91ÈȱŹ

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’t sit well with Sod.

“Ah’ll ler ‘im sleep fer a fortnit then ah’ll dig the the owd bugger up ageern” 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.
“ Evenin’ all” growled Sod.
Some didn’t bother to answer, some nodded, but one bloke grinned and said, "Hope yer goin’ ter put a bit o’ pottin’ mix in t’’ole afore yer plants ‘im termorrer Sod?

“Very funny”, snarled Sod, “That owd bugger owed me nie on three ‘undred quid, an’ ‘ow do ‘e pay me back? ‘e ups an’ dees on me!”

“App’n ‘es tekkin’ it wi’ ‘im,” said a voice from the back of the pub.
“Nor if ah’ve gor owt tu do wi’ it 'e aint" growled Sod.

“Well niver mind owd’ mate, tha’ll git paid fer ‘appin’ ‘im up app'n?” (Wrapping him up perhaps) said another voice.

“Fat lot o’ good that’ll do me” 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.
“Na then Fred, what’s tha bin up tu terday?”

“What cheer Sod? yu bin busy ah ‘eared” replied Fred, the nearest bloke reclining next to Sod.
“Aye” replied Sod, taking a dirty gray, that had once been a white clay pipe from his waistcoat pocket
“Ah’m gunna be busy ageern termorrer an’ all”

“Am gonna set that owd bugger in ‘t grund but ‘e weernt grow any moor app’n”
“Ah’ll ‘ammer ‘im in’t groon’ like a bloody tent peg an’ leave just ‘is ‘eerd showin’ then waggoner’s cin tee their ‘osses 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.
“Well there’s one consolation, weer that owd bugger is goin’t ossis (horses) ‘ll be too bloody ‘ot tu sit on, so app’n ‘e weern’t be cummin’ back ter borry no moor money off’n me ter lose on ‘em any moor”.
Sod’s 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.

“Ah remember” began Sod, “Ah wus ony a young kid at time”
“Me dad said his dad telt ‘im as ‘ow theer wus a ghost in Thornton Abbey”

Someone sniggered only to be reprimanded, “If yu don’t want tu listen bugger off an’ let ‘em as wants listen”
And the sniggering person abashed, drained his glass and left.

“Aye”, continued Sod,” Ah thowt at time it were a laugh, ah thowt me dad wus havin’ me on, bur ‘e were serious app’n, but ah listened an’ forgits aboot it next day.

“Then aboot a year efter that a young woman sight see in’ wi’ friends telt as ‘ow they wus standing near the arch t’ main gaet wen a bloody great square o’ granite crashed doon an’ just missed ‘em”
“She looked up tu see weer it ‘ed cum frum an’ swore she saw a misty figure in white disappear ahind one of they buttress things”

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’s direction as much as to say, “Listen, this could be good”.

Sod had another sip from his glass and a couple of yucks at his pipe then almost in a whisper he sighed “Coorse ah don’t believe in ghosts mesen, ah meen once yur under that sod yu ain’t goin’ no weer”

“An funny thing aboot ghosts, they allus seem tu be floatin’ aboot in white sheets yit they nivver ‘es any muck on ‘em, ah some times wonder oo’ does their weshin’”

“Then there wus the time lait wun arternoon when a lad was playin’ in‘t field just oot side o’t Abbey an’ ‘is dog suddenly suddenly stopped goin’ efter the stick the lad ‘ed just chucked, an’ dog stood stock still snarlin’ at somethin’ the lad couldn’t see.”
“The ‘air on ‘t dogs back wuz standin up straight, and the dog was backin’ off still snarlin’ then it turned an’ ran off whimperin’ loik, wi’ aht lookin’ 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.

“Ghosts in Thornton Abbey” said a Geordy voice, “Ah divvent believe in Santa Claus bur ah gits a presint on mah piller ivvery Christmas, harraway Jack man, giv us another pint hea”

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

“Yu naw Goxhill village is close tu Thornton Abbey an a young lass went missin’ a few months later”

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

“I say old chap, you cannot blame a ghost for the disappearance of a young girl”

“Makes no niver mind “ broke in the Geordie bloke “She’s gone an’ there’s nowt any bugger cin do aboot it, yer nah warrah meen?”

