Haunted Folkestone
One of the things you notice when you move, as I did in 2002,
from London to a town like Folkestone, is that the town’s history is there on
the streets for anyone to find if they have eyes to see. In London, history is
dug up, bombed and built on. It is invisible unless you dig very deeply.
To chronicle the history of our town would take forever and there are others out
there that are better qualified to do it than I am so I will take this
opportunity to let you know a little about its hidden history, the kind of
history that features on TV programmes like “Most Haunted” – the Ghoulies and
Ghosties that roam our streets after dark.
In 2003, the local Air Cadets spent weeks in the library researching the haunted
side of life in the town in order to provide a fund-raising walk around the town
for visitors and residents alike. They discovered enough rich and varied tales
to write a book on the subject but we only have room in this magazine to give
you just a couple of examples of the mysterious goings-on all around us.
From the Dover Chronicle, December 16th 1848
For about a fortnight a story has been in circulation that a
ghost was to be seen on the Bayle, nightly playing his pranks upon those unlucky
beings that came within his reach.
As is usual in such cases, the most ridiculous reports were greedily devoured by
the lovers of the wonderful and strange; children were fearful of stirring out
of doors after dark, women were seen in groups discussing the various tales of
ghosts and goblins that they had heard spoken of.
A pie-man was stated to have been robbed of his “dainties”; veal, mutton and
beef pies “vanishing at the sight of the spectre”, the pie-man leaving his
basket in hast to escape from his clutches. Then again we hear of a long, lanky
being, dressed in white, 9ft high, appearing to a lad carrying some stout to a
customer, who, frightened to death, dropped his basket and ran away.
The story of the ghost became at last a general topic, and all sorts of schemes
were talked of to catch his ghost ship, if he was made of flesh and blood, and
drag him through the Bayle pond.
The other evening, a little child was running down the steps,
when a man, extraordinarily dressed, ran after him. The child ran home to his
father, crying “Father, the ghost! The ghost! On the steps!” The man hastened to
the spot and succeeded in capturing the “real Ghost”, in woman’s attire, having
wrapped around him two or three blankets, and two boards lashed one behind and
one before.
It proved to be a poor old man named Spicer, upwards of 70
years of age, who lived in a wretched shed near the steps, a recipient of two
shillings and six pence (12.5p) from the parish; he was take by the man to the
station house, and next morning bought before the mayor in his “ghostly attire”,
a pitiable object.
His worship, taking into consideration his great age, ordered him to be deprived
of his weekly allowance and taken to the Elham Union. The “ghost” was then
escorted by the police to his cottage amidst the yelling and hooting of a large
mob, and was shortly thereafter taken to his destination. Thus ends the story of
the “Folkestone Ghost”, which has turned out quite as harmless as the “Fierey
Serpent”, the one being a man, the other a peacock
The Burstin Hotel
The current hotel was built in 1982 on the site of what used to be the Royal
Pavillion Hotel, which had stood there since 1843. Parts of the old hotel,
particularly the “Victorian Restaurant”, have been incorporated into the new
building.
During the second World War, the hotel was used as a hospital
and one of the wards is still laid out in the basement. So too, is the mortuary
and one man who worked at the hotel until recently said, “Even now, the mortuary
is deathly cold and still has the smell of death”
Liam Dray, who was night manager in 2003, and John Lambert,
the night porter who has been at the new hotel since it opened both have seen
two separate ghosts and have even chased one together.
The first ghost is that of Mary, a waitress in the original
hotel. She refused the romantic advances of one of the hotel chefs and he, in a
fit of rage, brutally stabbed her to death with a kitchen knife.
He then dragged her body through the hotel and locked it in the cellar, where it
lay, undiscovered for several months afterwards. Today she often appears in the
Victorian restaurant where she runs across the room and disappears into the
Green room , which is now used as an overflow restaurant but which used to be
the main entrance to the old hotel.
Many have felt her presence and some have even had her run right through them
but she is only ever actually seen in reflection – either in a mirror or the
windows. Those sightings are said to be clear (not just an outline) enough to
describe her as having long, flowing, curly black hair and wearing a white
dress.
The story behind the second ghost is not so well known although he has been
clearly seen by both the people mentioned above on two separate occasions. He is
described as a young man, in his teens, with short, blond hair and wearing a
black suit – possibly a battledress.
The night manager and the night porter both saw the young man run across the
foyer towards the ballroom. They both chased him, thinking that he was intent on
mischief, but when they got to the ballroom the cleaners already in there said
that nobody had entered even though both men had clearly seen the doors open. A
search of the adjacent toilets also proved fruitless and there was no other way
out of that part of the hotel.
14 Tontine Street
The house and shop were built in 1898,along with the shop next door, on a piece
of land formerly used by one Henry Hyham as an abattoir and butchers shop in
Dover Road. The building was built on foundations, which originally formed part
of the town’s early fortifications, and these can still be seen in the cellar
today.
The shop has been used as a tobacconist and sweet shop for most of its life and
the house above has been taking in paying guests of one kind or another for most
of that time too.
One of these was a woman called Edith Mary Grimes, a 24 year old typist, who
rented a room on the top floor. On the 25th May 1917 she was killed outright by
the German bomb dropped on Tontine Street during the air raid of that date. Ever
since, residents and guests staying in the house have said that they find it
difficult to go up to the 4th floor because there is “something” that stops
them. Some say it is just a feeling that they are not welcome and others say
that there is an invisible barrier across the stairs preventing them from going
up. It is almost like having to lift the trap-door on an attic before you can go
in – nothing physical but more like a heavy cloud that you have to pass through.
In 1932, the property was bought by Charlie Robey, and his son George ran the
business from then until his death in 1994. The business was well known in the
town and even to the end was a “traditional” tobacconist blending and weighing
out smoking mixtures of tobacco according to customers’ individual requirements.
Although George Robey never actually owned the shop until he inherited it in
1972, he always considered it as “his” shop and has refused to leave it ever
since. Every business that has tried to use the house or shop since his death
has failed in one way or another – including his own daughters attempt to carry
on the family business. Some have said that this is entirely due to his
influence.
Terry Begent
Article from Go Folkestone Newsletter December 2007
