Haunted Tunbridge Wells E-Book

Neil Arnold

• Herausgeber: The History Press
• Kategorie: Ratgeber
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 155

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2013

Beschreibung

Tunbridge Wells is a town steeped in history — and history, of course, means ghost stories. Join Neil Arnold for a unique and spine-tingling excursion into the darkest corners and eeriest locations of this old town. Be chilled by all manner of sinister tales and things that do more than just bump in the night. Meet the phantoms of the Pantiles — said to number at least twenty, and stroll through a plethora of haunted shops, houses and ancient woodlands. After this creepy jaunt you'll never see this delightful town in quite the same light, so grab your candle and hold your nerve and prepare to meet a gaggle of ghouls and ghosts and other twilight terrors of Tunbridge Wells.

Leseprobe

This book is dedicated, with love, to Susie, Bob, Charlotte and Sam

Contents

Title Page

Dedication

Epigraph

Acknowledgements

Introduction

Benenden

Bidborough

Brenchley and Matfield

Cranbrook

Five Oak Green

Frittenden

Goudhurst

Groombridge

Hawkenbury

Hawkhurst

Horsmonden

Lamberhurst

Langton Green

Paddock Wood

The Pantiles

Pembury

Rusthall

Sandhurst

Sissinghurst

Southborough

More Terrors from the Town

Bibliography and Sources

Copyright

It’s the unseen hand that slips into your own

The non-specific presence that drifts through the home,

A shiver down your neck when there’s nobody there;

The slamming of a door and the creak on the stair.

It’s the tap on the window, just a branch in the wind?

The drip of a tap into the dry bowl of the sink,

In darkness, in light and beyond comprehension,

To shatter the nerves and grip us with tension.

Acknowledgements

MANY thanks to the following for help and support whilst writing this book: my parents, Ron and Paulene; my sister, Vicki; my wife, Jemma (thanks for the surreal road trip!); my nan, Win; and granddad, Ron; James Mitson; Christopher Cassidy; Susie Higgins and Soul Searchers Kent; John Vigar; Charles Igglesden; Andrew Green; Sean Tudor; The Why Files; The History Press; Francies Moore; Peter Underwood; Joe Chester; Kent Messenger; Tunbridge Wells Library; English Heritage; Sean Croucher; Steve Baxter; all the pub landlords and staff who I spoke to; Medway Archives; Bygone Kent; BBC News; the Telegraph; This is Kent; Ludington Daily News; the Kent and Sussex Courier; Tunbridge Wells Tourist Information Centre; and all the witnesses who came forward to report their experiences.

‘No county in England can boast so many mysterious figures of the night as the Garden of England. Sober citizens of its cities, towns and villages are all speaking of “spirits” they have seen – in dark country lanes, unfrequented passages, in the grounds of old mansions, and in the mansions themselves.’

The Leader Post, 1 July 1935

Introduction

It’s the man dressed in black and the woman in white

Or a child dressed up for a Halloween fright.

It’s the campfire crackle and the hoot of an owl,

A phantom coach and horses, spectral monk in black cowl.

ROYAL Tunbridge Wells (according to the website ‘Visit Tunbridge Wells’) was ‘the place to see and be seen amongst royalty and the aristocracy’.

For more than 400 years the town has been popular with visitors, who, since the early seventeenth century, have flocked to savour the healing properties of the chalybeate (pronounced ‘ka-lee-bee-at’) spring which was discovered by Lord Dudley North in 1606. The magical waters can be experienced up to this day, and are served by a ‘dipper’ dressed in appropriate costume. The iron-rich properties are said to cure all manner of ailments and diseases, as well as hangovers and infertility. The website adds: ‘Word of the new spring and its special properties soon spread, and visitors from London and elsewhere flocked to the small settlement which developed alongside the Spring and later became known as Tunbridge Wells.’

The spring has a characteristic red colour, and is slightly warm. One legend states that, many years ago, the Devil, whilst pestering Sussex, was sent packing by St Dunstan: he clamped the Devil’s nose with a set of blacksmith tongs and made the horned one flee to Tunbridge Wells – where he proceeded to dip his burning nostrils into the cool waters for relief. A less dramatic version of events claims that St Dunstan, in order to cool his red-hot tongs, walked to Royal Tunbridge Wells and plunged them into the spring.

