… marvellous for raising imemories of ghost events past..
Consider this ghost walk memory hosted by my friend Flecky Bennett a couple of years ago… He had ventured into the haunted streets of Altrincham to further bring us the ghastly histories of Greater Manchester… I was excited because I had heard the haunted reputation of the ‘Old Market Tavern’ there in that leafy suburb and wished to experience the atmosphere of that establishment myself before joining him on the inaugural performance..
Arriving obscenely late by train in the borough I hastily located the market place.. as the walk was due to start from there.. and perversely opted to nip in to the ‘Tavern’ for a quickie before trying to find my pre-bookedhotel.. I didn’t have the time.. but something encouraged me to enter regardless.. and this coercion was what originally lead me to conclude that spirits indeed are free from the constraints of time…
So I get chatting to this chap stood at the bar… the conversation inevitably revolves around to the hauntings of the Old Tavern.. he admits he’s not really a local here.. was working in the area and just popped in after his tasks were done…he didn’t know anything of the reputation.. he normally wouldn’t bother calling in at a pub but this day out of character something made him fancy a pint… luckily the barman on that day was happy to share his unexplainable experiences in Alty’s most haunted public hostelry… As he speaks and we listen rapt the interior warmth of the welcome chills palpably intense… the overhead lights are being flickered in ghostly fashion and the beer pumps issue forth splattering bursts of beer and emit strange noises of faltering operation from deep down in the cellars, the eerie location of temporary cells where criminals and vagabonds were kept before being tried by Magistrate in the dock of a court room upstairs… way back in the day… oh and there’s a renowned “Death Tunnel” in the cellar.. but that could be attributed to the residual presence of… asbestos…? He joked darkly… As he recounts the tale of a clearly caught evp by paranormal investigators.. (a woman’s voices pleads “I never…?” in pathetic manner).. I keep getting the impression of a females energy lurking in the corner of the bar.. (I should mention there were only the three of us in the room, all male)! I say nothing.. half believing my imagination has been stoked brimful from the tales…
The other two are curious as to the procedure of the Ghost Walk imminently due.. and I suddenly remember I still have to find and book in to my hotel.. the companion drinker offers to buy me another drink with the proviso I first listen to his own ghost story even though he is ‘a total skeptic of these things’ and I haven’t the time for this actually.. I accept his offer, knowing this could make me miss the event… (Flecky is a stickler for punctuality) …{the hazy female energy looks on stoically holding back}.
Several years previously he had been working ‘away on a job ‘ at Harrogate.. an area he wasn’t familiar with… his employer had booked him into a modern rabbit hutch hotel which he hated so he moved himself out and found a characterful pub with rooms in town.. long story short, the first morning of his stay he shared a breakfast table with a man who had the room over the corridor from him.. asked how he was enjoying his stay he admitted the bed had been fine, he had slept well except for being slightly disturbed by the rattling of his rooms door knob around 3am.. the man opposite looked incredulous.. “Did you not hear all that commotion.. some woman screaming, shouting, running up and down the place.. second night on the trot that.. I’m not staying another night.. ” and he moved out of his room that morning.. having not slept a wink all week.. our chap had no concerns.. he hadn’t heard anything out of the ordinary.. but he was curious as to why every night he was there, bang on 3am.. something rattled his door knob.. Come the last night of his stop he was sat alone in his room, lap top open, conversing with a friend in America via his computer web cam.. he had his back to the bedroom door.. when his friend abroad asked.. “who’s the woman in the long frock stood behind you you sly dog..?”
Our chap turned.. to see… no one.. the door, which he says was definitely closed.. is ajar.. there is nobody on the corridor… {the female shade grows slightly bolder, solider}
So when our chap finally has some spare time he researches the history of the Harrogate hotel… (frustratingly he didn’t name it)… and digs up the story of a Victorian era murder.. a woman had been attacked brutally by a male unknown.. mortally wounded she ran screaming from her room.. at around 3am.. rattling every doorknob along that corridor in a failed attempt to solicit help.. she died sprawled on the carpet… presumably outside his room door he seemed to believe… though he didn’t know where from
All the time he is telling me this I grow more aware that this female energy is nothing to do with The Old Market Tavern, she is with him.. and the mood clears remarkably as he concludes the story.. we both feel something has lifted and the woman’s energy has gone.. I ask him if he had had any inkling of having an attachment all these years.. he didn’t have a clue…
His parting shot as I had to shoot off for my hotel was “I wondered what made me come in here….”
Rushing around to the Hotel I’d booked.. incredibly late for the Ghost Walk now.. I was horrified as I approached a boarded up, desolate building.. totally shutdown.. the booking was a duff! In blind panic now I shot off to a rabbit hutch hotel on the outskirts of town.. manage to rent their only available room, shower, shave, throw a suit on.. and walk a mile or more back toward the Market Square.. unbelievably reaching the congregation point in good time for the start… How I did this I have no idea.. none.. it was as if time just warped around and worked with me for a change… Was this reward for unselfishly hearing the Harrogate ghost ladies story..? I like to think so..
Hubert Hobux 