At the time of Tilly’s tragic death, her elder sister was being courted by a local chemist. On leaving the Johnsons’ house one evening the young man felt a sudden urge to look back. There, standing in the moonlight beside the cottage door, was ‘the lady in grey’, her eyes glaring at him. The young man did not hang about. He bolted for his life — straight into a barbed wire fence. Five minutes later he staggered, trembling and bleeding, into the hospital. That was the last straw for the Johnson family. They moved out of the cottage and Mrs Bonnor’s grey cat moved back in.
The last of these grey lady ghosts is undoubtedly the most intriguing of them all. Its haunt is a ninety-year-old house in Ozone Avenue, Mount Martha on the Mornington Peninsula outside Melbourne. This ghost appears in an empire-line grey satin gown trimmed with silken tassels and wearing a grey veil over its face. So, what’s so intriguing about that? Well, the ghost’s identity is known and, in life, he was an Englishman named Herbert Dyce Murphy.
‘H. D. M.’ as he was known to his chums, was quite a character. After graduating from Oxford University, he joined British Intelligence and carried out spying missions in Europe disguised as a woman — and if you are curious regarding how successful his disguise was, I suggest a visit to the National Gallery of Victoria. There hangs a painting called The Arbour by E. Phillips Fox and the shapely young lady with auburn hair dressed in white in the centre of the painting is believed to be Murphy.
In 1911 ‘H.D.M.’ was considered manly enough to accompany Sir Douglas Mawson on his expedition to the Antarctic and in 1923 he returned to Australia and built the house in Mount Martha for himself using his own hand-made bricks. In 1920 ‘H.D.M.’ signed on as ice master to the Norwegian whaling fleet, piloting the mother ship through ice floes in the North Sea and Arctic Ocean for three months every year. This might be described as Murphy’s last great adventure, but it was a long one, continuing for a remarkable forty-five years and ending only in 1965 when the fleet’s insurers discovered that the man they entrusted the safety of their ships to was in his eighty-sixth year.
In his final years Murphy was considered a great raconteur but often stretched the truth about his exploits — although the truth was so remarkable it hardly needed any embroidery. As well as being immortalised in paint, Murphy is also immortalised in words. He was the inspiration for the central character ‘Eddie’ in Patrick White’s great novel, The Twyborn Affair.
And the ghost in Ozone Avenue? Well, later owners of the house claimed to have seen him/her in their living room sitting quietly in an armchair, shapely and smooth legs modestly crossed and with a cigarette held in a long ivory holder emitting wisps of odourless smoke. Ash has also been seen to drop from the cigarette, scattering and drifting like a flight of tiny grey moths, but when the carpet is later checked no trace of it has ever been found.
Neighbours also report the ghost as a familiar sight in the house’s garden. Outdoors it moves with a cat’s insolent elegance, grey gown shimmering in the moonlight, tassels swaying gently and face demurely concealed behind its grey veil. Occasionally the spectre will stop, reach out a slender hand to shake dewdrops from a cobweb or draw a flower to its face to savour the fragrance, before blending into the grey shadows.
30.
The Ghosts of Yarralumla
Whenever I take up a newspaper and read it, I fancy I see ghosts creeping between the lines. There must be ghosts all over the world. They must be as countless as grains of the sands, it seems to me.
And we are so miserably afraid of the light, all of us.
from Ghosts, Henrik Ibsen (Norwegian playwright, 1828–1906)
Those familiar with the much-publicised story of the Aboriginal ghost at Yarralumla may be surprised at the use of the plural in the above title, but, like all good mysteries, the reason will be revealed in time. Meanwhile, let me say that those who claim there is only one ghost in the governor general’s residence are quite right — but it’s not the much publicised one.
Yarralumla already had a long history as a grazing property when the Federal Government acquired it in 1913, eventually converting it into the official residence of the governor general of Australia. It was just before the last private owner, Frederick Campbell, left Yarralumla that a document was discovered that gave rise to the story of the Aboriginal ghost. A visitor to the house was being shown over a stone vault in the garden that had formerly contained the remains of an earlier owner, Colonel John Gibbes, when he discovered a dusty and cobweb-covered manuscript that was immediately delivered to his host. The handwritten, unsigned document read:
In 1826 a large diamond was stolen from James Cobbity, on an obscure station in Queensland. The theft was traced to one of the convicts who ran away, probably to New South Wales. The convict was captured in 1858, but the diamond could not be traced, neither would the convict (name unknown) give any information, in spite of frequent floggings.
During 1842 he left a statement to a groom, and a map of the hiding place of the hidden diamond. The groom, for a minor offence, was sent to Berrima Gaol. He was clever with horses and one day, when left to his duties, cleverly plaited a rope of straw and then escaped by throwing it over a wall, where it caught an iron bar. Passing it over, he swung himself down and escaped. He and his family lived out west for several years, according to Rev. James Hassall who, seeing him living honestly did not think it necessary to inform against him. I have no reason to think he tried to sell the diamond. Probably ownership of a thing so valuable would bring suspicion and lead to rearrest.
