Bluenose Ghosts

by Helen Creighton

  Whether it was the same Grey Lady he saw upon another occasion or not, he was never able to determine. If so, she must occasionally have rambled. He was driving between the towns of Digby and Weymouth with the school principal of that time, Mr. Logan. They were both surprised to see a woman in a long grey cloak and bonnet upon the road who did not walk, but trotted. Several times they jogged the horse and passed her but in each case she quickly caught up again and took her place ahead of them as she had done to Mr. and Mrs. Gretorex. They noticed then that she wore hoops, and that her cloak was spread over them. She finally disappeared in the bushes that grew along the roadside. In this case they knew of no reason for her appearance, and it is possible she was an entirely different phantom.

  A Mr. Mills of Upper Granville told quite a different story, and there was nothing pleasurable or helpful about the way he saw her. He said that he was on the marsh one morning when she appeared before him, but she was such a filmy wraith that he could see the fence right through her. She did not look to him like a person who had come to do a kindly service and he was so frightened that he took to his heels and fled. Another man who reacted this way was Mr. Roy Condon, according to my friends at Port Wade.

  He was working on a wood boat and, in order to get back to it in time from the place he lived, he had to walk to the shore at two a.m. He noticed a lady coming towards him and he moved over close to her and said, “Good evening.” She didn’t speak.That surprised him and he wondered what woman would be travelling the road at that hour, so he turned to look at her again, but there was no one there. He recalled all the things he had heard about the Grey Lady then and when he did, he ran so fast he tumbled down into the bottom of the boat without even waiting to take the ladder.

  Tales about the Grey Lady spread so widely that everybody in the district knew about her and she was often the subject of conversation throughout the whole countryside. But alas her story had a tragic end. You will have gathered long before this that Nova Scotians love to play tricks on one another and will do so at the slightest provocation. Those who feared the unknown were particularly vulnerable. In those days before the motor car brought new people and new thoughts to outlying communities, and before radio and television invaded their homes, the staple form of entertainment was all too often the telling of ghost yarns. Children heard them almost from infancy and therefore grew up with an exaggerated fear of the dark. Well, the day came when the young people of Granville were to have an old-fashioned hay-ride and picnic and one young man thought it would be fun to impersonate the Grey Lady. He waited until the picnic party was returning home after dark. Then he jumped over a stone wall dressed in a sheet. Unfortunately one member of the party had a revolver, probably for target shooting at the picnic. Without waiting to investigate, he drew his revolver and fired, killing the impersonator. This seems like a strange way to lay a ghost but, from all I have been able to learn, the Grey Lady has not been seen since.

  Clergymen are particularly given to seeing spirits which is not after all very surprising when you give the matter thought. Did not Jesus himself appear as a spirit? And others. We have had Rev. Mr. Gretorex in this chapter and we turn now to Venerable Archdeacon Wilcox who has been mentioned before. Although he was the rector of my church in Dartmouth I did not hear this story from him or even know about it until after his death. It came to me from Windsor, the town where he had spent his boyhood.

  “Reverend Noel Wilcox was out shooting at Evangeline Beach one fall when he saw the figure of a woman walking well ahead of him. He had a companion with him, and the two had separated, the better to get their birds. Mr. Wilcox was afraid the woman would get hit by the other man’s shots as he was unlikely to see her, so he hastened forward to warn her. At that time she was walking away from him. Imagine his astonishment when she disappeared. He couldn’t believe it. He was, however, a man accustomed to the woods and an outdoor life, and it occurred to him to look for her tracks in the sand. There were no tracks to be seen. He hailed his companion then and told him what had happened and he was further surprised at the response his remark called forth. He said,

  “‘Come on, we’re getting out of here. There’s going to be a gale of wind anyhow.’ Then Mr. Wilcox recalled stories of a lady who walked before a storm. He couldn’t credit the legend, but he had seen what he had seen.”

  Incidentally it is interesting, because of an old folk belief, to notice here that the apparition was walking away from the rector when he saw her. Whether a ghost is coming towards you or walking away is thought to determine the length of life for the person who sees the vision. If there is any meaning in this, it signified a short life in this case, for the archdeacon’s career was cut off while he was still in his forties.

  Another Anglican clergyman told me about a house he once lived in. I cannot mention his name because that would identify the house and it is not the purpose of this book to give a sinister name to any property. I shall only say that it is in one of the older residential districts of Halifax. He said that he and his wife occupied the lower flat and that in the upper flat the occupants found it very difficult to keep a maid. All who came there to work were frightened, and all told of seeing a woman in white behind the portière. They disliked being in the house not only for what they saw, but for what they felt, because it always seemed that there was someone standing behind their backs. He felt sure this was not mere imagination because so many different maids had told about it, and they all had the same story. It would be quite natural for them to confide their fears to the downstairs couple and, since these maids would not have known one another or anything about the house before working there, it would be more than coincidence for them all to see and feel the same thing. Whether the owners themselves have seen or felt anything I do not know and I do not feel like asking them upon a slender acquaintance. We can conclude however that there is nothing really frightening about the house because the same people have lived in it for many years.

