There was plenty to do. We had to take the roof off, put in insulation sheets and replace the roof slates with specially sourced new Welsh slates. There were custom made windows to historically match with the existing ones. The bricks for the chimney stack had to be purchased, which again had to be in keeping with the original Tudor additions. The gable ends had to be built up so the roof could be put back onto level walls. The quirky building was holding up the original roof at very strange angles.
During the work schedule the whole Hall looked like a large shed with huge beams being held up by props. There was dirt absolutely everywhere. I remember Maggie showing prospective brides and their grooms around this building site and painting a picture of what it would look like next year on their wedding day. Maggie’s description was only matched by the couple’s imagination of how their perfect day would pan out. They were not to be disappointed; the specialist Hexham based builders did a fantastic job and finished the work in time for our Easter opening.
One of the rooms we did not change was the avocado bathroom. This dates from the 1970s and is, in itself, part of the history of the building. We decided to decorate it with some of the posters I had designed while at university. One of the posters advertised a dance in the university featuring a band called ‘The Scaffold’. Surprisingly one of the members of The Scaffold visited the Hall and he noticed the poster. We had a brief chat. I had another copy of the poster in the house which I gave to him as a memento of his visit.
* * *
Eventually, all the reroofing work was completed and the whole building seemed cosier. Despite this our heating bills were still climbing and always seemed enormous. I sought advice from others who ran larger houses. We were invited along to a presentation and seminar on alternative sources of energy. This was held at Castle Howard in North Yorkshire. I felt a little out of place as I was introduced to lords, ladies and knights of the realm. I became aware that not only did I have the shortest surname in the room but only one surname at that. I also had the smallest house. They talked of strategies to reduce their energy costs by hydro power, diverting rivers across their lands and laying acres of solar panels or harnassing ground source heat. I became more interested when they got down into the detail of draught exclusion and light fittings. I was less encouraged when they talked of setting their team of electricians on to this task and that task.
At lunch we were sitting in a beautiful dining room which overlooked the lake. I am not sure how the seating had been planned but on each table were five couples. Immediately opposite sat Lord and Lady Harbinger-Coutts. (Or that’s the name I gave them.) He was dressed as if he had just come in from the grouse moors and had a vacant look as if he had mislaid his twelve bore. She was much younger, dressed more as if she was going onto a catwalk rather than attending a function about renewable energy. When Maggie mentioned that we opened our house to the public they both looked at us as if we had confessed to being carriers of bubonic plague. They were horrified. They repeated in unison.
‘The public, oh dear how horrid.”
They appeared to possess a deep seated fear that they might need to open their house sometime in the future. They saw renewable energy as a way of avoiding this distressing fate.
It was a really useful day. I came back home with a completely new mind set. We might have a problem but it was nowhere near as big as the ones I had heard about. It was manageable. I came up with a plan of installing solar panels on the roof slopes which are hidden in the valleys of the roof.This involved approaching various authorities to seek permissions due to the Hall’s grade one listing.
I spoke to the local city council. They were really helpful and suggested that there were steps to cover first by making the house draught proof now that it was weather proof. We started to look at the detail. Our excellent contract plumber fixed a valve to cut our need to heat the entire house unless we wished to. The valve meant we could control the heat by effectively cutting the system in two. New radiators were put in and thermostatic controls fitted to all the other radiators. Our contract electricians replaced all the lights with more energy efficient ones. Our builder recommended someone who could replace our cracked and rotting windows. My dad had patched these up and painted them but the work was hiding the rot and there were holes and cracks in most of them. We had replaced two sash windows soon after we arrived but here were thirteen others needing replacement.
The man who was recommended to make the new windows was a disaster. On paper the scheduled work looked good; he was going to do one level at a time with minimum disruption to our visitors’ experience and it was all going to be finished long before our Easter opening. During the first week of work we went away for a few days and when we returned we found he had deviated from the plan. He had taken all thirteen windows out at the same time. We were horrified. This impacted on every room. On three levels of the Georgian house there was dust everywhere and plastic sheets on every window. It was the middle of winter, freezing cold, and it catapulted us back to that feeling of misery we experienced that first cold Christmas.
As the project continued it was one issue after another and then, one day, the builder just failed to show up. He had walked off the job leaving all his tools. There were windows missing and his team had also disappeared. Always wanting to put a positive spin on things I was thankful the scaffolding was still in place. We were a few weeks from the scheduled completion date, and time was slipping away. Fortunately the builders who had initially recommended this ‘expert’ came along and, feeling very guilty, promised to complete the job with no charge. They did a splendid job and we did pay them. They deserved it and we were very grateful.
In those three years we had, with help from many others, seen off the road plans, reroofed the major part of the Hall and replaced all the windows in the Georgian house. The building and the site were in good shape. We were keen to safeguard the setting for the future and were determined that nothing detrimental would happen on our watch. With 800 years of history behind us we were only custodians for a very short period, but we needed to play our part and do the right thing.
