大象传媒

THE GHOST OF THORNTON ABBEY

Persons names in this true story are fictional.

Thornton Abbey is in Lincolnshire.

Sod Turner was the local grave digger employed by Barton-upon-Humber Council in Lincolnshire. U.K.

Having spent most of the cold wet afternoon digging a hole in the ground six foot by three foot and six feet deep to plant a bloke who owed him best part of three hundred quid didn鈥檛 sit well with Sod.

鈥淎h鈥檒l ler 鈥榠m sleep fer a fortnit then ah鈥檒l dig the the owd bugger up ageern鈥� he mumbled to himself as he pushed through the front door of the Volunteer Arms Pub that evening.

The Volunteer Arms Public House is situated in Whitecross street not far from Baysgarth Park and across the street from the old house where the Nuns lived.

In the snug of this Pub three other blokes were sitting.
They stopped chatting as a gust of cold air made the fire dance sideways as the door opened to let in Sod.

Sod nodded to acquaintances that were standing propping up the bar.
鈥� Evenin鈥� all鈥� growled Sod.
Some didn鈥檛 bother to answer, some nodded, but one bloke grinned and said, "Hope yer goin鈥� ter put a bit o鈥� pottin鈥� mix in t鈥欌�檕le afore yer plants 鈥榠m termorrer Sod?

鈥淰ery funny鈥�, snarled Sod, 鈥淭hat owd bugger owed me nie on three 鈥榰ndred quid, an鈥� 鈥榦w do 鈥榚 pay me back? 鈥榚 ups an鈥� dees on me!鈥�

鈥淎pp鈥檔 鈥榚s tekkin鈥� it wi鈥� 鈥榠m,鈥� said a voice from the back of the pub.
鈥淣or if ah鈥檝e gor owt tu do wi鈥� it 'e aint" growled Sod.

鈥淲ell niver mind owd鈥� mate, tha鈥檒l git paid fer 鈥榓ppin鈥� 鈥榠m up app'n?鈥� (Wrapping him up perhaps) said another voice.

鈥淔at lot o鈥� good that鈥檒l do me鈥� growled Sod as he nodded to the bar tender.

Sod got his usual pint from the bar and wandered over to a vacant chair in the snug by the fire and greeted the three blokes by the round table littered with half empty and some empty glasses.
鈥淣a then Fred, what鈥檚 tha bin up tu terday?鈥�

鈥淲hat cheer Sod? yu bin busy ah 鈥榚ared鈥� replied Fred, the nearest bloke reclining next to Sod.
鈥淎ye鈥� replied Sod, taking a dirty gray, that had once been a white clay pipe from his waistcoat pocket
鈥淎h鈥檓 gunna be busy ageern termorrer an鈥� all鈥�

鈥淎m gonna set that owd bugger in 鈥榯 grund but 鈥榚 weernt grow any moor app鈥檔鈥�
鈥淎h鈥檒l 鈥榓mmer 鈥榠m in鈥檛 groon鈥� like a bloody tent peg an鈥� leave just 鈥榠s 鈥榚erd showin鈥� then waggoner鈥檚 cin tee their 鈥榦sses up woil they goes fer a quick pint or watters theer 'ossis!"

Stoking up his clay pipe Sod lit it and sat back and having tasted his pint he seemed to unwind and a smile creased his face.
鈥淲ell there鈥檚 one consolation, weer that owd bugger is goin鈥檛 ossis (horses) 鈥榣l be too bloody 鈥榦t tu sit on, so app鈥檔 鈥榚 weern鈥檛 be cummin鈥� back ter borry no moor money off鈥檔 me ter lose on 鈥榚m any moor鈥�.
Sod鈥檚 mates chuckled.

The coals in the fire glowed red and one bloke was dozing near it.
The low buzz of conversation died away as Sod began with one of his yarns.

鈥淎h remember鈥� began Sod, 鈥淎h wus ony a young kid at time鈥�
鈥淢e dad said his dad telt 鈥榠m as 鈥榦w theer wus a ghost in Thornton Abbey鈥�

Someone sniggered only to be reprimanded, 鈥淚f yu don鈥檛 want tu listen bugger off an鈥� let 鈥榚m as wants listen鈥�
And the sniggering person abashed, drained his glass and left.

