Part 4

Shortly after that, my mother received a telegram saying that he was ill and coming home. I am glad to say that to-day, he is alive and well.

At the time I spoke to my mother again about the vision and she told me that I had seen my brother in the lengthening of the days, which meant he would live to a very old age.

A PASSIONATE LONGING

DURING the Egyptian Campaign, my mother had an experience which I have never been able to explain with satisfaction to myself. One night she was lying awake when she saw the bedroom door open and my brother, who was serving with the forces in Egypt, walk up to the bedside and gaze at her with an intense wistfulness in his expression. After both had remained motionless for some moments, my brother retraced his footsteps, and vanished through the doorway.

My mother was so impressed with the apparition, that she took note of the date and the time, feeling sure that some fatality had occurred to my brother.

When the war was over, and my brother returned home again, he dressed up in his uniform with sand-goggles, etc., and my mother at once recognised the dress as that worn by the apparition. On comparing notes, it was found that my brother was seriously ill of dysentery at that particular time and, fearing a fatal termination, was controlled by a passionate longing for the presence of his mother.

AN UNBELIEVER’S DOUBTS

GHOSTS, I personally do not believe in, but this is perfectly true. During the war, I was stationed for a short period at an empty convalescent camp, bordering the sea on the French coast. Our duty was to guard this, and, at night, we were a double guard—one held the main entrance, the other paraded the whole camp—a most desolate and wild affair amongst sand dunes and fir trees. My duty fell for this roving commission, and, wandering around, I felt compelled to enter the wood, and gaze at the camp from outside. The night was fair, with a moon casting long shadows, and, imagine my astonishment to behold a most weird apparition gliding effortless before me. I was struck dumb with surprise mingled with fear, but, remembering my loaded rifle and bayonet, I pulled myself together and investigated. It appeared to vanish, and, to my great surprise, straight through one of the hospitals. I searched, but in vain, and saw nothing more. Whether I was wrong, whether I saw something, I know not to this day.

THE WOMAN BY THE GRAVE

THIS is an account of my experience whilst in Germany as a prisoner of war in 1914, at Sennelager, near Paderborn. I was captured at Mons, on Sunday, August 23rd, 1914. I belonged to the 2nd Battalion, Royal Irish Regiment, and one of my comrades died from exposure early in October of that year. Volunteers were asked to attend his funeral, and of these I was one. The place where he was buried was a wild, desolate moor. The morning of the funeral was very cold and sleet was falling. We were a very miserable crowd as we stood by the graveside whilst the English chaplain read the Burial Service over our dead comrade. Suddenly, there stood with us a woman who remained until the service was over. There is nothing strange in that you will think, but the point is that none of us saw her until she stood with us and none saw her go. Our comrade was a married man, and what we all want to know is have we ever seen a ghost?

P.S.—We received a letter from his widow some months after, dated before his death, imploring him for God's sake to write to her. She had a child very ill in St. Thomas's Hospital.

MANSFIELD

In November, 1916, my son, eighteen and a half years old, went to the war, being sent out to France. The scene I wish to relate happened a week before the Easter of 1917. It was a Friday. I spent a most miserable, uneasy day. When dad came home at tea-time I was nearly frantic. However, he assured me all was well, and, retiring about eleven o'clock, I put the bedclothes over my shoulders expecting to sleep, when three sharp jerks pulled the clothes right off my shoulder. This was repeated twice. The third time, I tucked them under my arm and held them tight and waited to find out the cause. Then my son walked into the bedroom and came up to me. He was in uniform, excepting cap. His left hand was in his pocket. With the other he snatched my hand, gripped it twice and shouted, “Mother, Mother!”

The following week I heard from him. He went into battle about the time of my vision and was wounded. The same thing happened each time he was wounded—four times. It has always been a mystery to me. Each time the vision was so realistic and he always had the wounded part bandaged.

PORTSMOUTH

WHEN war broke out my brother was amongst those who answered the call. One night I saw my mother (who died just before the war) standing at the foot of my bed holding out her arms and looking straight past me. I turned my head and saw my brother come through the closed door and walk into my mother’s arms, and they both disappeared. At the time I thought, “How could a living being walk through a closed door.” The next morning I got the news that my brother had been killed in action.

