took rooms with his wife’s sister, Fanny, at the house of a man named Thomas Parsons, a clerk of St Sepulchre’s church, in Cock Lane in 1759. Kent loaned some money to his landlord, and when all efforts for its return failed he sued Parsons. This resulted in considerable animosity between the two men, especially on the part of Parsons. Meanwhile, Fanny was taken ill, and when Parsons’ twelve-year-old daughter, Elizabeth, shared Fanny’s bed during the time that Kent was away attending a wedding in the country, they were disturbed by strange scratching noises and apparently inexplicable knocks and rappings. Fanny was very alarmed and believed that the noises were warnings of her impending death but Parsons attributed the disturbances to a neighbouring cobbler — until it was discovered that the noises were heard on a Sunday when the cobbler was not working. It was then suggested that the mysterious sounds were caused by the spirit of Fanny’s dead sister, admonishing her for cohabiting with Kent. Parsons became interested and invited neighbours into the house to hear the strange noises, much to the distress of the ailing Fanny.

  When Kent returned, he and Fanny made wills in each other’s favour and secured new lodgings in Bartlet Court, Camberwell, where Fanny died in 1760; the litigation between Kent and Parsons was still unresolved. Fanny was buried in the vault beneath St John’s church, Clerkenwell, and after her departure from Cock Lane until her death eighteen months later all was quiet and peaceful.

  With the death of Fanny (from smallpox, according to the death certificate) the noises returned to the house in Cock Lane, seemingly centring on any bed occupied by little Elizabeth Parsons, who trembled and shivered uncontrollably at the loud sound of whirring wings, taps and scratching noises. Her father is reported to have tried in vain to discover a normal explanation, even removing floorboards and wainscotting.

  Eventually, a nurse, Mary Frazer, suggested that the raps might be messages in code, and by accepting one rap for ‘yes’ and two for ‘no’ Parsons questioned the entity and deduced that the disturbances were caused by Fanny, who claimed that her death had been the result of poisoning with red arsenic in a draught of hot ale administered by William Kent — and she wanted to see him hanged! Questions on matters of fact produced answers that were sometimes right, sometimes wrong, as, for example, when she said that her father’s Christian name was John instead of Thomas. It was stated that Elizabeth saw a shrouded figure standing by the bed, without hands. Other witnesses said that they saw a ‘luminous apparition’ with hands, and the noises apparently followed Elizabeth, even when she visited other houses.

  Now Cock Lane became the street with the ‘house of wonder’ and crowds of neighbours and sightseers thronged the narrow lane between Newgate Street and West Smithfield night and day. The house, Number 33, has long since been demolished; it figures in Hogarth’s plate, ‘Credulity, Superstition and Fanaticism’.

  At one stage, the communicating ‘ghost’ promised to rap on its own coffin in the vault of Clerkenwell Church, but when the assembly (including Samuel Johnson) hastened there they were rewarded by complete silence and murmurings of disbelief began to be heard.

  Cock Lane became thronged with sightseers and Kent’s reputation was maligned throughout the city, although many people, including Oliver Goldsmith, assumed that Parsons was at the bottom of the matter in revenge for having been sued by Kent. Finally the authorities decided to investigate the affair.

  The investigating party discovered that when they held the hands of Elizabeth Parsons all the noises stopped. It was not until they threatened the child with Newgate Prison that a few scratching noises were heard as she wriggled and squirmed. Examination disclosed a small board concealed between her stays and it seemed that the secret was out.

  Kent then indicted Parsons, his wife, his daughter, the servant Mary Frazer, the clergyman and several tradesmen who were all convicted of conspiring against his life and character. Thomas Parsons was sentenced to be placed three times in the pillory at the corner of Cock Lane, and to be confined for two years in prison. His wife was to be imprisoned for a year and Mary Frazer for six months. The sentence on the clergymen and tradesmen was postponed so that they could make good their misconduct by paying several hundred pounds to Kent.

  Miss Elizabeth Parsons subsequently married twice and died at Chiswick in 1806. In 1845 the coffin of ‘Scratching Fanny’ is said to have been opened and it was found that there was no discolouration or mouldering of the body, which could suggest that arsenic had in fact been the cause of death. In 1893, when three hundred and twenty-five coffins were removed from the crypt of St John’s, Clerkenwell, it was reported that one coffin was found to be stained with arsenic, but the coffin was not identified since it had no plate. In 1941, the church was reduced to a ruin by German bombs, and when the vaults
were cleared there was no sign of Fanny’s coffin. Now the whole truth about the Cock Lane affair will never be known.