鈥淎ye鈥�, continued Sod,鈥� Ah thowt at time it were a laugh, ah thowt me dad wus havin鈥� me on, bur 鈥榚 were serious app鈥檔, but ah listened an鈥� forgits aboot it next day.

鈥淭hen aboot a year efter that a young woman sight see in鈥� wi鈥� friends telt as 鈥榦w they wus standing near the arch t鈥� main gaet wen a bloody great square o鈥� granite crashed doon an鈥� just missed 鈥榚m鈥�
鈥淪he looked up tu see weer it 鈥榚d cum frum an鈥� swore she saw a misty figure in white disappear ahind one of they buttress things鈥�

The bartender threaded his way to the fire place and put another piece of coal on the fire and winked at one of the blokes nearby and nodded in Sod鈥檚 direction as much as to say, 鈥淟isten, this could be good鈥�.

Sod had another sip from his glass and a couple of yucks at his pipe then almost in a whisper he sighed 鈥淐oorse ah don鈥檛 believe in ghosts mesen, ah meen once yur under that sod yu ain鈥檛 goin鈥� no weer鈥�

鈥淎n funny thing aboot ghosts, they allus seem tu be floatin鈥� aboot in white sheets yit they nivver 鈥榚s any muck on 鈥榚m, ah some times wonder oo鈥� does their weshin鈥欌��

鈥淭hen there wus the time lait wun arternoon when a lad was playin鈥� in鈥榯 field just oot side o鈥檛 Abbey an鈥� 鈥榠s dog suddenly suddenly stopped goin鈥� efter the stick the lad 鈥榚d just chucked, an鈥� dog stood stock still snarlin鈥� at somethin鈥� the lad couldn鈥檛 see.鈥�
鈥淭he 鈥榓ir on 鈥榯 dogs back wuz standin up straight, and the dog was backin鈥� off still snarlin鈥� then it turned an鈥� ran off whimperin鈥� loik, wi鈥� aht lookin鈥� back.

The fire suddenly gave off a loud cracking report like a high powered rifle being fired, and a jet of flame leaped out from the last piece of coal put on as it heated up and began to burn.

The popping coal noise broke the spell as two of the captive audience settled down again after having almost leaped out of their seats as the coal expoded.

What had been a silent pub riveted by the storyteller now became a noisy clink chink of glasses as refills were ordered and pints pulled, mixed with the buzz of conversation as some shook heads in disbelief.

鈥淕hosts in Thornton Abbey鈥� said a Geordy voice, 鈥淎h divvent believe in Santa Claus bur ah gits a presint on mah piller ivvery Christmas, harraway Jack man, giv us another pint hea鈥�

Soon everyone is settled again and apart from the odd cough, silence returned

鈥淵u naw Goxhill village is close tu Thornton Abbey an a young lass went missin鈥� a few months later鈥�

A quiet well-spoken man sitting in one corner of the pub interrupted as Sod was taking a sip of his beer.

鈥淚 say old chap, you cannot blame a ghost for the disappearance of a young girl鈥�

鈥淢akes no niver mind 鈥� broke in the Geordie bloke 鈥淪he鈥檚 gone an鈥� there鈥檚 nowt any bugger cin do aboot it, yer nah warrah meen?鈥�

鈥淎ny road鈥� continued Sod, 鈥淭hey fun a sheep wi鈥� all it鈥檚 insides missin鈥� an鈥� then a dog wi鈥� it鈥檚 neck broke鈥�
鈥淎n鈥� a bloke from Black Wall farm said he were goin鈥� tu lavvy at bottom o鈥� his gardin one neet when moon were up an鈥� e鈥� seen this grey thin鈥� movin鈥� tother side o鈥檛 鈥榚dge, an鈥� 鈥榚 left skid marks in t鈥� muck he were standin鈥� in鈥�

鈥淚 suppose he raced for his bedroom and security?鈥� queried the posh bloke鈥檚 voice.鈥�

鈥� Naw 鈥渟aid Sod, 鈥淎pp.n 鈥榚 were travellin鈥� that fast 鈥榚 went straight through the back door and oot the front door an鈥� they wus both shut at time.鈥�
鈥淲en 鈥榚 finally slowed doon 鈥榚 were that far away 鈥榚 thowt bugger it an鈥� just kept goin鈥� till 鈥榚 got tu nex鈥� village."

鈥� How can you be so sure he did not go upstairs?鈥� queried the posh voice.

