Ghost

Mary Simpson has a routine. Leaves home at 9am, drives down the hill, passes the village shop, waves to her father who collects his newspaper and a pint of milk. That morning was the same as any other. She parks in her reserved spot at the office and the receptionist passes her an urgent message. Her father has collapsed and been taken to hospital. At the hospital the consultant explains that her father ‘died from a massive heart attack around 9am’.

I lead groups of adults on ‘ghost tours’ around Upper Loxley. The tourist map shows the village with a ‘spook’ hovering over it and the words ‘most haunted’ in a dripping gothic font. The parish council organises an annual ‘Ghostlee Fayre’, with a week of themed events. I teach adult education classes and I am recruited (paid) to deliver an evening ‘experience’. This is a gentle walk with visits to the haunted sites, followed by a discussion in the village hall.

That was how I meet Mary Simpson. She comes along to the first ‘ghostly walk’, is great in marshalling the walkers, shares her one experience and is recruited by me to assist with future events – what started as one event now takes place throughout the year.

We start the walks at the now abandoned railway station.

‘“I was not speeding. Janey and I were driving into the village to celebrate our engagement at the Green Man. The road was clear. I came round the sharp bend and up over the railway bridge. The kids were playing in the middle of the road, just over the brow of the hill. I slammed the brakes on but hit them both. I told Janey to call the police and an ambulance on her mobile and I got out. I walked round the car. There were a few black tyre marks on the road. But that was it. No kids. No bodies. Nothing.”’

“That statement”, I explain, “is from the Loxley Express. Drivers come over the brow of the hill. See two children playing in the road and cannot stop in time. When they get out of their cars, there is nothing to be seen. Back in the 1930s, the station master and his family lived in the cottage beside the railway bridge. Their two young children were killed in a road accident. Their ghosts are seen playing in the road.”

We move on to the old primary school where the class teacher hung himself from the oak tree in the playing field and has been seen swinging; there’s the top bedroom in Monklands Farm where a gruesome murder was committed and the owners experience sudden temperature changes and see blood on the walls; at Priory Manor the Smiths have seen the shadow of a monk gliding across the living room floor and through the wall; in the churchyard there’s the Red Lady searching for the unmarked grave of her illegitimate child.

In lockdown we move the ‘experience’ online via Zoom. I show a video tour of the village, followed by the discussion and sharing. It all works well, and Mary is there to ‘keep an eye’ on things and move the discussion along if needs be.

The last virtual meeting was in October. We started at 7pm. Mary was there looking on as usual. There was a bit of a ‘glitch’ to begin with, fuzzy screens and the video not playing properly. I remember one older woman telling us about the death of her grandmother. ‘I see her a lot of nights standing at the foot of my bed. I’m not frightened. She is standing there smiling. Why should I be frightened? We all loved her, and she loved us.’ The session ended two hours later and I see Mary waving on-screen before fading out.

The following morning, a neighbour knocked on my door, to tell me that Mary had died ‘last night’ sometime before 9pm.