  In my book, The Folklore of Lunenburg County, I have a story about Rev. Joseph Norwood of Hubbards and an apparition that appeared to him. Some time after its publication I took down a variant of this event and still later heard that Professor Carmen Stone of the University of King’s College had the authentic version. Rev. Robert Norwood of whom he speaks was a son of Rev. Joseph, and the Grey Lady in this story is quite different from the one at Stony Beach. This is Professor Stone’s account of the event.

  “We were at Seaforth in 1931 and my mother was keeping house for me. Rev. Robert Norwood knew my mother and he came to visit her. As she was coming down the stairs and reached the first landing he looked up from the hall below, raised his hand and said, ‘The Grey Lady!’ He was very dramatic, and told us the story forthwith. I was there and heard it.”

  Dr. Norwood’s story was that the apparition of a lady dressed in grey had appeared to his father when he was rector of the Anglican church at New Ross. Here he had to drive through thick woods, and the trip by horse and carriage would be lonely enough at the best of times without the unwelcome company of a figure from another world. Dr. Norwood did not say how often his father had seen the lady in grey but she must have come a number of times for him to grow so tired of her that he asked to be sent away. He was therefore transferred to Seaforth and occupied the Rectory later taken over by Professor Stone.

  The lady, however, was not to be so easily dismissed and one evening shortly after he had taken up his residence in Seaforth, he looked up and saw her standing upon the landing in the very place where his son now saw Mrs. Stone. He decided then to face the situation so he signed himself with the cross and said, ‘In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost, speak.’ She did, and her first remark was, ‘Why haven’t you spoken before?’ thus confirming the belief that you must address a ghost before it can speak to you.

  She told him then that a great wrong had been done in which she had a part and she related the circumstances which, however, his son did not mention. She th
en told him to go to a certain address on Morris Street in Halifax where he must deliver her message.

  Although his father had seen the woman and had heard her speak he still could not believe that such things happened. Nevertheless he went to the address which was that of the apparition’s sister. He asked the lady on Morris Street if she had a family album, and also if she had a sister who had died, and what her name was. The album was produced but he said, ‘Let me pick her out.’ He turned the pages until he came to a picture of the lady he had seen and then he said, ‘This is the person you have here.’ He then delivered the message and he was never troubled again.

  The incident made a great impression upon Professor Stone who was a student at the time. For one thing Rev. Robert Norwood, a native son of the Province, was then rector of St. Bartholomew’s Church in New York and was famed for his powers of oratory. Always dramatic, he told this story in a way that would never be forgotten by a young man, so that every detail was burned upon his memory. Besides, think of the implications in such a story and what they would mean to a young man about to embark upon the ministry as his life’s vocation. Was this not proof that life continues after death?

  In another variant of this story the reason for the visit was to tell the sister how to find a certain document whose where–abouts only the apparition knew. In still another, it was to ask forgiveness for a quarrel. In this case the sister remembered the disagreement, but said it had been forgiven long ago. Still another says that the person he was asked to visit was the widow of a fellow clergyman who was in great difficulty, and that he was able to help her. The details may vary, as the story has been passed around by word of mouth, but the theme is substantially the same wherever it is told.

  Most of the incidents in this book have taken place in Nova Scotia, but we need an occasional one from outside to confirm experiences here. I have a story from England which parallels the last one in some of its salient points. It is both strange and beautiful and came to me in a surprising way. I had spoken to the School of Community Arts at Tatamagouche one evening and dropped in to see some friends there the next day. In the hall I met Rev. Mr. Minton from Lockeport. Yes, you have guessed rightly, for he too is an Anglican rector, and so is the man of whom he spoke. Knowing of my interest in ghosts, he asked if I would like to hear a story from England. He had heard it from the sister of the man to whom it happened, and she has been a friend of many years’ standing. The Norwood story will not seem so inexplicable after this.

  “Rev. Mr. Gray belonged to a large family and had been recently ordained. This was in the early Edwardian period. He had taken a parish in the East End of London. His housekeeper had gone to bed and he was sitting in his study smoking his pipe and thinking out his sermon for Sunday. Presently the door bell rang—a spring bell—and he went to answer it. Standing under the gas light in the fog stood a little old lady in poke bonnet and shawl and a once black skirt now green with age. She pleaded with him to go to an address in the West End of London. She said he must go because he was urgently needed. The young clergy–man tried to put her off as it was very late, but she pleaded so earnestly that he finally promised to go that same night.

  “He took a cab and at length arrived at the address. It turned out to be one of the large mansions in the West End and it was lit up and obviously there was a party going on. After he had rung the bell and waited, the butler came and the clergyman said, ‘I believe I’m wanted here. My name is Gray.’

  “The butler said, ‘Have you an invitation?’

  “‘No, but I’ve been asked to come. Some one needs me.’

