This story appeared in www.psychic-tymes.com, Vol 5 Issue 2, June to December 2004
A private ghost hunt in a castle is a rare and precious event in the life of seasoned ghost hunters. Judy shares what happened at Bickleigh Castle when she and her friend, Lyndi, had Bickleigh castle to themselves one night in November 2003.
My most recent ghost hunt was a private affair: a friend of mine was visiting a wonderful old pile in Devon called Bickleigh Castle. It had changed hands in the recent past and was now owned by a friend of hers, called Sarah. Sarah was in the process of setting up a business providing a picturesque location for quality weddings. My friend Lyndi had been called in to check out the resident ghosts, and as we are working on a book together she invited me to join in the fun, work on the manuscript, and indulge in a private ghost hunt all at once. Of course I would visit – wouldn’t you?
Bickleigh was an important castle in the English Civil War of 1642-46, a Royalist Stronghold in the mostly Parliamentarian countryside. The castle was taken and, at the end of the war, ‘slighted’. All that was left of the old castle was the large gatehouse, now used for weddings with a wing for the family home.
After a pleasant evening meal, Lyndi, myself and a non-mediumistic but gregarious companion called Anna, worked out where we wanted to go to on the premises. The owner and her partner had retired to bed, leaving us the run of the castle. A luxury unheard of in the world of ghost hunting; usually the needs of the burglar alarm come first.
After a pleasant evening meal, Lyndi, myself and a non-mediumistic but gregarious companion called Anna, worked out where we wanted to go to on the premises. The owner and her partner had retired to bed, leaving us the run of the castle. A luxury unheard of in the world of ghost hunting; usually the needs of the burglar alarm come first.
Bickleigh Castle, view of the Great Hall from the courtyard. Photograph
by Judy Farncombe.
© 2004 Farncombe Publishing
We started in the playroom of the daughter of the house, home to countless toys. At one end of the room is a marvellous Jacobean fireplace. Sadly, the previous owner had ripped it of the wall and thrown it out but Sarah and her husband had discovered it and reinstated it using old photographs as a guide. Both Lyndi and I picked up on a lady who walked through the room, and had the strong impression she did not want to disturb the little girl. But who was she?
Our group of three moved back to the dinning room where we had eaten our evening meal with the family. We both picked up a tall thin, and sad gentleman. We knew some of the history of the house and could place his identity as Sir Henry Carew, 2nd Baron of Haccombe and Bickleigh, and last Carew owner of Bickleigh Castle. He was to accompany us through our night’s perambulations. He is, what I call, a conscious ghost. He knows who he is, he sees the current inhabitants and visitors to the Castle, and he can interact with psychic visitors. He is not lost in time, reliving the events that caused him to remain.
Lyndi
Telepneff communing with the ghost of Elizabeth Carew - the Great Hall
at Bickleigh Castle. The shadow across the painting at the back of the
hall is from the light bouncing off the chandelier - it is not a ghost.
Photograph by Judy Farncombe. © 2004 Farncombe Publishing
We wandered from the dinning room into the living room. It is small and has a pleasant fireplace and a couple of pillars demarcating the walkway from the main entrance hall to the dining room. The same elegant lady in the long Jacobean dress floats through this room as well the dining room and the child’s playroom. For her it is a passageway, for us it is a room. As it was late October and growing cold, we moved on into the entrance hall.
This part of the castle is perhaps the most beautiful. The main entrance is simply furnished, and from the front door a view of the lovely Jacobean staircase is clear and unobscured. There is a knob of carved oak dangling down the staircase, a danger to tall people. It looks like a head, but is, in fact, a rough and rather bad carving of stylised leaves. Although the hall is cold, it did not feel as psychically active as other parts of the castle.
Earlier, we had explored the guard room and noticed a young man dressed in seventeenth century clothing who haunts by the window. He looks out on to the courtyard, and is waiting for someone to arrive. Lyndi, Anna and I ignored the guard room and climbed the stairs to the Great Hall; passing the bedchamber with the Jacobean four-poster bed – for the wedding couples who book Bickleigh Castle for their nuptials – and up the last flight of stairs to the Great Hall.
As I set up my camera and sound recorder, I became aware of a gentleman in a breast-plate, sash and large brimmed hat. Although Sir Henry Carew came through here, this was someone new. I had the impression he was very fussy and full of self-importance, but someone who could be ruthless in pursuit of his task. Was he Royalist or was he Parliamentarian? He almost gave me his name, it was not Richard, nor Richmal, just something similar in sound. Perhaps on my next visit I will be able to work it out.