WALSALL

A CLOSE friend of mine fought throughout the greater part of the late war without receiving a scratch. Some few months previous to the end of hostilities, he was selected for a commission, and was subsequently transferred to England to undergo the necessary training for a second-lieutenant. He was granted the position and, very shortly after, was drafted over to France. One night, when going into action, he was suddenly taken seriously ill and was carried back to hospital. During one evening, I, for some reason had to go to my bedroom, and, when about half-way on the stair-case, I distinctly saw, on the landing, a military officer standing to attention. I thought at first it was mere fancy, but, on going a few steps farther, I was thoroughly convinced that at no time had I seen a soldier so real. Then the vision vanished, as quick as thought, into the bedroom. I followed, but, after switching on the light, I failed to find anyone in the room save myself.

Next day we received the sad news that this young officer had died from sickness, three days after Armistice was signed.

PORT ERIN

IN October, 1916, I returned from Liverpool (where I had been working), for a few weeks holiday at my own home. Early one morning (between two and three o'clock), I was awakened by hearing singing in my bedroom. I knew the voice quite well—it was that of a young man who had been brought up in the same street as I, and had been educated at the same school. He was singing a verse of a hymn, quite loud and heartily. I got no more sleep that night and was very upset, as I knew this boy was fighting in France. A few days after, I met his sister and she told me they had had word to say that her brother was missing. A couple of weeks went by and word came to say that he had been killed.

NORWICH

IN October, 1917, I was staying with my four little children in a village near Lowestoft. My husband, a skipper of a steam drifter, was at sea. On the night of October 7th, I was awakened by a loud bang. At the same time the bed seemed floating on water. I looked up to see my husband bending over me, and he seemed to put cold, wet hands on each side of my face, then disappeared. Two days afterwards, I was informed that his vessel had struck a mine and was lost with all hands, about the time he appeared to me. Three or four months after, I again saw my husband, this time looking through the window. He had with him another man who was a great chum of his. He also was a skipper. A few days later, I was told that at the same time as I saw them this man went down with his ship in the channel raid.

BOLTON

AT 6:30 on the evening of the 15th April, 1917, during a German raid on our trenches on the Ploegsteert Front, my chum was killed at my side. As mutually arranged in case of such an event, I wrote his people. Ten days afterwards I received a letter from my chum’s sister, in which was stated that her mother died the same evening that he was killed. She died at 10 p.m.

At 8 p.m. the mother had called the family to her room. She then told them that Billy (the son) had appeared to her and told her that he had been “knocked out,” but would meet her very shortly.

OLDHAM

ONE evening during the late war I sat reading when I felt someone blow in my neck. I was just about to turn round when I heard a scream coming from upstairs. I went to see the reason, and, to my surprise, I saw my little girl sitting up in bed terrified. I took her in my arms and asked her what was the matter. She still looked afraid of a something, and said, “Look, mama,” and, pointing to a corner of the room, added, “There's daddy; a man up that tree has shot him; I saw him do it, and now my daddy is dead.” She fainted in my arms as she repeated “dead.” I ran to give her a drink to revive her, thinking it was just a nightmare she had had. Eventually, she fell asleep. The following week, I had news that my husband had been killed in action. On making inquiries, I found he had been shot by a sniper who was posted in a tree, and at the same hour as he had appeared to my little girl.

BARNSTAPLE, DEVON

IN August, 1916, my husband was sent to France. The following year I received a letter from him saying he would be home on leave, and I was to expect him any day. This was August 10th, 1917. I started to get in extra things and to prepare for his home-coming. I heard nothing more, but three nights after receiving his letter, I went to bed as usual, and about midnight, I heard my husband call my name. I sat up in bed, and there he was standing at the foot of the bed in his uniform with his arms outstretched in welcome. I couldn't sleep afterwards. In the morning I went home and told my parents what I had seen. I saw them look at each other. Then my mother said he had come to her the same night and asked her to look after us (I had one little girl). Four days later, I had a letter from the War Office saying my husband had been missing since midnight on the 22nd of August (later, presumed killed on that date). I can't understand it, but the vision is as clear to me now as it was nine years ago. You see, he came home to see us before going to a better home, and I’ve kept the memory of it to this day.

