Haunted Fordwich
So here we are in Fordwich - the smallest town in England, maybe you knew that already, but quite a claim for what most regard as a small village just outside Canterbury. Life along the river Stour - which means in Old Saxon 'Fast Flowing River', started early on, over two thousand years ago, when the Romans came to England in AD47 Fordwich was already a major port on what is now a much narrower river which runs through the town.
In Roman times, however it was much wider and the Isle of Thanet - and Margate now known for the Turner contemporary centre with its kiss me quick hats really was an island cut off from mainland Britain and the only way to get to it was via boat from here and sail up what was called the Wansum channel, today sadly no more than a trickle of water often missed as we pass up the Thanet way.
The importance of Fordwich came about because of the fact that the only way to transport goods until road travel became safer was by sea and boat. Even before the Norman Conquest in 1066 Fordwich was a corporate member of the Cinque Ports, theses 5 ports as the name suggests, were provided with the ability to govern their own local economy and to allow the local residents freedom from national taxes. Yes even in those days it was impossible to avoid the taxman.
As a town it had its own mayor, the town still has its own mayor to this day, but as a town with such an ancient history you would be right in assuming that it has a haunted past. Many people in the village whilst on their way back home from either the Fordwich Arms or the George and Dragon have come across the sight of many a spectre over the years.
It's not just those that are in drink that see them, many others as sober as a judge can attest to the sightings some in their own home but as many on the main road, and not all are of ancient origin some are very contemporary.
Fordwich also has a number of distinguished residents within its streets and a number of ancient families still live within feet of where we now reside enjoying the delicacies of Emma, what a fine meal you have just enjoyed - have you not.
My first tale is of the house we are in, for we stand in a relatively modern house built in the 1930's. Before Emma moved in here she did do some research on the history, where the house now stands on what was part of the ancient Augustinian farm founded by Archbishop Augustine in 597, the remnants of the farm maybe long gone most destroyed during the reformation of the church of Rome in 1538 by Henry VIII, as he fought for control over the power and wealth it contained. Where we sit was once part of an ancient tithe barn built here to store crops given by local farmers to the church as part of the tithe - the giving over of 10 per cent of their crops. High above our heads was once a huge crown post, upon which, according to Cathedral Records was a carving of Jack-In-the-Green on the finial. Pagan carvings were often carved by carpenters who themselves believed that the spirit of the tree from whence the wood had come stayed with the construction.
All done to pay tribute to the pagan god of the trees the husband of Mother Nature, and to hope for good fortune as a result. There are several of these carvings in the buildings around here. It was from this crown post, that a young man around 16 years of age took his own life on the morning of February 2nd 1514. The archive of the cathedral has a record of the suicide at that time it was a sin against God and so the body would have been cast to the sea rather than being buried in consecrated ground within the graveyard of St Mary the Virgin yards from here. This may be the reason that the spirit remains here in the upstairs rooms. Previous residents often heard the sounds of a rope cracking on long gone timbers, and of the sounds of disembodied footsteps in the attic.
In the 1970's the elderly couple that lived here had such a rowdy night on the 2nd February 1974, with banging doors upstairs, rapping and tapping sounds from below the floor and a number of loud BANGS, that they called the local curate who had taken over following the retirement the year before of the Right Reverend Owen Brandon, to organise an exorcism to banish the spirit. The curate could only purify the house and bless it, as an exorcism can only be carried out by a Bishop of the church with years of experience, and that can often take many days to perform.
Not like we see in the movies, and generally if the spirit has been in residence so to speak for more than 500 years as in this case there is seldom a chance to get rid of it, add to that the fact that this was a suicide and the odds are in the spirits favour. They do not want to move on, and are happy to remain for the eternal pain they still feel it's as if the pain of death makes them feel alive again.
Do you wish to walk to the churchyard to feel the eerie stillness therein or are you happy to let me describe it?
Another haunting is that of the spirit child who is said to haunt the old George & Dragon pub close to the old bridge, the bridge was once as toll bridge which charged to get across it records show they charged 2d for a Horse and 3d for a cart and horse to cross. Often is the case that spirits are felt close to a running water source, and standing as it does on the banks of the Stour, it is perfectly located to draw energy from the river.
The story is that in the 1980's a young couple ran the pub, and they has a small child, some 3 or 4 years old. His name was Todd, and he always claimed to have an invisible/imaginary friend called Billy. The child would often sit in his bedroom and have long conversations with this imaginary friend, and his mother put this down to the loneliness of a single child in a busy pub, making up friends to play with. Todd would often ask for a place to be laid at the dining table for his friend Billy, humouring him, his mum often left a place at the table; Todd would often pass some food for his imaginary friend to an empty plate laid for Billy.
This went on for about a year, and then just after Todd's 4th Birthday, his mother heard an unusual sound, the toy bike she had bought Todd for his birthday sounded like it was being ridden in their sitting room on the floor above the bar. Annoyed that Todd must have got up late at night and started playing on his bike she carefully made her way upstairs. As she got to the top of the stairs she saw the lights of the living room on and shadows cast on the staircase of the bike. She turned into the room expecting to see Todd, but the room was empty and the bike was located next to the fireplace, one pedal still spinning as if it had just been abandoned. The room felt cold even though the fire was burning in the grate and the window was closed. She turned and made her way up to the next floor where Todd's room was, to check on him. There was Todd fast asleep; there was no way he could have made it up the stairs to his bed without passing her at some point. Bemused she kissed him goodnight and made her way back down the stairs, passing the sitting room she saw the shadows again and she clearly heard to sound of the bike's bell. There was no mistaking the sharp shrill sound, she stopped in her tracks and again cautiously peered into the room. The bike had move some ten feet to the opposite wall and was on its side. She felt a cold rush of air blow from the door, and hurried back down to the bar to steady her nerves.