Past the oak screen at the end of the room there is a small kitchen. Earlier, during daylight, I had visited it and I disliked that part of the Great Hall intensely. Now, in the chill of the night, I was able to work out why. A young man was in there watching out for visitors during the Civil War. Lyndi explained that the room had been a doorway leading to other parts of the castle before the destruction of much of it after the conflict.
The four poster bed at Bickleigh Castle. A romantic setting for a wedding night. Photograph by Judy Farncombe, © 2004 Farncombe Publishing
Why was the castle attacked? It was a Royalist stronghold, and on the main route from Tiverton to Exeter, where the Queen was lying in. The valley is a choke point in this part of the Blackdown Hills, and Bickleigh Castle commanded the position. It was tactically important to take. As I explained this to Lyndi, suddenly Henry turned up. He had his head in his hands and was saying ‘My poor home.’ Lyndi picked up a voice that said ‘we were all muffled’ and asked me what that meant. I told her that it meant the horses had their hooves covered in material, and the bridles were also silenced so that horsemen could pass by without being heard - guerrilla warfare, seventeenth century style. ‘So who was muffled?’ We asked. ‘It was the messengers, King’s messengers’ our ghostly Sir Henry replied. He also kept muttering ‘all lost, all lost.’ He was talking about the King, he was a Royalist to his blood and his bone, he did his best but it wasn’t enough. He knows that he can leave the castle but said ‘where else could he go?’ He was not at the castle when the Parliamentarians arrived, like the rest of the people in the castle, he had to disappear into the hills and make his way to Exeter. When they left, he returned and patched it up as best he could. He was the last of the Bickleigh Carews, although the family continued in another line, down in South Devon.
When Henry finished with us we were visited by a pike-man from the Parliamentarian army. He announced his presence with cold air and a feeling of animosity (I suspect he was there to ransack the place). He threatened Lyndi with his pike and said that she was a Royalist: we had to insist that he left us alone, he was a most persistent ghost.
I carry a small ‘ghost kit’ – not quite a bell, book and candle; but it does have a bell bowl and a candle in it. As I am not a Christian so the Bible is not part of my ‘exorcism’ kit. As a shaman, in its place are sage incense, feathers and a knife. I also hate to use the word exorcism as I rarely get rid of the ghosts, merely use it to get their attention and negotiate a way in which the living can live happily side by side with the dead.
At that point I felt the need to bang the bell bowl. I decided to stand where Elizabeth Carew lurked and to try and catch her attention with the sound. I wanted to know why would she be in the gate house - during her lifetime the castle was complete. It was not until her son’s lifetime that the destruction took place, leaving just the section which had been turned into the current Great Hall. Lyndi explained that Elizabeth walked to the tower to watch for Thomas, her husband, to return. This part of the castle consisted of smaller rooms, and where Elizabeth stands was a room. She is pleading with her guardian. That is why we see her walking through the rooms downstairs to gain access to the tower, she is walking from the original castle to the gatehouse. Since her time a passageway has been turned into the Devon Cob house that is there today.
We discovered that she was pregnant with Thomas’ child. The child, a girl, lived for only a few hours before dying. Her guardian hushed it up and hoped that Thomas would die in the wars and they could marry her off to someone else (she had run off with her distant cousin, Thomas, and her guardian was not pleased). We worked out that the reason why she was still haunting Bickleigh was because the baby was not buried in consecrated ground, but was buried in the castle cellars. We have no proof of this – only what we were told by a ghost. In the historical context, Thomas did return from the wars and they went on to have Henry Carew, and a few female children. As I kept on saying to Lyndi, if she had a happy ending [even though she later died in child-bed], why haunt? We came to the conclusion only the fact of this unacknowledged child would cause her to haunt the castle – she wants the cellar found, and the baby buried in the chapel.
After our conversation with Elizabeth we decided that as it was so late and we were both tired, that we would visit the ‘stuck’ ghost in the guard room on another visit. Yet the night was not over, and we had one more ghostly encounter outside. As we returned to the guest accommodation to sleep, we decided to walk Conker, Lyndi’s dog. He was reluctant to go outside, so we both accompanied him. The courtyard felt full of jostling men in armour. Were they from the Civil War, or the earlier Wars of the Roses? Bickleigh had taken part in that strife too. I was also aware that a nature spirit was looking at us from the trees that grew beside the river. After the dog had sniffed around we went to bed. It was an eventful night and left us with much food for thought, and future exploration.