The Spectre of Newby Church

Britain has its fair share of famous 20th century ghost images; from national landmarks to tiny hamlets, no square inch is spared from spectral display.

Newby Hall, an 18thcentury house near Ripon in Yorkshire, is both a family tourist attraction and the scene of one of the most captivating (supposed) paranormal images of the 1960s.

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The ‘Newby Monk’ (otherwise known as the ‘Spectre of Newby Church’) is the name given to the ghostly apparition developed in a photograph taken on the grounds of Newby Hall’s own Church of Christ the Consoler. The Reverend Kenneth F Lord took the image in 1963 and remarked that the infamous ‘monk’-like shape was not present at the time of taking the photograph.

When the image was developed and circulated, speculation began as to what or who the murky humanoid shape may be. As with all good British hauntings, the first port of call was mysterious clergy, with many suggesting that the figure bears a similarity to a 16thcentury monk. The white blur concealing his face is generally referred to as a shroud, possibly concealing leprosy or a similar facial disfigurement.

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Naturally, there’s a school of thought that the monk is little more than an accomplice taffled in bedsheets (Or similar. I happen to like the bedsheet image.) While many believe the figure to stand at 9 feet tall, considering the monk’s feet are not visible, sceptics argue that the accomplice is simply standing on a box.

Nonetheless, the blurred scream-mask of the monk permeated public imagination and was adopted by tabloids and paranormal groups alike. There are multiple reports of photographic experts examining the image and finding no evidence of tampering. However, many other investigators cite it as having all the hallmarks of a double exposure image. (Double exposure being where two or more images are superimposed to give the appearance of being one singular image.) To date, there has been no clear explanation as to the reason and method of production of the Newby Monk, which only adds to its enduring quality!

Skelton-cum-Newby_exterior_820x530_© GWhite
c) Graham White

Newby Church itself is not a place of ghost hunts or repeated clams of paranormal events – indeed, the 1960s spectre has the monopoly on spirit activity. Comparatively speaking, the church is a young one, founded in 1876.

Its reason for construction is similarly unique; in the April of 1870, Frederick Vyner (of noble heritage) and several other titled British and Italian tourists were ambushed and kidnapped during their travels through Greece.

A few days later, a ransom was demanded for the release of the party. While a large portion of the funds were gathered for the groups’ release, a failed rescue attempt saw three of the tourists murdered, including Frederick.

Frederick’s mother was understandably heartbroken, and saw to it that the remainder of the accumulated ransom money was used in the construction of two churches in memory of her murdered son. The first, Christ the Consoler, was built on her own land in Newby, the other at his sister’s land at Studley Royal.

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While I am not theologically qualified, I would argue that a church founded in the 19thcentury would have little reason for 16thcentury monks to have taken up residence.

Has this stopped the spectral monk in his tracks? Not at all. The Reverend’s questionable image has its own autonomy and continues to captivate and unnerve to this day.

 

 

 

 

Sources / Further Reading:

 

http://www.theparanormalguide.com/blog/the-ghost-monk-of-newby-church

 

https://forums.overclockers.co.uk/threads/newby-ghost-photo-ever-proved-a-fake.17930883/

 

http://www.daffadillies.co.uk/trigger/b720031

 

Francis Bacon’s Ghost Chicken

With Christmas behind us, New Year on our minds and the lingering scent of roast poultry clinging to the curtains, I have been racking my mind for a seasonal topic.

While spirit snowmen are a thing of horror fiction, it would seem that ghostly chickens have their claws firmly lodged in the niche echelons of British folklore.

Before I am reminded by a helpful reader that ghost turkeys would arguably be more festive, in the true spirit of a family Christmas dinner, I say to you; ‘you get what you’re given’.

Sir Francis Bacon
Sir Francis Bacon

Sir Francis Bacon (1561-1626) was an English statesman, philosopher and an early purveyor of scientific methods and reasoned scientific thought. According to John Aubrey’s vivid account, Bacon died as a result of failed experiments In preserving meats.