KENT

I ALWAYS doubted if people really saw ghosts or apparitions till my experience during the war in 1916.

My son was in France and I was awakened one morning between one and two by a terrific noise like an explosion. I thought it was an air-raid, and, as I glanced towards the foot of the bed, I saw the image of my son looking very ill and begrimed with mud. He quickly vanished, and the next moment I heard his footsteps coming towards the house, and his voice distinctly calling me. I hurried down to let him in, but no one was there. I heard, a few days later, that my son was missing after an engagement when the wood was blown up and only a few survived; and it happened on the same date and about the same time as I had my awful experience.

SURBITON

IN December, 1917, my aunt, who lives in the country, stood looking out of her window, when she saw, walking up the path leading to her house, the figure of a man in khaki, with his kit on his back. She instantly decided that it must be the husband of her next-door neighbour, home on leave, and wondered why the lady had not mentioned the matter. However, as the man approached, it was with a feeling of great shock that she recognised her own young brother, who was an ambulance bearer at the front. His face was drawn and ghastly, as though he were suffering agonies. On seeing my aunt, he stretched out his arms, and she saw, as he got nearer, that he was a shadowy figure, and not flesh and blood. Thoroughly unnerved, she backed into her sitting-room, followed by the form of her brother. Right around her table she walked—still followed; then, gradually, he disappeared from sight.

Shortly afterwards, a telegram arrived, announcing the death of this brother, which occurred on the battlefield just before he appeared to my aunt—his favourite sister.

WARWICK

ONE night during the Great War, my mother saw her son, who was at that time out in France, standing some distance away from her. He seemed to be in some terrible trouble. My father, who is rather superstitious, said bad news would follow. A few days later, we received a letter from the chaplain, to say my brother had died from severe wounds a few days before, and we feel sure it happened the night he appeared to mother.

OXFORD

DURING the war, my husband was serving in France with the Tank Corps, and it was during this time that I had my one and only experience of the “uncanny,” although I actually saw nothing. I awoke one morning, just at dawn (three o'clock) with the feeling that someone had entered my room, and said to me “Will is in danger.” I thought I must have been dreaming. I tried to go to sleep again, but found it impossible. Each time I shut my eyes, I seemed to feel a presence in the room, and to be conscious of the certain deadly peril of my husband. I got up, after a time, and made myself a cup of tea, and, by the aid of a book tried to get some more sleep. Things were no better, however; my mind refused to dwell on what I was trying to read, so I gave it up and lay just thinking until five o'clock. At that time, quite suddenly, the weight seemed to be lifted from my mind, and I was quite convinced that all was well. I just turned over and went to sleep quite happily.

A few days afterwards, in my hubby's next letter, I read that on that particular morning, he had been “over the top” for just those two hours (in a "before breakfast stunt," he called it), and they were the worst two hours he had experienced since he had been out there.

YORKSHIRE

DURING the war, in the year 1916, I was in the fighting line round Armentiers in France, and on the 13th February in the same year three of our gunners were killed, including my devoted pal whom it was my painful duty to bury. Time passed on and one night, after I had been relieved from sentry duty, I went into the dugout, lit the candle, and prepared for a sleep. I was getting into my bed, which I had made of sandbags, and was going to light a cigarette, when the vision of my pal came and sat beside me and said, "I am not dead yet, Jack.” The candle was still burning and he was life itself. I could see his lighted cigarette as the vision faded away in the corner of the dugout. I called out to my sleeping pals and told them all about it and they said I looked like somebody scared. I should not like to have such an experience again. I was wide awake, and the light was lit all through the experience.

KENT

IN the late war I was working with a married friend who had a small son, three years of age. Her husband was in the Navy. We were working in a T.N.T. shell factory in Kent. Her husband had been on leave and had returned to his duty. She was very depressed because she had a feeling that something was going to happen. I cheered her as best I could. One night (we were working nights), I was put to work in a large shell store by myself. I heard the door open, as I thought to admit the night foreman, but as no one came in, I looked round, and, to my horror, I saw my friend's husband in full naval clothes, with no hat on, and his little son in front of him with arms held out. I rushed to the door, thinking something had happened, but I found no one there. Sixteen hours later my friend had news to say her husband had been drowned off the Irish Coast, and, two days later her little son caught his night clothes alight in front of the fire and died in hospital from the shock of the burns.