Imagine the scene, some three or more centuries ago, when aristocracy would visit the wells for a morning sip of spring water and then be on their way to the decorative promenade. During the Georgian period Tunbridge Wells became a popular spa resort. Today it is lined with coffee houses, bars, and the like, and, for a relaxing day, one can still pretend to be a dandy from days of yore and soak up the atmosphere of the place. Like the town of Rochester and the city of Canterbury, Tunbridge Wells is atmospheric in its antiquarian glamour. From the old creaking buildings to grand family houses boasting stunning architecture, the town is rich in history. The year 2009 served as the 100th anniversary of Tunbridge Wells as a ‘Royal’ town. The town achieved its title in 1909 when King Edward VII, impressed by the town as an attraction to aristocratic visitors, granted the prestigious honour.

Royal Tunbridge Wells sits at the northern edge of the High Weald. Almost 60,000 people reside in the town, though Tunbridge Wells isn’t without its green spaces: the town is surrounded by dense woodlands, spacious commons and rolling fields. Dunorlan Park stretches for almost 80 acres and Bedgebury Forest – which slips into Goudhurst, Hawkhurst and Flimwell – is an ancient woodland that takes up some 2,600 acres. It forms part of the High Weald ‘Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty’. The former is mentioned in the Anglo-Saxon charter of AD 841. In his Account of the Weald of Kent, from 1814, T.D.W. Dearn writes that the town, ‘[is] a large and populous hamlet lying in the several parishes of Tunbridge, Speldhurst, and Frant, at the distance of 36 miles from London.’ He adds that it is divided into four districts: Mount Ephraim, Mount Pleasant, Mount Sion and The Wells.

In 1956 the town suffered a bizarre summer ice storm. The August Bank Holiday Monday tranquillity was disturbed by a barrage of hail which left the streets of Tunbridge resembling Arctic tundra – or, as the local newspaper put it, like ‘a rice pudding spreading throughout the town.’ So severe was the storm that the rooftops of some buildings collapsed due to the weight of ice. Even more bizarre was the fact that at Tonbridge, just 5 miles away, locals enjoyed the sun and were completely unaware of the freak storm that had hit their neighbours. The severity of the storm echoed a destructive tornado scare which struck Tunbridge Wells in 1763. Pembury and Paddock Wood were caught in the path of the 5-mile wide phenomenon – trees were uprooted from the ground, houses were crushed and animals were battered to death by the enormous hailstones.

I write this as a brief blanket of Kentish snow begins to thaw, and at night the shadows play tricks on the mind as they are cast long across the pristine white by stark, reaching trees. The wintertime is perfect for ghost stories – such tales seem to lack atmosphere when told during a bright summery day! Around the festive season, into the months of a new year, the countryside is crisp, and early morning jaunts bring swirling marsh mists and dew-damp fields; as the curtain of dusk falls, nature comes alive and the senses are heightened.

Royal Tunbridge Wells and the surroundings villages confined within the district are full with ghost stories, perfect for a moonlit night. It’s no surprise. Pick up a majority of ghost books pertaining to Kent and you’ll read about a handful of local spectres, especially those said to haunt the Pantiles – a beautiful walkway ideal for shopping and relaxing. These ghost stories are relatively well known, almost to the extent that they compete with the village of Pluckley – situated near Ashford – for the title of ‘Kent’s most haunted location’. Over the last few decades a number of researchers have looked into some eerie Tunbridge Wells yarns, and a few are mentioned here, but my aim is to uncover a new wealth of spooky occurrences – the more obscure, the better! These tales stretch back many years, and many appear here for the first time – though certain ghostly tales, of course, cannot be avoided: they are embedded in the framework of those old buildings. And yet there will be other yarns less well-known, from tales of hideous ghost hounds and other supernatural beasts to haunted castles and creepy roads – all perfect fodder for a cosy night by that crackling campfire. This book is by no means an exhaustive catalogue of Tunbridge Wells’ levels of high strangeness, as there are so many weird stories to relate, but it is a selection of my favourite ghostly tales from the town and its surrounding villages.

Whether you believe in ghosts or not, there can be no doubt that many folk love a mystery. So come with me now: pay your fare and hop on this ghost train into the heart of Tunbridge Wells, and prepare to meet a host of tantalising terrors which inhabit this wondrous yet extremely haunted place.