On a particularly cold night in January, Bacon was travelling to Highgate with the King’s Physician, when he was suddenly struck with the thought of using snow to prevent meat perishing.

Bacon and the Dr Winterbourne were so keen to test his theory that they alighted the carriage, and rushed to a ‘poor woman’s cottage at the bottom of Highgate Hill’, where they purchased a chicken. After delightfully commanding the woman to slaughter, pluck and remove the bird’s innards, Bacon went about filling the carcass with snow.

Shortly after his poultry-stuffing efforts, Bacon caught such a severe chill that he was unable to return home and was laid up in nearby Arundel House. Bacon’s sudden ill health was worsened by his hosts lodgings, Aubrey describing his bed as ‘damp’ and unused for some time; resulting in his death from pneumonia in ‘2 or 3 days’.

Aubrey’s accuracy in his accounts has been criticised for many years, by his contemporaries and modern academics alike. However, this is all immaterial; Bacon is a minor character in this feathery tale.

Since Bacon’s untimely death, there have been multiple accounts of a spectral white bird, resembling a plucked chicken, scuttling around Pond Square, Highgate. The chicken appears to run in wild circles before disappearing into the ether.

In 1943, an account given by Aircraftman Terence Long states how, after crossing Pond Square late at night, he was startled to hear the thundering clatter of a horse and carriage. Following this terror, he found the ensuing silence pierced by the shriek of a bird, after which a chicken appeared, racing in circles, before disappearing.  Similarly, another wartime sighting was recorded by a Mrs J Greenhill who reported seeing the chicken on several occasions, describing it as a ‘large whitish bird’.

In the 1960s, a stranded motorist encountered the same plucked vision, as a chicken appeared, winding in circles, before dissipating into the night air. However, in the 1970s, the bird took the form of the ultimate passion-killer by manifesting directly next to an amorous couple who were intertwined on a park bench.

Rather disappointingly, I have failed to find any especially recent accounts of this spectral fowl, but I live in hope. Perhaps the chicken is finally at peace with its fate. Perhaps the human imagination is a wonderful, if bizarre thing.

In the meantime, here’s a festive thanks to you, ghost chicken, for your part in scientific progress and for the future joy the British people experience, knowing our freezers can be filled to the brim with breaded fleshy offcuts every festive season.

 

 

 

 

 

Sources

 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Francis_Bacon#Biography

 

http://www.haunted-london.com/pond-square-ghost.html

 

https://hauntedpalaceblog.wordpress.com/2013/04/25/the-strange-case-of-sir-francis-bacon-and-the-frozen-chicken/

 

The Brown Lady of Raynham Hall

The photo of The Brown Lady of Raynham hall is not just one of Britain’s most famous spectral photographs, but is world-renowned. Since its development in 1936, the ghostly image of the Brown Lady descending the stairs of the Norfolk country house has been widely circulated irrefutable proof of ghosts’ existence.

Now, with Halloween just behind us and dark winter nights drawing ever-closer, this famous photo is doing its rounds online, nestled amongst other famous compatriots as one of ‘ten frightening photos’.

But I think our Brown lady is worth a little more explanation than internet lists permit.

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The Brown Lady of Raynham Hall

 

The legend of the Brown Lady was not a product of the infamous photograph, but has been part of Norfolk lore for centuries; the ghost captured on film has supposedly been a constant presence at Raynham Hall, Norfolk since the 19thcentury.

The haunting figure is frequently referred to by two names online, namely Lady Dorothy Walpole (1686-1726) or ‘Lady Townsend’. Nonetheless, the women are one and the same. The Lady suffered an unfortunate existence in life – her husband was cruel and ill-tempered and, when learning of her adultery, punished her disloyalty by locking her in her chambers, refusing to let her leave Raynham hall (even to visit her children) until her death in old age from smallpox. Since her death, she is said to roam the Hall in a brown satin dress, carrying a lantern.

