Spooky Tales of Kent's Reculver Towers and Sacrificial Hauntings

Add caption

Ghostly encounters date back to the 3rd century when people believed that throwing bodies into the foundations of buildings protected the living from evil.

    

Reculver Towers, near Herne Bay in Kent, are claimed to be haunted. The beautiful towers are all that remain of an old Saxon church, St. Mary's. Originally, the church, dating from the third century, was built on the site of a fort, but in 1809, the main part of St. Mary's was demolished as it was about to collapse into the sea. The two towers were saved, to provide a useful landmark for shipping, and later, during the 1990s, new sea defences were erected to stop erosion of the shoreline.

Reculver Towers Protected by the Spirits of Infants

The Roman fort on which St. Mary's stood was once 2 km from the shore, but the sea has gradually claimed back at least half the land. From the remaining half, some terrible discoveries have come to light. During the 1960s, eleven tiny infant skeletons were discovered during a dig. Most had been placed precisely beneath walls and the corners of the walls, as though to help prop up the structure. People really believed in past times that tossing small babies into the foundations of buildings helped protect them and their occupants from evil spirits.

As a result, many people claim to have heard the cries of these infants late in the night. They think they are calling to be freed from their entrapment within the foundations. Other people say that babies have been washed ashore from shipwrecks and their cries are added to the laments of the others.

Spooky Reculver's Nightly Hauntings

During the evening, two hooded figures are said to appear, although no one knows who they are. A local builder told me that workmen no longer report the discovery of bones beneath their excavations, because then everything is closed down and the place is over-run with archaeologists and scientists. "I work for myself," he said, "and we are not compensated by the government when that happens. We lose the use of our tools and equipment and the sites can sometimes remain closed for a year or more."

Sometimes, a phantom medieval customs officer and a smuggler engage in a ghostly sword-fight, and other ghosts haunt the dykes, where bodies were flung in the past.

How long the towers will remain intact, no one knows for sure. Kent Wildlife Trust say that the shore is receding at the rate of approximately 1-2 metres a year.

Sources:

• Reculver Visitor's Centre.
• Adapted from Haunted Kent, Janet Cameron, Tempus Publishing, 2005.

    

18th Century Crimes Against Innocent Kentish Girls

Mary Bax's grave, copyright Janet Cameron

Mary Bax and Jenny the milkmaid – The brutal treatment of two innocent Kentish girls.

There was little or no protection for innocent young girls who fell foul of male antagonists during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.  In this first account, the girl’s unnecessary and cruel death was avenged by her sweetheart, but in the second, as happened all too often, the girl’s young man abandoned her and the evildoer escaped justice. 

Mary Bax

In a remote place on the ancient road between Deal and Sandwich stands a stone which simply reads: On this spot / August the 25^th 1782 / Mary Bax, Spinster / aged 23 Years / was murdered by / Martin Lash, Foreigner / who was executed for the same

Mary was a beautiful girl who, one day, decided to make the journey across the sand hills to Deal, but on the way she was accosted by the sailor, Martin Lash.  Lash was a Lascar (a sailor from India or south-east Asia) and also a deserter, so he had nothing to lose by assaulting or murdering Mary.  He threw the body into a ditch and the spot is now marked by a tombstone.

Mary was a cheerful and popular girl, so family, friends and neighbours were devastated, not least a young man of seventeen called John Winter who was in love with Mary. At the time of the crime, John’s younger brother, David, had been on his way for a rowdy evening at the infamous smugglers’ haunt, the Checkers-of-the-Hope Inn (the name is said to derive from Chaucer’s Inn in Canterbury) and he witnessed the brutal murder.  David rushed back immediately and spilled out the horrific account to John, who became mad with grief, and then with rage.

John was determined to bring the evildoer to justice, so he went after him, searching night and day until he found him and turned him over to the authorities.  David was able to identify him immediately and so justice was done; Martin Lash was hanged close to where he murdered Mary and where his grave now lies.  The tombstone is still there for all to see.

