Just for the time of year we're getting into. I always used to love a good read of local ghost stories. Anyone got some good local ones that are worth a read. Always liked the ones that are linked to events in history.
Here's one local Tyrone one to get started.
http://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/news/local-national/haunting-tale-of-a-ghost-from-tyrone-28503487.html
The Banshee once hit me in the back, in the graveyard in Gortin. True story.
Tell us more Ziggy, this stuff intrigues me.
Settling in for Ziggy's revelations.
This had better not be another shart story Ziggy!!
Quote from: supersarsfields on October 22, 2013, 01:12:52 PM
Just for the time of year we're getting into. I always used to love a good read of local ghost stories. Anyone got some good local ones that are worth a read. Always liked the ones that are linked to events in history.
Here's one local Tyrone one to get started.
http://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/news/local-national/haunting-tale-of-a-ghost-from-tyrone-28503487.html
Oh not the Coalisland/Brackaville ghost again! I seen this 'ghost' with my own two eyes. It was the headlights of my own car. Now that IS a true story.
Quote from: BennyCake on October 22, 2013, 04:26:56 PM
Quote from: supersarsfields on October 22, 2013, 01:12:52 PM
Just for the time of year we're getting into. I always used to love a good read of local ghost stories. Anyone got some good local ones that are worth a read. Always liked the ones that are linked to events in history.
Here's one local Tyrone one to get started.
http://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/news/local-national/haunting-tale-of-a-ghost-from-tyrone-28503487.html
Oh not the Coalisland/Brackaville ghost again! I seen this 'ghost' with my own two eyes. It was the headlights of my own car. Now that IS a true story.
Give me the science. How did your car lights cause this phenomenon?
Do people still see the 'Ghost' when driving or just a select few depending on their headlights setting.
Quote from: Under Lights on October 22, 2013, 04:44:23 PM
Quote from: BennyCake on October 22, 2013, 04:26:56 PM
Quote from: supersarsfields on October 22, 2013, 01:12:52 PM
Just for the time of year we're getting into. I always used to love a good read of local ghost stories. Anyone got some good local ones that are worth a read. Always liked the ones that are linked to events in history.
Here's one local Tyrone one to get started.
http://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/news/local-national/haunting-tale-of-a-ghost-from-tyrone-28503487.html
Oh not the Coalisland/Brackaville ghost again! I seen this 'ghost' with my own two eyes. It was the headlights of my own car. Now that IS a true story.
Give me the science. How did you're car lights cause this phenomenon?
Do people still see the 'Ghost' when driving or just a select few depending on their headlights setting.
There's a dip in the road where this ghost is meant to be seen. When driving into the dip, the angle of your lights and the road makes it look like there's a white figure moving across the road in front of you.
I can't explain the science, but that's what I seen loads of times. And yes, you will still see it, driving from Brackaville towards Stewartstown.
Bit disappointing that.
Quote from: ziggysego on October 22, 2013, 01:56:28 PM
The Banshee once hit me in the back, in the graveyard in Gortin. True story.
Was this her?
(http://cdn1.independent.ie/migration_catalog/article25244947.ece/ALTERNATES/w620/janet_ITV)
Looks and sounds like a banshee anyway....
Quote from: Under Lights on October 22, 2013, 04:54:37 PM
Bit disappointing that.
They milked it that week though, and fair f**ks to them too. Even newspapers and TV crews from Britain were there. It must have been a slow news week.
Quote from: laoislad on October 22, 2013, 04:55:56 PM
Quote from: ziggysego on October 22, 2013, 01:56:28 PM
The Banshee once hit me in the back, in the graveyard in Gortin. True story.
Was this her?
(http://cdn1.independent.ie/migration_catalog/article25244947.ece/ALTERNATES/w620/janet_ITV)
Looks and sounds like a banshee anyway....
You leave my wee Janet alone.
Gortin...where the men are men and the sheep are nervous.
Quote from: omagh_gael on October 22, 2013, 11:41:07 PM
Gortin...where the men are men and the sheep are nervous.
That would be a great first line for a ghost story!! :)
http://www.bbc.co.uk/northernireland/yourplaceandmine/armagh/mccall_grave.shtml
Grave still there to be seen lads
So is the house she lived in.
One time I was sitting in my kitchen sewing and I thought I saw something out of the corner of my eye. It must have been a ghost.