Neil Arnold, 2013

Benenden

The Man-Faced Dog!

I begin this volume with one of the most bizarre entries in this book. It comes from the atmospheric pen of Mr Charles Igglesden, who writes about Benenden in his second volume of A Saunter Through Kent with Pen and Pencil. Benenden is a quaint village and civil parish in the Tunbridge Wells district. The village name derives from an Old English word meaning ‘Bynna’s wooded pasture’. In 1086 the village was recorded as Benindene. The current spelling of the name has been in existence since 1610.

Igglesden describes a disturbing apparition within the vicinity of Skull’s Gate Farm – which sounds like the perfect setting for a macabre tale! The farm ‘lies just off the Cranbrook High Road’. Legend has it that, in the murky past, a man was murdered in the area under ‘revolting circumstances’; his fetid ghost is still said to lurk here. However, this is no ordinary haunting. One day, during the early 1900s, a man was riding his bicycle on the lane toward Skull’s Gate Farm when, to his horror, he noticed that he was being followed by an alarming manifestation. According to Igglesden, ‘the shape of the ghost was remarkable’ – some would say far-fetched. According to the tale, it had a ‘long body’ resembling a dog but a human head! A sinister tale indeed …

Had the terrified witness observed a hellhound, those frightful, demonic dogs of legend with salivating jaws and fiery eyes? Such fiends are said to take on many forms and colours; some are said to drag chains around their necks, whilst others are bereft of a head. Folklore states that those unfortunate enough to encounter such a goulish manifestation are soon to suffer a death in the family.

Benenden – haunted by a hideous man-faced dog!

On 29 December 1672 Benenden suffered a great tempest, described as a ‘very great light, to the amazement of all the inhabitants.’ Hideous thunderclaps reverberated across the sky, and so severe was the winter storm that those who remained in the village, ‘wished themselves farthest from it.’ One wonders if the storm was so bad that even the phantasmal man-faced dog had to seek shelter!

The Oldest Road-Ghost Story Ever Told

The county of Kent has so many haunted roads. Tales of phantom hitchhikers, spectral jaywalkers and eerie accident victims abound. One of the best-known road ghosts of the county haunts the village of Blue Bell Hill near Maidstone – for more information, read my Haunted Maidstone – but one of my favourite stories – and certainly one the oldest accounts of a road spectre – is briefly mentioned in Charles Igglesden’s aforementioned volume. He begins:

Leaving [Benenden] by the way of the Rolvenden road, we pass on the left Pullington, the residence of Captain Neve, and Beacon Hill, so named on account of its having been one of the hills upon which beacon fires were lighted to warn of the approach of the great Spanish Armada. The name Pullington recalls a strange and somewhat weird story well-known to the older inhabitants …

According to his book, it was once said that a local man named Hunt (who was also known as Fullington Hunt) resided in the area. He was due to marry a young lady named Peggy. The problem was that Mr Hunt was not a trustworthy soul, and he was known to have affairs. Indeed, Mr Hunt had an affair with Peggy’s own sister – and married her instead. Young Peggy only found out about the affair on the day of her wedding; upon hearing the bells of the church ring out, she set off merrily – only to find the happy couple at the altar. Peggy forlornly trudged to the nearby pond, which was situated at Eaglesden, and threw herself in. It’s no coincidence that the water hole became known as ‘Peggy’s Field’.

Many years later the unfaithful Mr Hunt, whilst riding home late at night from Cranbrook market, got the shock of his life when his jilted bride-to-be suddenly appeared beside him. Thereafter, the spectre would haunt Mr Hunt every time he travelled on that stretch of road – her spectre would hop on board his cart, and there remain until he reached the stables.

On a lighter, more comical note, it’s worth mentioning that Princess Anne went to Benenden School in 1964. It was here, so it is said, that she was mildly spooked one night by a ghost, an apparition which turned out to be her friends playing a prank!

Bidborough

Phantom Monks

The village and civil parish of Bidborough has a population of under 1,000 and sits north of Tunbridge Wells. Parts of the church of St Lawrence date back to the tenth century. During the twelfth century the building was extended. In July 1998, in the vicinity of St Lawrence, two visitors observed a trio of ghostly monks which floated down the pathway at a quick pace. Although the stunned witnesses fled the churchyard, they noticed that the hooded figures had a strange hue about them – particularly under their cowls, where their faces should have been.