 

There are numerous reported sightings of the brown lady, including one from King George IV who saw the lady standing beside his bed at night.

However, one of the more elaborate claims originates in 1835 and was recorded at a Christmas gathering by Lucia C Stone. Visiting guests Colonel Loftus and Hawkins claimed to have seen a spectral woman in a brown dress as they retired to their bedrooms for the night. The next day, Colonel Loftus saw the lady again, but this time, closer. He reported that the woman had empty eye sockets that stood out darkly against her ghostly glowing face.

The next year in 1836, Captain Frederick Marryat (Navy officer and father of Florence Marryat, author of the classic Spiritualist work ‘There is no Death) specifically asked to spend the night in the supposed haunted room. Apparently, he aimed to prove that any such hauntings were in fact the work of local smugglers who aimed to frighten people away from the area. In fact, Captain Marryat’s experience was anything but mundane. His daughter, Florence recounted his experience in 1891;

 

…he took possession of the room in which the portrait of the apparition hung, and in which she had been often seen, and slept each night with a loaded revolver under his pillow. For two days, however, he saw nothing, and the third was to be the limit of his stay. On the third night, however, two young men (nephews of the baronet), knocked at his door as he was undressing to go to bed, and asked him to step over to their room (which was at the other end of the corridor), and give them his opinion on a new gun just arrived from London. 

…The corridor was long and dark, for the lights had been extinguished, but as they reached the middle of it, they saw the glimmer of a lamp coming towards them from the other end. “One of the ladies going to visit the nurseries,” whispered the young Townshends to my father.

…I have heard him describe how he watched her approaching nearer and nearer, through the chink of the door, until, as she was close enough for him to distinguish the colors and style of her costume, he recognised the figure as the facsimile of the portrait of “The Brown Lady”. He had his finger on the trigger of his revolver, and was about to demand it to stop and give the reason for its presence there, when the figure halted of its own accord before the door behind which he stood, and holding the lighted lamp she carried to her features, grinned in a malicious and diabolical manner at him. This act so infuriated my father, who was anything but lamb-like in disposition, that he sprang into the corridor with a bound, and discharged the revolver right in her face. The figure instantly disappeared – the figure at which for several minutes three men had been looking together – and the bullet passed through the outer door of the room on the opposite side of the corridor, and lodged in the panel of the inner one. My father never attempted again to interfere with “The Brown Lady of Raynham”.

 

Firstly, late-night gun comparisons with visiting youths doesn’t seem to be an idea way to spend ones time. Secondly, Captain Marryat shot a ghost in the FACE. There’s being sceptical, then there’s trying to execute the undead.

 

There have been several other reported sightings since Marryat’s gun-toting days, but none are as dramatic or violent.

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Raynham Hall

The photograph that gives us the lasting image of the Brown Lady was not taken by an investigator hunting for the woman’s apparition, but was the work of Captain Hubert C Provand, a photographer working for Country Life magazine. He and his assistant, Indre Shira were photographing the Hall for a general article and seemingly had no intent to cover the spectral legend.

After taking an initial photography of the Halls grand staircase, they were making preparations for a second when Shira saw the gradual formation of a “vapoury form gradually assuming the appearance of a woman”.

Upon Shira’s instruction, Provand quickly took another photograph and, upon development, the infamous image of the ‘Brown Lady’ was revealed.

Instead of the supposed planned article on Raynham Hall, Provand and Shira’s experience, complete with photographs, was printed in Country Life on December 26th1936.

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Country Life Magazine, 1936

Since the Country Life photograph, sightings of Raynham Hall’s ghost have been sparse to say the least. Many believe she now haunts Houghton Hall and Sandringham House in a more youthful form of herself. Therefore, our lasting image of the Raynham haunting remains frozen in time. This spectre is a busy one.