  THE CONNAUGHT ARMS, E16

  Hard by the dock gates in Connaught Road, E16, The Connaught Arms has the ghost of a mad woman who committed suicide. Her room could never be slept in and no matter how many times the room was tidied and put to rights, next day everything was thrown about the room just as it must have been during the woman’s last days. Once, a member of the staff went into the room and found it in chaos, and as he came out of the room he saw, facing him, a strange old woman with a wild look in her eyes. He had two dog with him and all three scampered down the stairs together as fast as they could to get away from the apparition!

  GREYFRIARS CHURCHYARD

  A quiet haunted spot in the City, one of those welcome patches of peaceful green among the multitude of buildings, is to be found in Newgate Street, by the ruined Christ Church: Greyfriars Churchyard. Christ Church was founded by the Grey Friars, formed by St Francis in Italy in 1209, who were known by three names. They were called Franciscans after their founder, Grey Friars from their clothing and Minor Friars because of their humility. Nine of the friars landed at Dover in 1223; five of them settled at Canterbury and the other four established themselves in London in 1228 and founded the great house of Grey Friars with its chapter house, dormitory, refectory, infirmary and church. The area came to be known as Greyfriars and afterwards as Christ Church or Christ’s Hospital — famous for its Bluecoat Boys. The church received rich patronage from Queen Margaret, second wife of King Edward I, and from Isabella, wife of Edward II, and Queen Philippa, consort of Edward III. John of Brittany, Earl of Richmond, gave jewels; Gilbert de Clare, Earl of Gloucester, great trees from his forests; Dick Whittington, a library. Two hundred years ago, a writer (Thomas Pennant) stated: ‘No order of monks seems to have had the powers of persuasion equal to these poor friars... and there are few of their admirers, when they came to die, who did not console themselves with the thoughts of lying within these expiating walls; and if they were particularly wicked, thought themselves secure against the assaults of the devil, providing their corpse was wrapped in the habit and cowl of a friar.’

  Greyfriars Churchyard, Newgate Street, harbours the ghosts of Isabella, the ‘she-wolf of France’ and the restless Elizabeth Barton, the ‘Holy Maid of Kent’.

  Such a one was Isabella, daughter of Philip IV of France and wife of Edward II. When Edward neglected her for his favourite, Piers Gaveston, she returned to France and there collected an army, led by her lover, Roger Mortimer, and other barons.

  Returning to England in 1326, she attacked and defeated the king, who was deposed, imprisoned and murdered. She and Mortimer ruled for a time, but in 1330, Edward III had Mortimer hanged and Isabella spent the rest of her life in retirement. The ‘she-wolf of France’ was buried in Greyfriars Churchyard, and, with audacious hypocrisy, had the heart of her murdered husband placed on her breast.

  She is just one of the ghosts that haunt this historic spot, the burial place of three other queens and over six hundred people of nobility. Here also was buried Elizabeth Barton, the crazy ‘Holy Maid of Kent’, executed at Tyburn in 1534 for high treason. She hysterically and unsuccessfully opposed Henry VIII’s intention to divorce Catherine of Aragon, and inaccurately predicted that he would die within a few months if his marriage to Anne Boleyn took place. Her figure, wild and restless in the restricting habit of the Grey Friars, is said to be seen from time to time about the deserted churchyard.

  When the Franciscan Friars first came to England they wore russet-brown habits with a cowl, girded with cords and walked barefoot; later they reverted to the original grey dress of their founder. In the early hours of misty autumn mornings the form of a monk has been seen, walking placidly about the Greyfriars Churchyard, dressed in russet-brown; a figure that disappears when the sun is fully risen or when human beings approach too closely.

  Yet another ghost at Greyfriars is that of Lady Alice Hungerford who poisoned her husband. It is recorded that she was led from the Tower to Holborn and there ‘put into a cart with one of her -servants, and thence to Tyburn’ and execution. Her form has been recognized because of her great beauty and natural dignity. She walked one summer evening, haughty and arrogant, and so frightened a night watchman who recognized her that he fled in terror and gave up his job next day. He had seen enough of the ghosts of Greyfriars Churchyard and he saw only one.

  THE NAG’S HEAD, HACKNEY

  The Nag’s Head, Hackney, was probably known to Jack the Ripper and it has certainly witnessed murder and suicide; at one time it had the dubious reputation of being the eeriest pub in London. Landlord Terry Hollingsworth, an ex-commando and amateur boxer, was sceptical of the haunting until he found taps turning on by themselves, furniture falling to pieces beneath him and other strange but inconclusive manifestations.

  The ghost was finally seen by the barman, Tom Foord, when he went to the cellar one morning to fetch some crates. ‘She was a very old woman,’ he said, ‘with a grey shawl and a long, Victorian-like dress.’ Following a number of séances things seemed quieter, and the shawled woman has not been seen recently.