7
Our Ghosts – The Uninvited Guests
We did not need the visitors to let us know we were living in a haunted building. There was enough written to get our goose bumps going, especially on St Thomas’ Eve, the shortest day of the year, when our resident ghost is supposed to walk around our bedroom. We seldom slept well on that night.
Allegedly, Crook Hall is haunted by The White Lady. The front garden was planted with pear trees up against the wall by people who believed the trees would guard against evil spirits. The large wooden door has circular markings on, again to ward off evil spirits. Every effort seems to have been made to keep unearthly beings out of the house yet reports of sightings of spirits has continued over the centuries.
When there was a coal pit up beyond the gardens, mothers used to escort their children from the houses of Lovegreen Terrace to the pit head. The young boys, while brave enough to face the very real dangers of coal mining, were not prepared to pass haunted Crook Hall without their mums’ reassuring presence.
One night the Hall had been set for a splendid banquet. The invited guests were gathered in another room enjoying drinks when there was a thunderous crash. The noise came from the Hall and the host went to investigate. On entering the Hall he saw all the tables had been turned over and all the table settings were strewn across the floor. No one had entered the Hall after it had been set. It was a complete mystery as to the cause.
The previous owner was certain she had woken up one night to find a woman in period dress standing at the bottom of her bed.
We have always had visitors who are keen to see or experience our ghosts. Many of our visitors have had experiences of feeling spooked and we have endless reports of orbs, often supported by digital photographic evidence.
One coach group rang up
on their way home to tell me of an old man with a night cap who had been seen by many of their members on their visit. The phone call was prompted as they exchanged stories of their experiences on the coach. The caller, who I believed was just sending me up, asked if we had seen this strangely clad man, was he a ghost? I replied that we had no season ticket holders or visitors who answered that description so perhaps they had indeed seen a ghost. After he hung up the coach travellers either had a good laugh at my expense or were terrified.
On another occasion as I was locking up I asked a visitor if everyone had left the upstairs. She said that there were just two children playing up there. She added that they looked as if they were in fancy dress. I went upstairs and the whole floor was empty. No one could have come down without passing me. Another wind up?
We have had lots of strange incidents reported to us. One day a waitress was working in the Medieval Hall with her back to the far wall. She was totally unnerved when she felt a hand go up her shirt and touch her neck. She was completely on her own. She was so frightened that she ran from the room, breaking a glass and overturning a chair in the process.
Maggie had a similar experience when she was standing on the minstrel's gallery talking to a group who were gathered in the Hall below. She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned thinking it was a member of staff, only to find there was no one there. She thought nothing of it until later when one of the group said that she had seen a pale figure standing behind Maggie when she had turned away from the group. This person could identify the actual moment in the talk when Maggie had felt the tap on her shoulder. After this incident Maggie began giving her talks in the main part of the Hall, rather than on the minstrels’ gallery.
When our dog, Ben, was just a puppy he had an extreme reaction to being on the minstrels’ gallery. Maggie heard him whimpering up there so went to investigate. She found him backing into the corner with the hairs on his back standing upright. Maggie called to him and he started barking and bolted past her down the turret stairs into the Jacobean room where he stood trembling. Ben never ventured up to the minstrel's gallery again.
On another day a person Maggie knew through a mutual friend visited us. When she entered the Medieval Hall this women suddenly turned pale and began to shake and hold her side as if in pain. She walked over to the alcove and said she saw a soldier being killed by a man who lived at the Hall in a fight over a woman. She said the soldier’s death had been hushed up and he was buried in the wall. She wanted to take the wall apart to find the body. Maggie refused to let her interfere with the fabric of a listed building but was taken aback by her sudden outburst.
A group of ‘ghost busters’ approached us to ask if they could mount a vigil by staying the night in the Jacobean room. We thought that this could lead to some useful publicity so we agreed.
They managed to terrify themselves. They were convinced they had seen The White Lady and that the portrait which hangs at the bottom of the haunted stairs was her. I told them it was actually of Amanda, my daughter, but this did not calm them.
They also reported that there were lots of smells which would suggest a ghostly presence – tobacco smoke for one but also a very strong smell of baking. The following day Maggie was able to resolve one of these mysteries when she took out a very burnt offering from the Aga. It was in fact the cake she had baked to serve to the ‘ghost busters’ with their tea and coffee but she had forgotten to take it of the oven. The smell must have percolated down to the Hall. We did not mention it. I have told no one until now.
One of the visitors told us that he used to visit the Hall as a boy and he remembered the daughter of the family saying she regularly saw The White Lady on the stairs in the Jacobean room.
At the bottom of the stairs Maggie had invited youngsters to write letters to The White Lady. This was a great success and often provided an amusing read.
One young boy wrote, ‘Don’t haunt me White Lady, I am only six.’
Another one scribbled, ‘You do not scare me White Lady. I am from Sunderland and no one scares no one from Sunderland.’