 

Ever since publication, the image has been used as proof of ghost existence and visitation and has been subject to investigation by several high-profile paranormal sceptics. Generally, accounts of the images’ legitimacy are far more prolific in print, as they grab our imaginations far stronger than explanations by sceptics.

 

Nonetheless, there are many available explanations for the ghostly image; many cite a double exposure or smear of grease on the lens. Generally, consensus between critics is that the image is not of a spectre, but of either a living figure concealed beneath a sheet, or a simple superimposition of a draped Madonna statue. Many critics have said that the image of the ghost appears to have its hands raised in prayer and the square stand or mount beneath it is more than visible when one examines the shadows! In short, the 1936 image is generally regarded to be little more than a composite of two images.

 

Real ghost, planned hoax, or spur of the moment mischief, the ghostly image certainly afforded Provand and Shira their infamy in the paranormal history books. And a ghostly article in a country living magazine is certainly a pleasant break from the day-to-day photography of the wealthy and well-to-do.

And, most importantly, at least they weren’t armed. Marryat, you’re on your own with that one.

 

 

Sources:

 

http://hoaxes.org/raynham.html

 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brown_Lady_of_Raynham_Hall

 

http://home.worldonline.co.za/~townshend/dorothywalpole.htm

 

https://fern-flower.org/en/articles/ghost-rayham-hall

 

A Short History of British Screaming Skulls

 

While sounding like a high-school punk band, screaming skulls are a not-uncommon element woven through the rich British tapestry of haunted body parts.

Screaming, or more specifically, haunted skulls make their home in several towns throughout England.

These skulls need not necessarily be attached to a body, but rather exist independently from their corporeal form. Rather than aimless haunting, or haunting in more attractive surroundings, it is said that these skulls are emotionally linked to the houses in which they wish to continue to live.

 

Screaming Skulls are most commonly attributed to those who suffered religious persecution during the Henry VIII’s 16thCentury Reformation, or under Oliver Cromwell’s Roundheads during the English Civil war in the 17thCentury. Immediately prior to their death/undoubtedly violent murder, all owners of future haunted skulls professed that they wished to be buried within the walls of the house in which they lay. When these wishes were ignored and the persecuted individual was laid to rest in a grave, vault or in undesired grounds, the spirit fought back.

Inhabitants of these houses reported strange noises; bangs, crashes and moans and various ‘unexplained happenings’. Once the houses’ occupants made the connection between the noises and the deceased, they frequently disinterred the skull, returning it to the homestead. While the skull rests in the home, undisturbed (on its shelf, stoop or within its case) all is well, yet once one attempts to remove said skull, supernatural chaos ensues.

 

Should one try to dispose of such a ‘screaming skull’ by any means – via physical destruction, throwing into a river, or even by burial – the skull will always return to its house intact. More often than not, the skull delights in its revenge by not only terrifying the perpetrator, but cursing them with bad luck, a poor harvest or illness.

 

While the UK has several such skulls, below are three of our greatest hitters.

Because if you can’t have a top of the pops style countdown on severed heads, what can you truly enjoy in life?

 

The Bettiscombe Skull

Bettiscombe SkullThe Bettiscombe skull is attributed to an unnamed slave from the West Indies whose unfortunate path led him to Lyme Regis, Dorset. The slave was originally thought to have been brought to Dorset to serve Azariah Pinney, a plantation owner and dealer in the Slave Trade.

As with most apocryphal stories of slaves at this time, it is unclear whether the unnamed slave was a victim of, or perpetrator of, a murder. Nonetheless, the deceased’s wishes were to be buried back in his homeland. These were ignored and this supposed ‘faithful black servant’ was interred at Bettiscombe churchyard, in response to which, his haunting began. Supposedly screams were heard from the churchyard, and bizarre noises emanated from the farmhouse. The disturbances only ceased when the body was disinterred.

In 1872, it was published in Dorset “Notes and Queries” that:

 

The peculiar superstition attaching to it is that if it be brought out of the house the house itself would rock to its foundations, whilst the person by whom such an act of desecration was committed would certainly die within the year.”