St Lawrence church at Bidborough is haunted by phantom monks.

Brenchleyand Matfield

A Peculiar Past

The parish of Brenchley – which has a population of fewer than 3,000 people – can be found 8 miles east of Tunbridge Wells. The name is said to derive from an Anglo-Saxon leader whose name was Braenca, and the area his people lived in was a clearing, or ‘leagh’, in the forest. Over time the village has been called Braencsle, Brencheslega, Branchelegh and Brenchesle. The church in the village – All Saints – dates back to the thirteenth century and the main street which runs through the area is said to be one of the finest in England. The village is famous for its timbered Elizabethan houses. A tree which stands alongside the old Rectory House is said to be ‘so ancient that it is mentioned in the Domesday [survey]’. The tree has a girth of 36ft.

Both Brenchley and Matfield have a curious history. One of the first ever diphtheria outbreaks occurred there, and a few centuries ago the country lanes of a night were frequented by highwaymen. On a road to Pembury from Matfield, it is recorded that an isolated spot became known as Beggar’s Hollow. Many people were robbed at this location and it was deemed an unsavoury place to frequent if you were not of the criminal fraternity.

The aforementioned church sits close to an avenue of 400-year-old yew trees. Between 1367 and 1370 Edward III was said to have felled more than 150 oak trees to aid the restoration of Rochester Castle. Interestingly, there is a legend in Brenchley pertaining to the cutting down of oak trees: in the past it was said that anyone who cut down an oak tree would die within a year. This was proven when, in 1863, the wife of a farmer felled a roadside oak. Although she planted a sapling near the very spot, she was dead within the year. On 19 August 1763 a terrible storm raged over the village. Within thirty minutes the area was completely flooded. Enormous chunks of hail fell from the sky. They were described as being ‘like fragments of ice and of irregular shape’. The rector of Barming noted that hailstones measuring 4in were still being picked up ten days later.

Brenchley – a place of mystery.

A tombstone in the village has a rather macabre inscription on its face. It reads:

‘This world is like a city, ‘tis full of crooked streets,

Death is the market place where all poor mortals meet.’

Haunted House – For Sale!

On Thursday, 29 July 2004, BBC News reported that a war poet’s birthplace was up for sale: Weirleigh, a ‘neo-gothic mansion on the outskirts of the village of Matfield’, was put on the market for £800,000. The building, which has a ninety-two step staircase, was the birthplace, in 1886, of poet Siegfried Sassoon. The building was constructed in 1866.

The house is said to have a ghost – thought to be that of Sassoon’s mother – but the owners at the time, a Mr and Mrs Wheeler, dismissed the legend. Lisbet Wheeler added: ‘Mrs Sassoon had eczema. She excluded everybody and people were intrigued.’ She would often cover herself in white soothing cream to treat her condition – and so, when she appeared at the window, many visitors and passers-by were spooked. Despite their scepticism, the Wheelers kept the legend alive by hanging a white African mask in one of the windows. Even so, the Telegraph of 17 July 2004 commented that the house was known to schoolchildren as the ‘haunted house’ or the ‘Scooby Doo house.’

It seems the ghostly legend may have originated from the pen of a Robert Graves, who stayed at the house in 1916. Shortly after Siegfried’s brother, Hamo, died at Gallipoli, Graves heard strange noises such as ‘rapping’ and ‘diabolical yelling’ at the house. These bouts of high strangeness were also blamed on Sassoons’ mother who, at the time, had been trying to contact her departed son via a seance.

The Churchyard Ghost

Brenchley’s All Saints church is said to be haunted by a Roman soldier. During the summer of 1988 a man visited the churchyard. Whilst he was inspecting the tombstones’ inscriptions, under the glare of the sun, he felt a presence nearby. When the man looked up he was startled to see the head and shoulders of a Roman soldier. The witness reported that the figure wore a ‘close fitting helmet’, and ‘looked young and fair of face’.

The spectre appeared to be staring at a gravestone. However, when the witness approached, the figure, like so many ghosts, disappeared.

All Saints church at Brenchley.

Ghosts on the Road