DERBY

ONE night in April, 1917, I was in bed asleep when I woke with a start and distinctly heard my fiancé call in a distressed voice: “Frank! oh, Frank!” (my nickname). It was so real, I jumped out of bed and, going to the window, I saw him, sun helmet, kit, and all equipment in the garden beneath my window, as clear as ever I had seen him in reality. I turned to go back to bed and have a good cry, feeling sure something tragic had happened. My sister came from another room and said, “I felt certain I heard Charlie call you. What can it mean?” There was not much sleep for either of us that night, and, not hearing from him for several days, I feared the worst. However, one day at the office, I received a wire asking me to meet him on the London train due in that evening. When I had an opportunity I asked, "What were you doing on the —rd April?” He took out his diary and gave it to me to read, and this was written at the date of my experience:—

"Submarine sighted, lifebelts—what luck if we go under without a fight after two and a half years away from home. Frank! oh, Frank, God bless you!”

And he admitted what a narrow squeak they had that night in the Mediterranean.

TRUE TALES OF HAUNTED HOUSES

An Evil Presence

DURING the recent September my husband and I went for a motoring tour in Scotland. The weather was wonderful, and I had never felt better in my life. Towards the end of our week we made for a certain hotel in the Highlands, where my husband hoped to have some dancing.

At the close of a perfect day—from every point of view—we neared our destination. On entering the hotel I became conscious at once of an extraordinary sensation which I can only describe as a soul chill! This remained with me as we went to our room to dress for dinner. After that meal my husband went to the ballroom and I, who do not dance, cowered over the fire in the lounge and tried to get warm. Telling myself that I had caught a chill, I sought out my husband and told him I was retiring. He decided to remain until the dancing was over.

The instant I got into my bedroom I was seized by a sensation of appalling panic. I saw nothing, but I was perfectly aware that the small room was filled with uncanny and evil beings!

I undressed and got into bed, but the obsession became too terrible to be endured. I endeavoured to make the Sign of the Cross, but found that I could not raise my hands. I then fell on my knees and tried to pray, but I could not; even to utter the Divine name was an impossibility.

This seems cold written down as it is, but words fail to describe the awful atmosphere. I can only say that the room was crowded to overflowing with some evil presence.

I could stand no more; I put on a dressing-gown and went in search of my husband. I found that he had foregathered with some men he had known during the War. He was angry at the interruption, but, as soon as he saw my distress, he at once came to my room.

His presence seemed to help me somewhat, but all that night I tossed about, sleeping only to dream the most awful dreams. In the morning my husband, believing that I had caught a chill, wished to get a doctor, but I knew that my ailment was not physical.

We went out for a long day trip, and no sooner was I out of the house than I became perfectly normal.

Some of my fears returned as I came back that evening, but as we were going south in the morning, I made up my mind to brave it out. The second night was not quite so bad, probably because my husband, who was now rather infected by the condition, remained with me. I did not sleep at all; the whole night through I was aware that the evil thing was crouching and waiting to spring upon me.

We left the place immediately after an early breakfast next day.

My only sensation when about half a mile from the place was as if I had had a serious illness—intense weakness both of mind and body.

I have never seen a ghost, but I have felt things more than once. I am very psychic. I have told this story to several people, and the only explanation offered has been that something must have happened in the hotel or in that particular room. This explanation does not satisfy me. I want to know why it is that when we drove up to that beautiful place in the majestic scenery of the Highlands my soul seemed to shiver and to shudder within me.

In a covering letter, the writer of this story says:—

“I do not know whether this is, strictly speaking, a ghost story, but it was a recent and very terrifying experience, and I feel that I cannot do justice to it in the telling. For obvious reasons I do not give the name of the place in the article, but it was the ———, a lovely spot and an excellent house. Perhaps some of your readers may be able to help me to a solution of the mystery.

“I may add that I am a perfectly sane and normal woman; a journalist by profession. My husband is a Highlander, so if the experience had been his there might have been less to wonder at. I am English and Irish and more remotely Scottish by descent, but I have no connection ancestral or otherwise with Perthshire. “Hoping that perhaps some light may be thrown on this.”

A Strange Story