Later, sadly, David Winter drowned.  John went away for many years, only returning to Deal when the events were all but forgotten.

Mary’s stone now rests high on a levée among the long grass just off the ancient road, but this rise would not have been there at the time, so, although this is the spot where she was killed, it may not contain her grave.  Local people say it is possible her body could have been taken back to Sandwich from where the old Kent surname, Bax, originated.

Jenny the milkmaid

The wealthy Geary family lived at the Old Soar Manor at Plaxol during the eighteenth century. The family employed a milkmaid, a gentle girl called Jenny who knew nothing of the ways of the world.  The only man Jenny ever loved was Ted, a farm worker.  Jenny was unprepared when, during the Christmas celebrations in 1775, a drunken priest discovered her alone in the kitchen, probably washing dishes while hoping she might partake of a small mince pie.  Almost senseless from the consumption of ale, although not enough to render him harmless, the priest grabbed the girl from behind and dragged her away to the barn.  Amidst the general noise and bonhomie, her screams went unnoticed by those partying in the house.

Here, the priest thrust her on the floor and overpowered her. But Jenny didn’t tell anyone.  She was too ashamed, and anyway, she was afraid no one would take her word against his.  Then she found, to her horror, she was pregnant with his child and eventually, her family noticed her expanding waistline.  Her father wanted to know who was responsible, but she refused to tell him, so he told her to leave his home, never to return.

She couldn’t approach her master for help, as he wouldn’t believe her word against that of a priest.  Sadly, Jenny’s young man, Ted rejected her, blaming her for allowing herself to be ‘seduced’ so what could she do but approach the priest, throw herself at his feet and beg for mercy?  Eventually she found him playing hymns on the organ in the chapel.  She pleaded for his help but he would have nothing to do with her.  He could not admit responsibility, he told her, and she must find a young man to marry if she wished to give her child a father.

In despair, Jenny turned away, feeling helpless.  She’d eaten very little through all the worry and began to feel faint.  Nearby was a basin filled with water, called a ‘piscina’, for the priests to wash their hands before preaching. Unfortunately, Jenny, wanting a drink of water, collapsed over it, hitting her head on the side and losing consciousness.  Some people think she may have been pushed down into the basin by the priest. Too weak to resist, she ended up drowning in the shallow water.

As she was only a servant, a brief enquiry was held into her death, and Jenny was laid to rest in unconsecrated ground.  People forgot about her, until one day, early in the twentieth century, a farm labourer claimed to have heard a woman’s footsteps pacing to and fro above a hay and straw storehouse where he worked.  At the time, he had no idea that this was once the original chapel where Jenny died.

The house was bequeathed to the National Trust during the midd-1900s, and again strange occurrences were reported.  It was said that inside the building, lights turned themselves on and off and music emanated from the chapel while the temperature was prone to drop suddenly.  It was also claimed there were sightings of the phantom priest bending over the spot where the basin once was.  The final irony to this story is that the word ‘Soar’ of the Old Soar Manor means grief in Norman French.

           

From Haunted Kent by Janet Cameron, Tempus Publishing (2005) £8.99

ISBN 0-7524-3605-8)

The Turbulent Times and Terrible Legacy of Henry VIII

Henry VIII by Hans Holbein

Sir Anthony Browne of the House of Cowdray supported King Henry VIII. He was so mean to the abused monks that one put a terrible curse on the Cowdray line. Cowdray Castle, now a ruin, is in Midhurst in West Sussex.

You have to do something dreadful to be cursed by a monk for your sins. Such a person was Sir Anthony Browne, who inherited The House of Cowdray (later Cowdray Castle) from his half-brother, Sir William Fitzwilliam on the latter’s death in 1543.

The turbulent times of the Dissolution of the Monasteries from 1536 to 1541 enabled Sir Anthony to seize his opportunity. This was a time when King Henry VIII’s soldiers, drunk with power, went on the rampage, sacking and looting, destroying great properties and murdering the King’s detractors. In medieval times, opportunities could be uncertain, but Sir Anthony was already feeling pretty secure. For a start, he was ‘Master of the Horse’ and ‘Chief Standard Bearer of England’.

