David Bridgeman-Sutton rattles a few chains with a ghostly encounter in a crypt
Ghosts . . .
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On an late December day in 1958, a man paused in his walk through a remote part of London's St Paul's Cathedral to shake hands with one of the cathedral organists. The remarkable thing about this encounter was that the organist, Thomas Attwood, a pupil of Mozart's, had been dead for 130 years.
On another day, in 1916, Edith Olivier had been driving homewards after working at her wartime job organising the Women's Land Army in her native Wiltshire. It was a job that called for considerable abilities and great strength of mind: there was nothing woolly minded about Miss Olivier, as many of her eminent friends testified. Her route took her along the avenue of standing stones to Avebury, then less well-known as a prehistoric site than it is now. She reached the village that had been built within the stones. In her own words:- |
1. The crypt of St Paul's where a man met Thomas Attwood.
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Avebury Stone Circle
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"On that particular night a village fair happened to be in progress. . . the grand megaliths and humble cottages were . . . fitfully lit by flares and torches from booths and shows. Some rather primitive swing-boats flew in and out of [the] dim circle of light; coconuts rolled hairily from the sticks on which they had been planted: bottles were shivered by gun-shots ... All this time the little casual crowds strayed with true Wiltshire indifference from one sight to another ... I stood on the bank for a short time watching the scene; and then I decided that too much rain was falling down the back of my neck, so I got in the car and drove away."
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It was nine years later before Miss Olivier revisited Avebury or thought about that night again. She went with a friend, who gave her an odd look as she recalled the war-time fair. Later, over tea, the friend produced a guide book that showed that the annual Avebury fair, formerly held each October, had been discontinued after 1850. There had been no swing-boats or coconuts on that war-time night.
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Some years later, visiting Land's End, Edith Olivier saw what she thought to be a pageant on one of the Scilly Isles with people in antique dress, flying pennants and signs of revelry. A Coastguard told her that there was no land in that direction - but that a few - a very few - people had caught unexpected glimpses of King Arthur's Avalon at the same place.
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Mediaeval townscape (MSS)
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In the late 1960s I was having tea with that same man who met Thomas Attwood at our London club: by then he had become Canon and Precentor of Lincoln cathedral. That evening we were going to a concert and then on to supper; both were activities guaranteed to drive other matters from his mind.
He turned pale, between two bites of a muffin. "There's something wrong at Lincoln," he said, "I must phone the cathedral."
Shortly he was back, even paler.
"The Dean collapsed and died earlier to-day".
He turned pale, between two bites of a muffin. "There's something wrong at Lincoln," he said, "I must phone the cathedral."
Shortly he was back, even paler.
"The Dean collapsed and died earlier to-day".
David Bridgeman-Sutton,
December 5, 2003
December 5, 2003
Picture captions/credits:
Avebury: Photo courtesy Diego Meozzi/Stone Pages
Avebury: Photo courtesy Diego Meozzi/Stone Pages