My Granny, still alive and going great at 93 thank God, was a great woman for the ghost stories and yarns. When I was a young lad I used to stay in her house for days on end up in Dalystown, outside Mullingar. There's a couple of local ghost stories up there that maybe Croí can remember as well. One was about a lad called Bobby Bán Rochfort, who lived in the estate of Dunboden, between Rochfortbridge and Dalystown. There was a wrongful murder charge involved, blood that never washed off a stone, a hanging in Mullingar where a window turned black when someone watched the hanging out of an upstairs room, a spirit in turmoil and put to rest 'between the froth and the water on Lough Ennel' by Father Shanly, whose grave is still visited every Good Friday by hundreds just outside Belvedere.
There's another ghost story about a Jealous Wall or something in Belvedere, which again featured the Rochforts.
Ah the blood that wouldn't wash off the stone, that takes me back.
You pass by one side of Dunboden on the road from Rochfortbridge into Mullingar, the stone wall gives it away. And it's not one of them pissy stone walls they threw up in Mayo either. Looks as good today as it did when put together around 400 years ago.
My Granny's house is the other side of Dunboden, Carrick Hill. Myself and the cousins used to walk into the Dunboden estate all the time. Eerie auld place. There was a big pond with Mallards, Coots and a rake of other birds down there too.
http://www.tripadvisor.com.au/LocationPhotos-g315894-w29-Mullingar_County_Westmeath.html#last
Jesus Croi it doesn't look that good in this picture.
Quote from: supersarsfields on October 22, 2013, 01:12:52 PM
Just for the time of year we're getting into. I always used to love a good read of local ghost stories. Anyone got some good local ones that are worth a read. Always liked the ones that are linked to events in history.
Here's one local Tyrone one to get started.
http://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/news/local-national/haunting-tale-of-a-ghost-from-tyrone-28503487.html
Do presbyterians believe in ghosts?
Quote from: gerrykeegan on October 24, 2013, 05:53:14 PM
http://www.tripadvisor.com.au/LocationPhotos-g315894-w29-Mullingar_County_Westmeath.html#last
Jesus Croi it doesn't look that good in this picture.
That's belvedere Gerry. Dunboden is different.
Famous one Coonian or Cooneen Ghost:
http://www.bbc.co.uk/northernireland/yourplaceandmine/fermanagh/A799022.shtml
I remember hearing about this as a kid.
Greenaway's ghost
From Harry Foy's Book 'Growing up in Portadown in the Thirties and Forties'
In my youth, fireside storytelling was a great way to pass an evening. Sitting on the floor in front of a roaring turf fire we would listen to the older people relating stories. The ghost stories of Kitty The Hare which appeared in "Ireland's Own" were very popular. There were many local ghost stories too . The most popular of these was one which happened on our very own doorstep.
On Bridge Street, at the top of Marley Street John Greenaway had a boot and shoe shop. He was a member of the Town Council representing the Edgarstown ward. John Greeenaway told of waking in the night and hearing the tongs rattling in the fire grate. In the morning he would find ashes scattered over the living room. It was said that Dr. McDonald had seen bruises on Mrs Greenaway's body where she was crushed against the banisters on the way down to the basement kitchen. The large grandfather clock would start chiming in the middle of the night and could only be stopped by dismantling the pendulum and removing a weight. Customers told of finding boxes of shoes containing one brown and one black shoe.
I recall one of my teachers telling of a visit to Greenaway's house one night. After tea they discussed books and my teacher went to the bookcase to get a copy of R.L. Stevenson's "Kidnapped". A sudden gust of cold air swept through the kitchen and books came tumbling down from the bookcase. All the books, except one, lay on the carpet. Yes, you've guessed it - the remaining book was "Kidnapped".
The ghost was eventually "laid" in a bottle and buried in the basement by Canon McDonald, the parish priest of St. Patrick's Church. As children we dared not go into the entry at the end of Greenaway's house. It was said that on cold, wintry nights the ghost in the bottle could be heard roaring. We can only hope that if the Bridge Street area is redeveloped, the bottle remains intact!
Another one that I'm sure a few people heard about.
http://www.northern-ghost-investigations.com/haunted-uk/northern-ireland/castle-leslie.html
I actually think I recall a "celebrity" (Can't remember who it was so I use the term loosely) who was staying in the hotel and decided to move because she got spooked!!
