That Reminds Me: Tales from Milford Haven for Hallowe'en

For youngsters of today it has become a "night of mischief," when, while dressed in all kinds of ghoulish and ghostly attire, pranks can be played on unsuspecting folk and blamed on the spirits of the pagan dead. It's a fright night that was greedily grabbed by the USA, renamed as "trick or treat," and made into a series of movies which have greatly boosted the pension of Jamie Lee Curtis!

To be honest, as a kid in the 1950's, Halloween was never one of the events included on our celebrations calendar which were Pancake Tuesday, Easter's chocolate eggs, Portfied Fair, Bonfire Night and Xmas. I'd never even heard of Hallowe'en, and in late October, we short trousered little scruffs were always far too busy getting scratched and bloodied cutting down trees and dragging them to wherever that year's Guy Fawkes bonfire was sited. 

But the eeriness of Hallowe'en is an ideal time for a few  "tales of the unexplained," and this week I'm resurrecting some that have, in the past, been told to me, well worth repeating, starting with one from my own 
family on the paternal side. 

As a young lad, our annual holidays always included a trip to Blackburn, Lancashire, (with Lennon & McCarney's "Four thousand holes,") to visit my dad's parents.

"Nanny Daisy Dunn was a typical, down-to-earth, no-nonsense, speak-as-you-find Lancashire lady, bright as a button, who always winked as she slipped a shiny half crown coin into my hands to spend at the fun fair at Blackpool, which as Stanley Holloway proclaimed, "was noted for fresh air and fun," just a short bus ride away.

It was in the late 1800's when, as a young girl, Daisy Spencer left school and obtained a job as a maid.

It was a live-in position and Daisy found herself sharing a room with the cook. It was a large house and, striving hard to make a good impression with the well-to-do family, she meticulously carried out her daily chores and soon became a popular member of the household. It wasn't long before she heard the whispers of a wedding-day murder that had, at some time, happened there, and that the house was haunted. Daisy laughed at the rumours in her no frills fashion, suggesting that they were most likely nothing more than the tittle-tattle of
gossip mongering, below-stairs, servants. She thought no more about it... until one night, feeling thirsty, she got up and made her way downstairs to draw water from the tap.

It was as she descended the stairs that Daisy saw her...

There was a woman, wearing a beautiful wedding dress who spoke to her. "It was my husband. He caught me with his best man and killed me with a knife. And now I am here forever..."

Priory Road (Image: Jeff Dunn)

Frightened out of her wits, Daisy Spencer tore back to the bedroom and frantically woke the cook, blurting out what had happened. The cook gave Daisy an "I told you so" look, and said: "Don't be scared... I've seen her, too. She's harmless but will stay here forever."

Daisy Spencer, destined to be Daisy Dunn, had no desire to do the same!"

Next is a local tale, once told to me by Milford historian Martin Rowland, whose knowledge of the town, including the enigmatic Castle Hall, is legendary.

"Like many old houses, Castle Hall was surrounded by tales of ghostly happenings. Perhaps the most well known is that of an unhappy nun, who had resided there between 1911 and 1920.

It is believed that one of the younger sisters of the community fell pregnant and, as the birth of an illegitimate child to a nun would have caused the community great disgrace, it was decided by the Abbess that the child would be adopted-out to an understanding local family.

The family chosen lived in the Pill area. Thankfully, the child grew up in a happy and loving home.

The poor nun, however, died soon after of a broken heart, and it is said her tormented soul still searches for her baby.

Before the old mansion was demolished in 1938, the ghost of a hooded young lady was often seen wandering the mansion's rooms and hallways, the figure seeming to favour the billiard room.

Is it a coincidence that the billiard room formed part of the chapel when Castle Hall was used as an Abbey? The same hooded figure has also been seen beside the lake, and on the old driveway."

My good friends Canon John Davies, and wife Pat, both had tales for me.

John said "I make no comment on this story, but just report it as it was told to me by a parishioner some years ago. Here is the parishioner's tale:

"My father was a fisherman. Many years ago they came into the dock with the tide after dark.

My father set off to walk home to Steynton, in company with a crew member, who lived in Cromwell Road.

As they started to walk up Priory Road they were joined by another man. In Cromwell Rd the other crewman turned into his house saying he would see my father on Monday.

My father and the third man walked on together in silence, until they got to the cemetery gate, when the man said: "This is as far as I go." My father turned towards him to say goodnight, but the man had vanished."

Pat had two tales to tell. The first, once again involves Castle Hall:

"A young man residing at Castle Hall took his evening walk nearby.  It was a calm summer evening, with the tide out. To his surprise he could hear the sound of a rowing boat approaching, the dip of the oars, even the sound of the bow wave. But he could see absolutely nothing. Then came the gravelly sound of the boat being beached near the quay and footsteps. He was very disturbed and headed home to tell his family. He noted that, apart from the boat, it had seemed unnaturally still all around.

A few days later an East Indiaman had come into Milford for repairs, and while offshore, her mate had died. When the tide was right, his body was rowed ashore and landed in Castle Pill at that Quay, or so the story goes!"

Castle Hall gardens (Image: Jeff Dunn)

Pat's second tale was also on the water: "My father would tell a story of his time on the harbour during the war. He was in the Merchant Navy and served the whole time as engineer on a boat which used to supply the fleet, and then
later as Admiral's Coxswain. A small boat had been sunk in the harbour after hitting a mine, and he knew one of the men from Angle who had lost his life. The wreck was marked for the safety of navigation.

He told how, one February night soon after it happened, absolutely flat calm, with hardly a ripple on the water, they were steaming past the site of the wreck when the bell on their ship's mast rang loud and clear three times, with no one near it. He had no explanation or interpretation to offer, only saying it was "most eerie all about." Every time he told us the story it always ended
with those words."

My photos this week are of Castle Hall gardens with the sacred shrine, and an old one of Priory Road.

I'm forever grateful to have been given those "tales of the unexplained" and hope that tomorrow's Hallowe'en festivities and "trick or treats" bring some gentle fun from all the witches, warlocks, ghosts and ghoulies who are out and about.

Before I go I want to express my sadness to learn of the passing of my good friend, Gerald "Jets" Llewellyn, who has been a fervent follower of my TRMs for the 25 years I've been doing them.

A truly good guy and a special son of his beloved St Ishmaels. My sincere condolences go to his wife Anne, family and friends. 

This week's words of wisdom come from Gerald Barzan: "As lousy as things are now, tomorrow they will be somebody's good old days."

Take care, please stay safe.