  ODESSA ROAD, FOREST GATE

  The occupants of Number III, Odessa Road, Forest Gate, saw no ghost at their house but said they ‘lived in terror for twelve years’. I was consulted in February 1969, and learned that Robert Chilvers and his second wife, Doris, were almost at the end of their tether. The retired railwayman, then aged sixty-seven, had moved to the house in 1946 with his first wife Maude, who had died ten years later. Three weeks after they married in 1957 Doris Chilvers was quietly listening to the radio when suddenly there was a loud bang and blue flames flashed up around the set. When they heard similar banging noises, which they were at a total loss to explain, and saw more frightening blue flashes near the television set, they promptly got rid of both the radio and television, but still, they told me, ‘It seemed the house was haunted.’ ‘Once our cat, Blackie, asleep on a chair, was suddenly whisked across the room in front of my eyes,’ said Doris. ‘It was as if some unseen hands had picked up the animal and taken it across the room.’ The cat, it seems, was terrified and ran out of the house. (Perhaps it had received an electric shock, I thought to myself!) Sometimes Doris felt something invisible push violently against her and she has found bruises where she has been ‘touched by unseen hands’.

  Robert Chilvers thought that the disturbances, strange and eerie noises that echoed through the house at night, might be connected in some way with his first wife. He showed me holy pictures that he had found covered with scratches after a night of unrest.

  Cats are very fond of sharpening their claws and although Robert and Doris thought that the blue flashes might be warnings, I suggested that they get the Electricity Board to carry out a thorough investigation. I heard no more about strange blue flashes and mysterious banging noises at Odessa Road.

  OLD NEWGATE PRISON

  Several ghosts were reported to haunt Newgate. One prison officer stated in a prison report in December 1891, that he was working late in his office situated near Dead Man’s Walk when he heard limping footsteps from the direction of the Walk. As he listened they became louder and clearer. At first the officer thought it must be the chief warder making his rounds, but the chief’s step was firm and military, whereas these footsteps were stealthy, uneven, occasionally with a drag to them: the shuffle of a limping man. The prison officer opened the grille in the doors that led to Dead Man’s Walk and was horrified to see, pressed close to the other side of the grille, the dead-white face of a man. As it swayed back from the grille the officer saw bruised skin around the mottled green throat, and his immediate thought was that the man had been hanged. As the face disappeared the officer opened the gate, but outside there was no trace of anyone or anything. Subsequently, this officer and others heard limping footsteps, but they were never able to discover any cause for the noises, which invariably ceased as soon
as they set out to investigate. Sometime afterwards, the officer who had seen the face learned that the last man to be buried in Dead Man’s Walk was lame.

  Another reported ghost at Newgate was that of the evil Mrs Dyer who was seen by one chief warder in what had been called the women felons’ yard. She was the notorious Reading baby farmer who was executed on 10 June 1896, for the murder of a number of babies whom she was paid to adopt. The babies were strangled and thrown into the Thames at Caversham, whilst she continued to draw the money for their keep. The oily and horrible old woman had actually smiled at her trial as witness after witness related stories of the most appalling cruelty. As she passed the chief warder on her way to the execution shed she had turned and looked into his face and said quietly, ‘I’ll meet you again one day, sir.’

  During his last week at Newgate, before the old prison was closed, the chief warder happened to be in the vicinity of the women’s yard when he thought he heard a movement out in the darkness. He looked through a glass observation window and, although the yard seemed to be deserted, the last words of Mrs Dyer suddenly came into his mind: ‘I’ll meet you again one day, sir.’ The next moment he saw a form loom up out of the blackness, and he recognized the dark, glittering eyes and the thin, merciless lips of old Mrs Dyer. Subjective hallucination perhaps? It might have been had not other warders and visitors reported fluttering footsteps and the dark form of an old woman in the women’s yard at dead of night at a time when there were no women convicts in the prison, female prisoners having been lodged in Pentonville for some years by that time.

  I recall too Thurston Hopkins, a Sussex man and friend of Rudyard Kipling, who studied ghosts, telling me about something in the chapel, deep in the heart of Newgate. Hopkins often visited the prison and explored the massive buildings with their dark stone corridors, frightening galleries and deep dungeons. The gloomy chapel was reached by a flight of stone steps and footsteps echoed eerily as one walked down them; even the chapel floor seemed impregnated with evil. One night a prison chaplain was alone in the chapel when suddenly the black curtains of the condemned pew swished back to reveal the outline of a man in a black coat with powdered hair, his skull-like face gaunt and vivid in the dim light. Weeks later, Hopkins told me, the chaplain saw a portrait of Henry Fauntleroy, a banker and forger who had been executed at Newgate in 1824, and immediately the priest recognized the singular features he had seen in the chapel.