  “The butler asked him to wait in the little anteroom and presently brought back the master of the house. He was a well-known titled gentleman. Mr. Gray then told him what had happened and the man looked very odd and asked if he could describe his visitor. As he did so, the man looked terrified. He then confessed to having led a wicked life of crime which included white slavery, whereupon the clergyman tried to help him. He urged him to stop this life and make his peace with God, and the man finally made what appeared to be a serious confession. The clergyman then gave him absolution and said in leaving,

  “‘Just to show that you’re in earnest, I’ll be celebrating holy communion at eight-thirty in the morning and I want you to be there.’ Then he went away.

  “The next morning as the priest turned to administer the sacrament it was obvious that the man was not there and he wondered what he should do about it. After breakfast he decided he should see him again. He arrived at the mansion house, now still and quiet, and at his ring, the butler came. When he asked to see his master the butler told him he was dead. Mr. Gray said,

  “‘It can’t be true. I was talking to him last night.’

  “‘Yes, I know. I recognize you,’ the butler said. ‘He died shortly after you left.’

  “Mr. Gray asked if he could see the body which he knew must still be in the house, and the butler took him up to a very spacious room. There, lying on the bed, was the dead body of the man he’d been talking to the night before. He stood for a moment thinking, trying to puzzle it out and, as he did so, he glanced around the room. His eye caught an oil painting above the bed. It was of a little old lady in a poke bonnet and shawl—the same little old lady who had come to him and had sent him to this house. He said to the butler,

  “‘Who is the little old lady?’

  “‘That is the master’s mother. She died many years ago.’ ”

  I listened to the story which was told with great earnestness, and then we sat quietly for a moment on the spacious lawn in front of the Tatamagouche school. There was so much to think about but, by this time, the students and staff were coming back from the beaches and there was no opportunity to meditate. I went back the next day, however, to ask about two points which had occurred to me later. Had Mr. Gray realized that the little old lady was not of this world, and was that why he had carried out her mission so faithfully? No, it was not until the butler told him whose picture hung above the bed that this realization came to him. The other question was not so easily answered, but it is one we may all consider well. Obviously the mother knew that her son was about to die, and she must have wished for his repentance since she sent a clergyman to see him. Was she then, in this last-minute confession and the giving of absolution, able to redeem his soul? Who can give the answer, but it is a beautiful and breath-taking thought.

  Now let us come back to our own Province and also back to laymen and their experiences. Pugwash will be our next port of call and we will sit on old Mr. Teed’s doorstep. On the day when I first met him he happened to mention that he used to sit up with old people who were dying, so with such an opening I asked of course if he had ever seen or heard anything. The result was seven good stories to add to my collection. In the midst of them he stopped and said, “Well now, this is kind of funny, me telling you things like this.” I assured him that lots of people did, and he picked up the thread again.

  He said there was a house where a boy and girl had been taken to live and they were supposed to work in return for the care they were given and the home in which they lived. One day their foster parents went away and, when they returned, they found that the girl had disappeared. He did not know how much they had tried to find her, but she was never heard of again. After a while the family moved away. Years passed and then one day when the father was working in his garden, he was greatly startled to see this girl on the edge of the road, and he could see at once that she was an apparition. She said, “Don’t be scared and I’ll tell you what happened to me.” The man listened in astonishment as she told him that the boy had killed her with an axe and had buried her under a tree stump. Her foster-father supposed she had returned for revenge and said, “What do you want me to do? Go and find him?” But she said no, he was dead too. In time he had left his foster home and then had killed another girl. His second murder had been detected and he had been hanged. Then, having told her story, she disappeared.


  The poor man was greatly upset and talked the matter over with his friends. They concluded no benefit would come to any–body by verifying the story which would be difficult as he no longer owned the property or even lived in the same town. The conversation however had been real enough and was held in the full light of day. But why had she waited so long after her death to make the facts known, and why did she wish them to be known anyhow? If she had wanted a proper burial she would have asked for it. Or would she?

  Mr. Teed then told this story. “When I was fifteen I was out one night and I went to a house where there was a large family.The father had been married twice but I didn’t know it. I saw a woman come towards me and she walked up to the ditch by the fence, and then along by the fence towards an old barn. I heard a dog bark and looked behind and, when I turned my head again, she was gone. I went home and after I got in the house I began to laugh.

  “‘What are you laughing at?’ Mother said.

  “‘I’m laughing at the funny old woman I saw in a coat and hood.’

  “‘Where did you see her?’ I told her and she said I’d better stay home at night. I begged her to tell me who it was because I could see she knew, but she wouldn’t tell me for a long time. Then she said it was the man’s first wife and my mother knew her well. Her cattle used to stray. Many a time my mother went with her to call them in and she always wore that coat and hood.”

  Another first wife was seen after her husband’s second marriage, but under quite different circumstances. This was at Port Medway. There were several children by the first wife and their stepmother was always kind to them. But one of the children became ill and was not expected to recover. The stepmother was getting tired, so two friends of the family came to watch over the child at night while she got some rest. As they were sitting quietly in the sick room, they saw a woman come in and bend over the child and go out again. They said in astonishment, “That’s Annie Wharton!” (the child’s mother.) She did not look at them, but both recognized her. Telling of it afterwards they insisted they were not afraid.