Some months later, she invited her sister over to stay for Christmas, and as space was short she put her up in Todd's bedroom, on the second night her sister Rosemary, told her an odd thing had happened late the night before in Todd's room. She got to bed around midnight having left her sister in the sitting room, and prepared for a good night's sleep. The room seemed cold, but the window was fastened and there was not a breath of wind. The radiators were hot, yet she felt a distinct air of coldness in the room.
She settled down for her night's sleep, but woke early a cold breath of wind on her cheek, at around six as the sun came up, to find that a razor blade which had been left in the old Belfast sink in the corner of the room, horrified she checked on Todd, and to her horror she found the sheets and blankets of Todd's bed were ripped to shreds, yet Todd was still sleeping soundly, completely unharmed.
In the new year the tenancy agreement came to an end and the family were just about to leave in the removal van, it was a strangely cold and still day with not a breath of wind, clear sun not a cloud in the sky, when Patricia decided on a whim to go up to Todd's old room. The door was ajar, although she was not a believer in the spirit world she said in a clear voice, "If you want to come with us Billy give me a sign!" She was shocked when at that moment the window few open and she was nearly knocked over by a fierce gust of wind. She has never forgotten Billy, or the events of that year. Todd started school the next year and has since forgotten all about his imaginary friend Billy.
Just over the old bridge was once the locations for the pillory, in January 1708 a local thief was sentenced to be taken to the pillory and have his ear nailed to it as punishment for listening in on official town hall business. He was known locally as 'the belge' as he was from Belgium, and known as a thief, he may well have been a spy too, but no records exists to confirm that. Alexander Veurne was taken in chains to the pillory, to stay there for 3 days until released, fearful for his life he requested a dagger to protect him from the locals. He was granted his wish, but rather than take his punishment, when he was alone later than night, he proceeded to slice his own ear off and fled, up Herne Common Hill toward the coast to make his escape. He had not gone far when he slipped on ice and fell to his death down the steep bank on the left side of the hill. Here we can assume he bled to death from his self-inflicted injury. His body was not discovered for some ten years, by local farmer clearing bracken. When found his bones were still clothed and the blood stains on his shirt could clearly be seen, he was never buried and originally was wrongly identified as a stranger possibly the victim of a mugging by a bandit or highwayman. This may explain the sighting of a man in a white shirt seen late at night by people walking up the hill to this day he appears to be as solid as you or I, and staggers toward the hedge where he vanishes. His spirit has been seen for over 250 years by locals, many of whom also claim to here running footsteps behind them as they make their way up the hill.
Witchcraft and covens of witches would regularly meet outside the city walls of Canterbury, a local coven of witches used to congregate close the far side of the old bridge, by the banks of the river, here as non-conformists they would bemoan their plight and their poor jobs. In the civil war which took England to the brink of destruction during the 17th Century, Mathew Hopkins, Cromwell's witch finder general, came to Fordwich to test 3 witches for the crime of witchcraft. He used a witch pricker to establish they could feel no pain. Church records for that period show that several hundred local women were found guilty by this method. The names from the records are Mary Bell, Margaret Goode and Sarah Sims, strangely they had all been baptised in the local church and had at some stage been members of the congregation. Odd then, as they could be accused of communing with the devil, the devil is a Christian belief and true witches are of the pagan religion, and hence have no understanding of the devil.
Hopkins was a lawyer and had appointed himself as witch finder general, a true puritan with strong links to the parliament cause. He used an ancient reference book called Malleus Maleficarum (Latin for "The Hammer of Witches", written in 1480's by Heinrich Institoris, 1430-1505. One passage he referred to was that witches communed with Satan and would bring the end of the world. That one passage often used to strike the fear of god into the accused and allowed him control over them.
During the trial of the 'Fordwich three' as they were locally known, he showed using a witch pricker firstly they could withstand pain - a stick with a pin or blade at the end like a spear, was stabbed into the back of the accused and any screams were said to be the voice of Satan
and not those of the witch, and they could also withstand drowning, by the use of the town crane used for loading goods to the quay side, but in this case for lowering the witch to the bottom of the river for short periods of time. He also weighed them against the bible, for the book said that if they were rejected by the holy bible then they were true witches. Imagine if you will, a large scale set up close to the Fordwich arms on the quayside, the witch on one side the holy bible on the other. Knowing what we know about gravity, then they would hardly ever weigh less than a bible. A win-win situation then, for the accuser at least. Needless to say they were all found guilty by the townsfolk and sentenced to be burned at Sturry Hill, where the Nunnery now stands.
The witch burning attracted citizens of Canterbury who came to bear witness to the crime. They were separately tied to the trees, three great oaks which had been struck by lightning some years before, and stood as lonely solitary figures on the bleak skyline on the old Margate road. Then a long iron nail was placed just below their chins and nailed home to the trunk, then a muslin band twisted with twelve charges of gunpowder, was tied tight round their necks. Next they placed wood at their feet, and covered them in hot tar, and finally white feathers were spread over their bodies. Then Hopkins assistant lit the flaming torch and with the Vicar of St Mary's on hand they were read the last rites.
The screams of the tormented witches could, it was said be heard from as far away as Dargate and Stodmarsh on the far side of the valley. As the flames licked the sides of the bodies the legs broke in the ferocious heat, and the bodies dropped being fixed only by the nails through their throats, thus cutting the brain stem, the writhing stopped and then the explosive charges blew the heads clean off.
Now all these years later the screams of something is heard up on Sturry hill late at night, not just on the anniversary but sometimes even now people walking along the lane to Westbere, hear what could be the screams of the Fordwich three or is it merely the screeching of a badgers in the woodland below?
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