 

Many attempts were made to re-bury the body, but with little success. Such attempts were so frequent and ill-managed, that after time, only the skull remained. The skull eventually found its resting place back at the farmhouse, in the nook of a staircase.

Or so the legend goes…

In more recent years, the skull was examined by Professor Gilbert Causey of the Royal College of Surgeons. He deemed the skull as not only female, but pre-historic in origin, most probably a sacrificial victim from an earlier settlement. Yet the legend had laid roots and is well known, and well-minded to this day.

The skull’s – and the Pinney family’s – journey is well documented throughout the years and is well-researched by the Dorset County Museum, whose links I have provided at the bottom of this article.

 

The Tunstead Farm Skull

Tunstead Farm, known locally as ‘Skull Farm’, sits in a quiet hamlet in Derbyshire that dates back to the 13thCentury.dicky2

According to local legend, there are many options as to the owner and ‘haunter’ of the head:

Firstly, a (as ever) unnamed young woman was murdered in the same room as the skull is kept. Secondly, a man named ‘Ned Dixon’, a spurned ancestor of the farm’s owners or thirdly, and most dramatically, a murdered sister.

The most gripping of these potential haunting sources originates with two sisters, both enamoured with the same man. In jealousy, one murdered the other. On her deathbed, the murdered sister proclaimed that her bones would never rest.

As referenced in the blog ‘Ludchurch’ (linked below), the 1895 work ‘Household Tales and other Traditional Remains’ went on to say that:

 

‘Her bones are kept in a cheese vat in the farmhouse which stands in a staircase window. If the bones are removed from the vat trouble comes upon the house, strange noises are heard at night, the cattle die or are seized with illness.’

 

The skull, nicknamed “Dickie” was also said to be a supernatural guardian of the farmhouse and forces knocking noises to herald the approach of strangers. Supposedly, Dickie’s rappings have also heralded deaths in the family and further issues with livestock.

 

As with most other haunted skulls, all is well unless Dickie is removed, in which case auditory chaos reigns. Superstitions concerning Dickie’s power over the farmland, that in 1870, following issues with a railway company and unsuccessful (on account of Dickie’s intervention) building work, a Lancashire poet wrote:

 

Neaw, Dickie, be quiet wi’ thee,lad,

An ‘let navvies an’ railways a ‘be;

Mon tha shouldn’t do soa, its to bad,

What harm are they doin’ to thee?

Deed folk shouldn’t meddle at o’

But leov o’ these matters to th’wick;

They’ll see they’re done gradely, aw know-

Dos’t’ yer what aw say to thee, Dick?

 

After several instances of theft and frenzied return, Dickie remains at the homestead where she occupies her usual spot by the kitchen window.

 

The Wardley Skull

The Wardley Skull has two potential roots – one fanciful, one probable.

Wardley SkullThe less-likely legend surrounds the skull- that it is the cranium of Roger Downes, a shamed member of the family owning Wardley hall who, after escaping a murder trial, drunkenly attacked a watchman who swiftly beheaded Downes with a swipe of his rapier.

(This would be improbable, nigh impossible – hence the unlikely legend.)

The Wardley Skull follows the tradition of persecuted clergy, reportedly belonging to a Catholic priest, Father Ambrose Barlow who was hung, drawn and quartered in 1641. His severed head was subsequently put on display at Lancaster Castle, later being stolen by a Catholic sympathiser and secreted within the walls of Wardley Hall.

The skull lay undiscovered until the 18thCentury where the legends surrounding its power begun to take hold.

It is said that, believing it to be an animal skull, a servant of Matthew Moreton (the then owner

 

of Wardley) hurled the skull into the Hall’s moat. That night, a particularly strong storm broke out. Both the skull and the Hall’s owner were displeased with this turn of events, with the owner demanding the draining of the moat and the safe return of the skull.