With due regard for his own advancement, he supported the King in his campaign against the Catholics. Henry needed to establish the Protestant church and himself as Supreme Head of the Church of England and to overcome Papal authority and his dissenters so he could marry his mistress, Anne Boleyn. He was a ruthless King, used to getting what he wanted and getting it now – and Ann was equally single-minded and had no qualms about displacing Henry’s existing Queen, the pious Catherine.

An Angry Monk Curses the Family Name

The beautiful Battle Abbey became another victim of the King’s command, and after it was dissolved with the help of Sir Anthony, the presumptuous Lord promptly moved in with his family, servants, furniture, hangings, animals and other lordly possessions. He began to alter the Abbey to suit his needs, knocking down this and changing that, much to the distress of the former occupants. The helpless, displaced monks watched the sacrilege carried out on their beautiful home and place of worship. But, not content with that, Sir Anthony then held a great, celebratory feast, a sort of Tudor Abbey-warming. This really got up the monks’ noses.

During the grand banquet, one monk, livid with anger, approached the noble Lord. Unafraid, he went right up to him, thrust his face forward and, with great vehemence, cursed the family name of the usurpers. "Doom," he said, "would fall upon the descendants of the family - until it ceased to exist." In some sources the monk is quoted as crying: "By fire and water thy line shall come to an end."

It did – but it took some time. Sir Anthony Browne and King Henry were close friends – so close that Sir Anthony would, some time later, actually be picked as Henry’s proxy for the bulky sovereign’s marriage to Anne of Cleves. Sir Anthony’s son also became a prominent man. He stayed true to his Catholic faith and was even esteemed by Protestant Queen Elizabeth I, daughter of Henry, despite being necessarily excluded from her list of Privy Councillors.

Then things started going downhill. The grandson of Sir Anthony proved an extravagant rake and impoverished himself, subsequently suffering several humiliations, including a period in the Tower as a Gunpowder Plot suspect. Still, the Castle remained in the hands of the family until 1793 through eight successions.

The Curse of Fire and Water is Visited on the Family

An adventure holiday in Germany seemed a great idea for the twenty-four- year old eighth Viscount. The family seat was being renovated at the time and the Lady Montague and her daughter had taken off to Brighton to escape the dust and noise. So, on Tuesday 24 September 1793, young George Samuel Browne, together with Charles Sedley Burdett, tried to ‘shoot the falls’ along the Rhine at Laufenberg in a small boat. Tragically, both young men were drowned. Almost simultaneously, word came from England that Cowdray had been destroyed in a fire. This event had happened around ten days previously, but by the time the word reached Germany, the young Viscount was dead. His body was never found.

The fire was a result of carelessness. During the renovations, in a carpenter’s workshop on the north side, some smouldering charcoals fell into wood shavings and caught light. In no time at all, flames started shooting out of the windows. To make matter worse, no one could find the key to the front door, so it had to be battered down, losing valuable time. The housekeeper and servants did what they could. A few pictures, originally obtained from Battle Abbey, were saved and some pieces of furniture, but the fine building was now a blackened ruin.

The few relatives that remained produced no male children to continue the family line. The male line was extinguished in the year 1797. It took 250 years for the Curse to reach its conclusion and many argue the whole thing was a coincidence. Even so, both fire and water combined to destroy the family line, and almost at the same time.

Background notes: The origin of the castle’s name was Codreye which is a Norman word for the hazel tree or shrub. Codreye was built in 1284 by Sir John Bohun and at the end of the 1400s, an uncle of Henry VII, Sir David Owen, owned it. He built a much larger house on the site. It was this house that was sold to Sir William Fitzwilliam, who set masons to work to bring this fine building to its full potential – only to be destroyed by the monk’s curse.

Sources:

This Sceptred Isle, Christopher Lee, Penguin Books, 1997.