After his death his son took possession of the jewel and, with a trusty blackfellow, set off for Sydney. After leaving Cooma for Queanbeyan they met with, it was ascertained, a bushranging gang. The blackfellow and his companion were separated, and finally the former was captured and searched, to no avail, for he had swallowed the jewel.
The gang in anger shot him. He was buried in a piece of land belonging to Colonel Gibbes, and later Mr Campbell. I believe the diamond to be among his bones. It is of great value. My hand is enfeebled with age, or I should describe the troubles through which I have passed. My life has been wasted, my money expended, I die almost destitute, and in sight of my goal.
I believe the grave to be under the large deodar tree. Buried by blacks, it would be in a round hole. Believe and receive a fortune. Scoff and leave the jewel in its hiding place.
Written near Yarralumla, 1881.
Frederick Campbell, it is said, accepted the authenticity of the document. The references to Gibbes and himself and to ‘the large deodar tree’ were probably the convincing factors. There was, and still is, a magnificent deodar (Himalayan Cedar) in the garden of Yarralumla. Fortunately, Campbell did not see fit to uproot the now 180-year-old tree, diamond or no diamond, and none of the vice-regal occupants have either.
This story gave rise to reports that the ghost of the Aborigine stalked the gardens of Yarralumla on moonlit nights and had been seen digging around the roots of the deodar tree. In none of the published versions of this story was anyone ever quoted as having seen the ghost first hand and in light of evidence that surfaced many years later that is not surprising.
In 1984 Sergeant Bill Wittle, a loyal and popular guard at Government House from 1939 to 1962, published a chatty little book filled with anecdotes about his vice-regal employers and regal visitors to Yarralumla. In one chapter Wittle describes how a woman presented herself at the front gate one day in 1942 asking if it would be possible to see over her former home. The wife of the incumbent governor general agreed and Sergeant Wittle minded the children she had brought with her while the lady visited the house. Although she signed her name (according to Wittle) ‘Mrs Little’, she was the former Kate Campbell, daughter of Frederick Campbell.
On her return to the gate Sergeant Wittle asked the visitor if she could throw any light on the story of the ghost and the diamond. She laughed and agreed to let Sergeant Wittle in on a little secret. It was she, she said, aided by a school friend staying at Yarral
umla during the school holidays, who had written the document that gave rise to the ghost story. She had taken a sheet of heavy parchment notepaper from her father’s study, composed and written the story on it then disguised it with dust and cobwebs to appear old. She and her friend had placed it in the vault and it was they, she added, who took the visitor down there so he could find it.
Ghost story exploded? Well, nothing is ever that simple in the natural or supernatural world. History shows that Frederick Campbell did have a daughter named Kate but her married name was Newman, not Little. The visitors’ book for 1942 does carry the signature of a ‘Mrs Little’ but not a ‘Mrs Newman’. Another former security guard, Bert Sheedy, claimed that he too met the former Miss Campbell on her visit and laughed over the ghost hoax, but he claims it was in 1952, not 1942!
A letter to the editor of the Sydney Morning Herald, published 3 August 1945, corroborates the two men’s stories. It read, in part:
In the past few years I have occasionally read allusions to a story of a diamond under the old deodar tree beside Yarralumla House. Hitherto I have ventured no public comment but when, on reading another book mentioning the story, bringing in my mother’s name, I felt an urge to give the facts as I know them.
The writer then went on to explain the same sequence of events described by Sergeant Wittle. The letter was signed ‘Kate Newman’. So the Ghost of Yarralumla is finally and firmly laid to rest — well one of them, anyhow.
The Canberra News of 27 August 1970 carried a feature article quoting Sir Murray Tyrrell, private secretary to a succession of governors general from 1947 to 1973, about his encounter with a ghost at Yarralumla seven years before. Sir Murray told how, in February 1963, preparations were under way for a visit by the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh. Sir Murray left his office one day and was walking towards his cottage in the grounds when a flustered official approached him and asked if he had seen a strange person entering the front door of Government House. Sir Murray said he had not, but the official was insistent that he had.
Now security was not of such paramount importance as it is these days, but had been stepped up for the royal visit, so the prospect of a stranger lurking in the house at that or any other time was cause for concern. Sir Murray decided to check out the report himself and entered the front door of Government House. As his eyes grew accustomed to the change in light, Sir Murray spotted the strange, hazy figure slowly and deliberately climbing the stairs from the foyer to the first floor.
Sir Murray shouted but the figure took no notice. The middle-aged private secretary then bounded like a man half his age up the stairs in pursuit, but when he reached the first floor landing the figure had vanished. He searched every room in the vicinity but could find no trace of the intruder.
Mystified and alarmed, Sir Murray summoned one of the security guards who were patrolling the grounds with guard dogs and hastily explained what he had seen. The security man and his dog began to mount the stairs, several at a time, then suddenly the animal stopped and would proceed no further. No order or coaxing would get the dog to move. It stood statue-like, halfway up, and bared its teeth at its handler in a display of uncooperativeness that was quite unlike the normally faithful and fearless creature.
Sir Murray Tyrrell always stood by his account of the events of that day and never found a rational explanation for them. As neither Sir Murray nor the other official who first saw it mention the colour of the ghost’s skin it is reasonable to assume it was white and they did describe it as male.