Strange stuff happened in a house which relatives of mine lived. Footsteps on the stairs, door handles physically moving and the doors opening and closing, cold air in places and sensing something behind you or beside you. Best of all, was hearing doors opening and closing, that were actually locked by a key.
Other occupants have seen and heard the same. I'd have slept in the dog kennel before I'd have lived with all that.
Although maybe not ghost stories, I hear a lot religious happenings from people I know, especially regarding Padre Pio.
All a load of oul balls....
Quote from: Harold Disgracey on October 25, 2013, 01:33:45 PM
I remember hearing about this as a kid.
Greenaway's ghost
From Harry Foy's Book 'Growing up in Portadown in the Thirties and Forties'
The ghost stories of Kitty The Hare which appeared in "Ireland's Own" were very popular.
Any former CBS boys here who remember the 'Kitty The Hare' stories by Victor O'D. Power in 'Our Boys'? That was my earliest reading - my older brothers used to bring the 'Our Boys' from school. 'Our Boys' also had a series of comical schoolboy adventures of a character called Murphy.
And there was a comic in Irish published by the Christian Brothers called An Gael Óg. The only thing I remember from it is a cartoon strip featuring 'Taidhgín Tréan, An Leanbh Láidir' who was a toddler as strong as Desperate Dan.
Then my father came home from the 1916 camps and life got serious.
My gran used to read the Kitty O'Hare stories for me when I was little - I loved them.
Quote from: gerrykeegan on October 24, 2013, 05:53:14 PM
http://www.tripadvisor.com.au/LocationPhotos-g315894-w29-Mullingar_County_Westmeath.html#last
Jesus Croi it doesn't look that good in this picture.
;D
One that all Armagh youngsters used to be told
http://www.inarmagh.net/2007/stories/coliver/coliver.html (http://www.inarmagh.net/2007/stories/coliver/coliver.html)
http://www.slavens.net/news/tragedy.htm (http://www.slavens.net/news/tragedy.htm)
My home area must have been unique in that there were no ghosts or banshees or the likes to be seen anywhere at any time.
That was because the fairies would kick their arses if they ever came around the place. The Good People wanted no intruders on their patch and anything in a white sheet was like a red rag to a bull to them. Well, that what I was told anyway by the some of the old people of the area.
They seldom if ever bothered with mortals unless someone cut down one of their hazel trees or built a house too close to one of their forts or interfered in any way with their operations.
At Samhain one had to be especially careful and nobody stirred abroad around midnight or later if it could be helped at all.
One Halloween night when I was seven or eight, I found myself far from home as night began to fall and, worse still, I had to pass by Anne Sean's fort and then Ballydrum shrine. Talk about a double whammy!
My two older brothers were with me but they were as scared as I was and the company of the family dog didn't ease my fears one bit. I was in such a terrified state at that time that I still get goosebumps whenever I think of it.
Anne Higgins, or Anne Sean as she was more widely known, was an old lady who lived on her own in a little picture postcard cottage about a mile away from our home and every child in the neighbourhood loved Anne and visited her house whenever they got a chance. She always seemed to have small bar of chocolate or a fistful of raisins on hand when any small visitors came by.
So when my mother decided to send my older brothers and I to Anne Sean's with some message or other for the old lady, she little thought that events that were to take place that night would be the talk of the parish for years to come.
Anne's little cottage was a place of wonderment and delight in daylight hours but it was situated in the shelter of the largest fairy fort in the county.
Children and if the truth be told, many adults as well wouldn't dare to walk up the twisting, overgrown pathway to her door.
The evening was well advanced when we set out and we knew it would be dark in a couple of hours so we were told to deliver the little bag of groceries and tell Anne Sean politely that we couldn't tarry as we wanted top get home before dark.
Now Anne wasn't bothered by fairies but she overlooked the fact that we were and kept us chatting for much longer than my mother had anticipated. Night was setting in before we realised that we still had the return journey to undertake.
Anne Sean had no time for fairies and told us not to be afraid on the way home.
She lit her storm lantern and walked down the pathway with us as far as the side road that ran by the fort and her house.
I knew that even the king of the fairies wouldn't come too close if he saw Anne Sean and her stout cudgel coming in his direction so we got by the fort without too much trepidation but we still had almost a mile to go before we got home.