I had a few alarming experiences myself. The first event happened in December, on St Thomas’ Eve. I awoke to a scratching and rustling sound on the other side of our alarmed bedroom door. It sounded like curtains being rustled, although there were none there. I had no supernatural thoughts in my head, quite the opposite; I assumed it was an intruder who would burst through the door any second. I reached for a suitable weapon and at the same time tried to wake Maggie from a deep sleep. I worked on the premise that if we were both awake and ready to run we could escape from this evil character. Then suddenly the rustling and scratching stopped and I could hear footsteps going slowly upstairs and then across the ceiling above my head. The sound was of feet walking across floorboards but I knew we had no floorboards in the attic above us, just plastic sheeting. Footsteps on plastic sheeting would not make that noise. The footsteps went right across the room and stopped just as I managed to finally wake Maggie. She had heard nothing so no collaboration there.
There was corroboration next time. We were preparing for Halloween and Maggie was holding the step ladders from which I was hanging some decorations. I made the comment that the candles she had planned to use may actually be dangerous and we should not have them lit this weekend with all the children visiting. She agreed she did not want any burnt children, but did not think the candles would be a danger. As I stepped down off the ladders they started shaking uncontrollably as if they had a mind of their own. I started to try to hold them still. Maggie accused me of trying to frighten her by moving the ladders. I took my hands away and the ladders continued to shake for a good minute. We were terrified. I tried to explain it away through physics but my grasp of the subject had been poor even when I had been spending three hours a week studying it. We ended up convincing ourselves that burnt children from the past had been sending a message to us. Perhaps we needed counselling.
The same evening one of our friends called in and we invited her to see the Halloween decorations. As we walked into the screens passage a bat flew past us at knee level. This had never happened before or since. We both felt as if Dracula himself was paying us a visit. Maybe we were turning into spiritual believers. My grandmother was a medium with the Northern Spiritualist Church. She would have loved the place. I wish she could have seen it, but then, who knows, she may have already visited us many times.
* * *
Although not a ghostly experience, we once had an uninvited guest who frightened us more than any of our spirit visitors. One night in September, about seven years ago, we were awakened just after midnight. There was a terrific noise coming from the front door in the Georgian house, a door we never used. It sounded like a battering ram being swung by a group of people attempting to gain entry to the building. No window overlooks this door so we could not see what was happening. I went downstairs naked and switched on the lights. (Neither action is to be recommended in such situations.)
Far from abating, the noise actually increased so I set the alarm off fearing that if these people were not scared away by my naked presence, lights coming on, or a burglar alarm, I was done for. The battering noise became even more intense.
I shouted “Go away.” I can be very threatening.
I thought I could hear sobbing or crying. I checked to make sure it was not me. No. I am too tough to cry I reminded myself. I retreated back upstairs letting Maggie know these people were very determined. I told her they would probably be through the door within the next thirty seconds. The battering sound was deafening. Drastic action was required. I barricaded us into the bedroom by pulling the chest of drawers across the door and wedging two chairs behind it. I rang the next door neighbours and explained our predicament. We had hoped they might come to our rescue but, very wisely, they kept their doors firmly shut.
I called the police. Hearing my high pitched screams
begging them to come quickly, they assured me that they were on their way.
They arrived at the back door. We ran downstairs. The two policeman were brave guys. Armed only with a truncheon, one of them asked me to slowly open the door which was shaking from the battering it was still receiving.
For a person who has tried to watch The Shining four times and failed this was a difficult task. With one hand on the door handle and two feet firmly placed in the direction of my escape route, I slowly turned the handle expecting an axe murderer to take us all out. When the door was open there before us stood a very distressed, dishevelled girl. How such a waif of a girl had made so much noise was beyond me. The siege was over; I looked around to see if there were any cameras. Was this some kind of hoax? Maggie appeared from the library where she had been hiding. I found myself looking behind her to see if any famous celebrity was going to appear with a microphone. The story came out. The girl was a student, a fresher, who had got lost returning from town to her college. Whilst walking back to the college she found she was being followed by a man. In a panic she had scrambled over our garden wall tearing her clothing and losing her shoes and purse in the process. She had come up the path and was hammering on our front door. She was totally disorientated. The police were marvellous, both with her and me. Thankfully, I was not still naked and I was calming down rapidly. When all was quiet, and I returned upstairs, I discovered I could no longer move that chest of drawers which I had dragged across the floor so easily some hours earlier. Adrenalin. I slept well after that.
What I have learnt from all of this ghoulish business is that some people do see ghosts, at least they believe they do. Personally I am not convinced. I am always curious as to why they are grey or white ladies or monks, headless people or people in period costumes rather than punk rockers or shelf fillers from Sainsbury’s. I have never heard of anywhere that is haunted by a hairdresser or a dentist. Perhaps I am just not well read on the subject or, more likely, a cynic.
Blood, Sweat and Scones Page 9