CHRISTINE WHITEHEAD from Waterhead, author of enthralling book ‘Local Haunts’ on ghosts linked to pubs and inns, looks at spooky happenings at The Church Inn in Uppermill
IT WAS good to return to the cosy hubbub of The Church Inn, Uppermill, to meet Julian Taylor again, who is full of entertaining anecdotes and thought-provoking philosophy.
Ghosts are, in the main, friendly and benign and I tut at media spin for giving them a bad reputation.
So imagine my surprise to learn a little boy walked out from this pub’s gents toilet to inform Wendy, a staff member: “There’s a man in there…….. and he’s got a knife!”
Wendy took him up in her arms, returned, flailing her feet to rid the place of an imaginary intruder, saying: “Look, he’s gone.”
But quite unperturbed, the little boy replied: “But he’s over there.” Wendy raised very quizzical eyebrows at me indicating she did not know what to think about the experience.
Maybe the answer lies deep in The Church Inn’s history when a past landlord was a ‘master of hounds’. Maybe the knife was a tool, not a weapon, so perhaps this was another nice non-threatening apparition.
I wondered if he was “the old man sighting” seen by some but not others present. This ghost relaxes on the door frame leading to the gents, sometimes holding a less intimidating item – a pipe. The ghost’s description remains unchanged – a man in a heavy tweedy overcoat wearing a flat cap.
“Yes, he’s still here,” said Mr Taylor, “And it’s customers who tell us.”
Many people have been noticed dodging a hidden obstacle. Mr Taylor related how a patron walking to the gents stepped back suddenly at the door, then raised his hands in an apologetic manner to reinforce his “Sorry, mate.”
He returned and asked his friends, “Who was that?” but someone commented: “Wondered why you did that!”
And Peter, a regular, recalled how one of his friends standing at the bar winced when he was firmly grabbed by the shoulder – and no-one was there. He distinctly remembers his friend’s quick turn and look of surprise.
He also recalled that outside by the picnic tables he and his friends witnessed a glowing ball of light float amongst them at head height.
They watched it disappear through the pub wall by the front entrance a few inches from the ground – too low to be the phenomenon “ball lightning,” unexplainable in its own right.
Ah, was this The White Lady who walks the lanes and still visits The Church Inn – in every sense her very own local haunt.