Although not open to the public, the Wardley skull remains protected in a niche beside the main staircase, preserved behind glass.

 

While Morris Dancing, Cheese-Rolling and the burning of treacherous effigies atop bonfires have maintained their twee popularity over the years, I put my vote in for the return of a greater British tradition. A good, haunted skull. If anyone needs me, I’ll be disinterring some clergy…

 

Sources/Further Reading:

https://dorsetcountymuseum.wordpress.com/tag/pinney-family/

https://ludchurchmyblog.wordpress.com/places-of-interest-in-cheshire/the-cursed-skull-of-tunstead-farm/

https://www.paranormaldatabase.com/reports/skulls.php?pageNum_paradata=1&totalRows_paradata=28

http://www.real-british-ghosts.com/screaming-skull.html

http://www.landcas.org.uk/wardleyhall.html

https://hauntedpalaceblog.wordpress.com/2016/08/13/screaming-skulls-folklore-fact-and-fiction/

Haunted England – Christina Hole (1940)

The Guinness Encyclopedia of Ghosts and Spirits – Rosemary Ellen Guiley (1992)

 

 

St Botolph’s, Skidbrooke

When beginning a new project or blog, its all too easy to overthink. Will my content be too niche? Will readers find me boring? So, with feelings of gentle accessibility in mind, let’s kick things off with a trip to a charming local landmark…

 

Exploring the ‘DEMON CHURCH’

St Botolph’s, Skidbrooke

 

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As a Lincolnshire native, I’d heard tales of Skidbrooke’s paranormal happenings since childhood. My sister had run from its grounds screaming after interrupting a candlelit ceremony, my mother refused to visit, my friends…well, they simply didn’t trust my driving.

 

Lincolnshire has more than its fair share of isolated disused churches; with centuries of widespread arable farming, tiny, insular communities all required their own place of worship. As cities grew and machinery took over the role of workers, the inevitable happened and pockets of unused churches, chapels and shrines scatter the county.

 

Skidbrooke (sometimes referred to as Skidbrooke cum Saltfleet) is a small hamlet, last recorded as having a mere 521 inhabitants. St Botolph’s Church lies a little way out from the majority of the houses, with cows and a roadway as its closest neighbours. Yet, despite its isolation, visitors are a constant presence.

 

A quick search of ‘Skidbrooke’ on social media will bring up a mixed bag of images, from family-friendly paranormal investigations (complete with bobble hats and EMF detectors) to scantily clad young women, posing provocatively in the glassless windows. To most visitors, St Botolph’s stands as a local curiosity and for many decades stood relatively intact. However, as with many isolated sites, local legend and infamy took hold

 

St Botolph’s dates from the early 13th century, with later additions in the 14th, 15th and 19th centuries; The Victorian tiling remains as one of the few notable features to have remained relatively intact, seemingly uninteresting to vandals and ghost-hunters alike. While the church does retain some impressive architectural features, its decorative adornments are few and far between. Beside the east window (either side of the former altar) are two large, painted grotesques which have remained remarkably intact, with a smaller one lurking within the south aisle.  There are several fascinating gravestones and monuments within the church; Not all have survived particularly well, but those within the floor itself – mainly dating from the 18th Century – remain predominantly intact and legible (see pictures).

 

Sadly, the 13th century font and the central columns of many windows met their fate and the hands of some well-armed vandals some months prior to my visit, leaving piles of jagged masonry in their wake.

 

St Botolph’s has been abandoned since the 1970s and reports of ‘satanic rituals’, animal mutilation and paranormal activities have been rife ever since.

In the late 1990s, there were many instances of decapitated animal corpses discovered within the grounds of St Botolph’s; primarily chickens, but also an occasional sheep. The purpose of their mutilations are undoubtedly ritualistic in nature at least with visitors recounting bloody symbols smeared across the internal walls. Former church warden Mr R Benton recounted many tales of abuse and threats from visiting groups, and how their nocturnal activities were obvious – ‘Satan worshipping has gone on. They come from Grimsby in the evenings, light fires and write symbol on the walls.’