鈥淲ell鈥� grimmaced Sod, trying to keep a straight face, 鈥� They didn鈥檛 need blood 鈥榦onds tu folla t鈥� trail

"An鈥� theer wus no brown foot prints on t鈥� stair carpet, trail went straight oot o鈥檛 front door app鈥檔 an鈥� ower 鈥榯 gardin an鈥� inta't dark鈥� replied Sod.

鈥淐ome tu think o鈥� it I kep鈥� wun door 鈥榗os it 鈥榓s 鈥榯 bloke鈥檚 ootline in it, so ah don鈥檛 hev tu measure 鈥榠m up wen time comes ter plant 鈥榠m鈥�
鈥淎nyways, there wus a lot of funny goin鈥檚 on that year near Thornton Abbey an鈥� a Bobby (Policeman) was sent tu Goxhill village鈥�
鈥淎pp鈥檔 yu鈥檇 see 鈥榠m some nights wi鈥� a lantern on 鈥榠s byke doin鈥� 鈥榠s rands鈥�
鈥淢ate 鈥� o鈥� mine sed app鈥檔 Goxhill鈥檚 Bobby鈥檒l be next鈥�

鈥淥ne day Waggoner had bin ploughin鈥� in a field an鈥� he swore he 鈥榚ard voices, he said he looked round but there was no bugger near enough tu 鈥榚ar, an鈥� cos there wus a copse wi a small clump o鈥� trees 鈥榚 put it down tu wind through trees鈥�

鈥淔olks as lived in White Cross Street years ago told of strange noises coming from the Nuns big 鈥榦use.鈥�
鈥淪omebody from Lundon came an鈥� looked round Thornton Abbey an鈥� condemned it, so no body got in no moor tu look at it鈥�.
鈥淭hen iron railin鈥檚 wus put roond it tu keep folk oot.鈥�

鈥淭hen war came an鈥� 1939 were all abuzz, an鈥� they 鈥榓d these young fellers in airyplanes wi cameras practicin鈥� takin pitures ower Lincolnshire鈥�

鈥� Wun young bloke were reet interested in ruins an鈥� he teks a couple o鈥� pitures o鈥� Thornton Abbey鈥�

鈥淲ould you believe when that young felller me lad ed 鈥榠s pitures developed he fund oot that wot wuz allus thowt to be Thornton Abbey wus onny the bluddy gate 鈥榦os.
Thornton Abbey proper wus a鈥檋int o鈥檌t an鈥� bont tu groond it were, all that鈥檚 left terday is a lump o鈥� brick rubble en at!鈥�
鈥� Then some blokes came and began to mend it and mek it safe and they fun a tunnil that went under groond all the way to a moond in the middle o鈥� a plooghed field鈥�
鈥淭hey fun anuther tunnil, an鈥� it came all t鈥� way t鈥� Barton t鈥� Nuns big 鈥榦us鈥�

A voice warbled, 鈥淲oi wud ony bugger want tu get tu weer鈥檛 Nuns lived?鈥�
Another drawled, 鈥淔u鈥檛 same reason yu shove a ferret up a drain pipe owd mate!鈥�
鈥淚t flushes the buggers oot so鈥檚 yuz kin grab wun an' give it wun"
Then the debate drifted.
鈥淭hey fun some owd graves all lined up along wun wall an wen they opened 鈥榚m most wus just bones but wun wus like it was buried yisterday, but the writin鈥� on the tomb stones was all in Latin. 鈥榓n 鈥榰ndreds o鈥� years owd.鈥�

鈥淟ast ah 鈥榚erd aboot it wus guvernment ed all 鈥榯 tunnils bricked up鈥檆os app鈥檔 kids cud git in an鈥� a tunnil collapse an鈥� kids wud be kilt鈥�

鈥淏ut ah wus thinkin鈥� an鈥� yu naw it鈥檚 funny, but sin鈥� they fun aw they bones an鈥� re-covered 鈥榚m ower theer 鈥榚s been nowt unusual 鈥榓ppened since鈥�

Ding Ding, 鈥淭ime Gentlemen please.!鈥�

鈥淲ell鈥� said Sod , 鈥淎h鈥檝 gor a busy day termorrer so ah鈥檓 off tu me bed, neet all鈥�

鈥� Night Sod鈥�

Tom the Pom

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