“Any road” continued Sod, “They fun a sheep wi’ all it’s insides missin’ an’ then a dog wi’ it’s neck broke”
“An’ a bloke from Black Wall farm said he were goin’ tu lavvy at bottom o’ his gardin one neet when moon were up an’ e’ seen this grey thin’ movin’ tother side o’t ‘edge, an’ ‘e left skid marks in t’ muck he were standin’ in”

“I suppose he raced for his bedroom and security?” queried the posh bloke’s voice.”

“ Naw “said Sod, “App.n ‘e were travellin’ that fast ‘e went straight through the back door and oot the front door an’ they wus both shut at time.”
“Wen ‘e finally slowed doon ‘e were that far away ‘e thowt bugger it an’ just kept goin’ till ‘e got tu nex’ village."

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

“Well” grimmaced Sod, trying to keep a straight face, “ They didn’t need blood ‘oonds tu folla t’ trail

"An’ theer wus no brown foot prints on t’ stair carpet, trail went straight oot o’t front door app’n an’ ower ‘t gardin an’ inta't dark” replied Sod.

“Come tu think o’ it I kep’ wun door ‘cos it ‘as ‘t bloke’s ootline in it, so ah don’t hev tu measure ‘im up wen time comes ter plant ‘im”
“Anyways, there wus a lot of funny goin’s on that year near Thornton Abbey an’ a Bobby (Policeman) was sent tu Goxhill village”
“App’n yu’d see ‘im some nights wi’ a lantern on ‘is byke doin’ ‘is rands”
“Mate ‘ o’ mine sed app’n Goxhill’s Bobby’ll be next”

“One day Waggoner had bin ploughin’ in a field an’ he swore he ‘eard voices, he said he looked round but there was no bugger near enough tu ‘ear, an’ cos there wus a copse wi a small clump o’ trees ‘e put it down tu wind through trees”

“Folks as lived in White Cross Street years ago told of strange noises coming from the Nuns big ‘ouse.”
“Somebody from Lundon came an’ looked round Thornton Abbey an’ condemned it, so no body got in no moor tu look at it”.
“Then iron railin’s wus put roond it tu keep folk oot.”

“Then war came an’ 1939 were all abuzz, an’ they ‘ad these young fellers in airyplanes wi cameras practicin’ takin pitures ower Lincolnshire”

“ Wun young bloke were reet interested in ruins an’ he teks a couple o’ pitures o’ Thornton Abbey”

“Would you believe when that young felller me lad ed ‘is pitures developed he fund oot that wot wuz allus thowt to be Thornton Abbey wus onny the bluddy gate ‘oos.
Thornton Abbey proper wus a’hint o’it an’ bont tu groond it were, all that’s left terday is a lump o’ brick rubble en at!”
“ 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’ a plooghed field”
“They fun anuther tunnil, an’ it came all t’ way t’ Barton t’ Nuns big ‘ous”

A voice warbled, “Woi wud ony bugger want tu get tu weer’t Nuns lived?”
Another drawled, “Fu’t same reason yu shove a ferret up a drain pipe owd mate!”
“It flushes the buggers oot so’s yuz kin grab wun an' give it wun"
Then the debate drifted.
“They fun some owd graves all lined up along wun wall an wen they opened ‘em most wus just bones but wun wus like it was buried yisterday, but the writin’ on the tomb stones was all in Latin. ‘an ‘undreds o’ years owd.”

“Last ah ‘eerd aboot it wus guvernment ed all ‘t tunnils bricked up’cos app’n kids cud git in an’ a tunnil collapse an’ kids wud be kilt”

“But ah wus thinkin’ an’ yu naw it’s funny, but sin’ they fun aw they bones an’ re-covered ‘em ower theer ‘es been nowt unusual ‘appened since”

Ding Ding, “Time Gentlemen please.!”

“Well” said Sod , “Ah’v gor a busy day termorrer so ah’m off tu me bed, neet all”

“ Night Sod”

Tom the Pom

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