 

Throughout the multitude of articles within local newspapers, ‘Satanic’, ‘Witchcraft’ and ‘Black Magic’ are undoubted buzzwords. Not to rain on anyone’s parade or deprive locals of a juicy, shock-headline, but these labels are wildly applied with little basis. There are pages of ‘Satanists have claimed’, ‘witches have claimed’. These claims seems to have come from the ether, the netherworld, as in all my fervent searching, I have discovered  not one claim, not one local Satanist group with a website directly claiming to have worked there. That is not to say that nefarious and (incredibly) destructive activity has not taken place at St Botolph’s, but the problem lies with vandalism, not with Beelzebub.

 

There will continue to be periodical resurgences of interest in the occult and black magic, especially within generations of teenagers dipping their toes into horror films and rudimentary occult publications. Ritualistic magic, or rather the outward appearance of it, is one of our last great taboos. Such performances retain their substantial impact in small, rural communities, gaining foothold in local legend.  However, in my most recent visit, I found few serious examples of ritualistic activity, save for some scrawled biro graffiti and a smattering of discarded tea lights and the occasional charred feather.

 

Many paranormal groups continue to investigate St Botolph’s, with fewer accounts of other-worldly activity surfacing in recent years. Previously, in 2004, a group accompanied by Parapsychologist David Wharmby claimed to have encountered a plethora of mysterious happenings. Wharmby told the Louth Leader “We heard many strange unaccountable noises, saw flashes in the sky when the weather was calm and experienced weird feelings. We saw small babies among the gravestones and grass.”. Wharmby and his group purportedly also captured images of mysterious ‘rods’; cylindrical objects of around a foot in length that are invisible to the naked eye. There is a smattering of online accounts of paranormal seeing a hooded figure, such as a monk, roaming around the church and its grounds, which is hardly an uncommon apparition in such areas. It is well known that behind St Botolph’s lies the footings of an old abbey, although this is undiscernible to the casual visitor.

 

While many headstones are covered in a bright white lichen, several memorials within the churchyard are most unusual for the county, featuring well-preserved symbols and unusual fonts.  A headstone of particular interest is that belonging to Mary Lancaster (d.1845?) whose headstone features a carving of a flat hand with feminine cuff. While motifs of interlocking and pointing hands were popular in the 19th Century, to find an open hand such as this is most unusual in Lincolnshire. I initially thought that perhaps owing to the small damage in the palm, an item such as a key or arrow was defaced or removed at a previous date. However, I have learned that such ‘halting hands’ are commonplace in larger southern cemeteries such as Abney Park and symbolise the halting/end of life This stone and others, if you live locally, may merit a visit off their own bat (see pictures).

 

While I may seem disgruntled at the goings-on at Skidbrooke, my anger lies with the mindless and constant stream of vandalism that has blighted the structure. While I personally encountered no paranormal activity during my visit, St Botolph’s certainly possesses unusual acoustic properties. The lowing of cattle and shrieking of foxes from nearby fields travels in an unusual and powerful way. What originates hundreds of metres away in a far field, may suddenly seem close and oppressive. Such is the nature of flat, featureless landscapes.

 

It goes without saying, but if you plan a visit, do be respectful. While the churchyard itself is no longer actively used for burials, many of the graves are still visited by families and nearby is a small, modern graveyard, still actively used. Judging by the rate in severe vandalism in recent months, if you were planning a visit to Lincolnshire’s so-called ‘Demon Church’, I’d schedule it sooner rather than later.

 

Have you been to Skidbrooke? How was your experience?
 

 

 

 

 

 
Read more at:

 

https://www.louthleader.co.uk/news/experts-claim-church-is-paranormal-paradise-1-1015932

 

https://www.visitchurches.org.uk/visit/church-listing/st-botolph-skidbrooke.html#undefined1