There is an old story about a man having died or been murdered near the old Yarralumla homestead (demolished in 1881 to make way for the present building), but a descendent of Colonel Gibbes who takes an interest in his family’s history informed me a few years ago that as far as he knows the only male to have died at ‘old’ Yarralumla was the Colonel himself. So perhaps it was his shade that was observed in 1963. Perhaps the old Colonel decided he was duty bound to put in an appearance when the monarch was due and maybe he is the real Ghost of Yarralumla.
31.
‘Atten-shun! Pre-sent Ghosts!’
Ghosts are souls not fully cleansed from the visible, material world;
still retaining some part in it and therefore visible
Plato (Greek philosopher, 4th Century BC)
‘I saw it with my own eyes!’
I like that expression, so often used by witnesses to ghostly appearances; and I’ve always wondered how (at least before the age of corneal transplants) anyone could see anything with somebody else’s eyes. It was used recently to add authenticity to the claim of a sighting of a ghost at Sydney’s Victoria Barracks, but in this case it was unnecessary for many others have seen the same apparition.
No building in Australia evokes the essence of queen and country or British military might better than this expansive and impressive old sandstone complex. For visitors it is like stepping back a couple of centuries and if one closes one’s eyes it’s easy to see red-coated soldiers marching and gold-braided officers riding on the dusty parade ground, with elegantly dressed mem-sahibs watching from the shady verandahs. One can almost hear the clatter of hooves, the swish of carriage wheels, the rumble of field guns, the crack of muskets and the eerie echo of bugles long gone. But imagination is not required to see one figure from the barracks’ past — only your presence in the right place at the right time and a spot of good luck.
For more than 100 years people working or visiting the barracks and passers-by on Oxford Street have spotted a spectral figure on the upper level balcony of the Officers’ Quarters. Accounts differ but some details are common to all reports — the figure is female, tall, young and slender and dressed in a pink gown — high-necked, tight-waisted and expanding out to a full, flowing skirt. One observer described the colour of the fabric as like that last blush of colour as a sunset fades.
The figure usually has one slender hand resting on the balcony railing and its eyes seem to be gazing into the far distance — over the parade ground and down what would have been (when this spectre was flesh and blood) the sandy track leading to the city. In the words of one witness the spectre ‘looks ever so sad; as if she’s waiting for someone to return to her’.
No one can put a name to this ladylike ghost. Perhaps in life she was the wife of one of the lieutenant colonels who commanded at the barracks, or the sister, daughter or mistress of some officer who marched away and never came back. Just occasionally, it seems, her sadness is dispelled. She is reported as slowly turning her head towards observers and giving them a wan smile; and one witness (a man walking up Oxford Street on a sunny spring afternoon) noticed her watching him, waved and received a gentle wave in return.
Such brief encounters aside, the ghost who has become known simply as ‘the lady on the balcony’ is elusive. Efforts to get close to it always fail. Witnesses at ground level see it and the inquisitive (or foolhardy) dash up the stairs to try to corner it, but on arrival the balcony is always empty and occupants of the upper level deny having seen anything at all.
This gentle spirit is just one of many that inhabit Victoria Barracks and not, as you might expect after so many sightings, the most famous. That distinction belongs to the ghost of Private Charles Crowley, formerly of the Eleventh Regiment — the ‘North Devonshires’ — the first British regiment to occupy the barracks.
‘Charlie’, as he was known to his comrades (and still is to his victims), shot dead the popular Sergeant Pearson after an argument at the barracks in 1853. Charlie fled but was captured just a few kilometres away in Leichhardt and locked away in the barracks prison to await court martial. Remorse or fear drove Charlie to hang himself and in doing so he escaped one punishment only to be condemned to another. According to the reports of eyewitnesses his ghost has remained in and around the barracks prison ever since.
In the 1960s and 70s Warrant Officer Bert White and his family lived in the old Provost Sergeant’s quarters above the prison cells. W.O. White described Cha
rlie’s ghost as young, tall, wearing an old army greatcoat and able to glide through walls. The Whites believed that Charlie watched over them and Mrs White told how on one occasion a piece of falling masonry stopped in mid-air while she snatched one of her children to safety.
‘It was the strangest thing I’ve ever seen,’ Mrs White recounted. ‘This big lump of sandstone — it was part of the lintel over a window — just stopped, frozen in mid-air, about six feet off the ground. I grabbed our youngest and we both toppled backwards onto the gravel. Then the piece of stone continued its fall, crashing with a horrifying crunch into the gravel.’
Another time Mrs White claimed she received a psychic message from Charlie when she was shopping in Oxford Street. The message told her to return home immediately. When she got to their quarters she found the children had been playing with matches and had lit a fire endangering themselves and the building.
Charlie’s altruistic antics have sometimes backfired on the recipients. During the years of the Great Depression when the Royal Military College occupied the barracks at least one cadet had reason to resent Charlie’s interference. This young man was accused of cheating at his passing-out examinations and when asked to account for how he (not the brightest student in his class) managed to answer every question correctly, he told a story that only got him into worse trouble.
Great Australian Ghost Stories Page 21