It was a clear moonlit night so every tree and hedge cast a dark and frightening shadow as we tiptoed along, hardly daring too breathe.
We kept well in by the side of the road and crept along in single file with our sticks at the ready and the oldest, who took up the rear, kept pointing the flashlight at every shadow that fell across our path- just to be sure there was nothing out of the ordinary concealed there.
The closer we came to the shrine, the greater our terror grew. The shrine lay directly in front of us as we approached it and a left turn lead to home and safety. Once we took that turn we were by unspoken consent going to run like hell and we knew we wouldn't stop until we banged on our own front door.
Only five seconds more and the worst would be over.
Just then we heard a sound that nailed us to the spot. It was coming nearer and nearer; a rhythmic, creaking noise, for all the world like a creaky wheelbarrow in need of a spot of grease.
O God, no doubt about it, the fairies were using Peteen's wheelbarrow to bring turf or timber or something to the fire they were going to light right there on the spot in front of us!
All my life, all seven years of it, flashed by me as I stood there waiting for the worst to happen. When it did, it was worse than I could imagine.
Suddenly a black something swung into view. It neither walked nor flew; it just seemed to glide along. No wheelbarrow but the noise was coming from the blackness itself and what was worse; it suddenly veered towards the spot where I stood shivering in the shadow of an overhanging tree.
To hell with the consequences, I wanted me mammy!
I shot forward swinging my stick in all directions and shrieking with terror. That spooked the brothers.
They too began to roar and chased after me.
That spooked Rover.
He began to bark and shot forward out of the shadows like we had done.
That spooked Peteen's ass.
He had been standing in his usual spot in the field behind the shrine. Neddy began to bray and decided to put distance between himself and the source of the commotion.
The Thing on the road in front of us emitted a couple of inhuman roars and then veered madly across the road and dived into the deep drain that ran by the road at that point.
It was a fairy without doubt; hadn't they dug a tunnel leading from inside the fort right down to the shrine?
I don't know how we managed to get home but we certainly gave our mother one heck of a shock when we all tried to barge through the doorway at the same time and began to babble about fairies attacking us while Rover ran around the kitchen barking like mad.
Given the state we were in, playing games was out of the question.
We all headed for bed without any of the usual dissent and spent the night tossing and turning. We finally managed to fall asleep and all were so exhausted that none of us awoke until well into the afternoon.
When we finally came down to the kitchen, our mother warned us to never mention a word of what had happened on our way home the night before. She warned us to keep quiet because the fairies were very angry indeed. It seemed a messenger from a neighbouring fort has been attacked at the shrine when delivering a message to the host in Anne Sean's fort.
"Poor Michael" had been going home, minding his own business, when they laid into him; beat him up and dumped himself and his bike into the drain.
They must have been lying in wait for the next mortal to pass and then they jumped out and attacked him. If they ever found out that we were the culprits they would come and put thorns in our beds and we wouldn't be able to sleep for months.
"Poor Michael" was Mickeen Barney and he had spent most of the day in some pub in Swinford as was his habit whenever he got his dole money..
When we finally went out to meet the other kids, we got the full details.
Mickeen had told everyone he met that as he turned the corner to head for home, an army of fairies had been waiting for him in the shadows waylaid him. They beat him without mercy and then flung him and his bike into the drain. He was lucky to escape with his life, he said.
There were lights flashing all over the place, sez he, and dogs barking and some of the most frightening roars he had ever heard.
At any other time, adults would have put this down to too much Guinness and too little sense as my father would say.
But this time, many paid attention to him.
Some people who lived near the shrine had heard dogs barking and heard the unearthly screaming too. And after all, Peteen's donkey had been frightened by whatever was going on. Halloween night and all, I'd the vast majority of people were inclined to believe him.
The place when he alleged he was tossed into the drain was plain to be seen and he did have welts and bruises on his arms and face. To cap it all, it was Samhain Night.
Very few were brave enough top pass by this shrine at night afterwards and then only if it couldn't be helped.
If the fairies had done this to an innocent man, we shivered to think of what would happen to us if the Good People ever found out what we did to one of them.
My brothers and I kept our secret to ourselves for many years after that eventful night
That's the stuff, Lar. Mighty.
And that's how ghost stories are born.
Great stuff Lar, fair play.
That was brilliant. Better than the Ireland's Own.
That was a very enjoyable read Lar.
Brilliant, tell us another Lar.