Our house is old. I mean totally steeped in history. It was the grain store to a moated manor house. Before that it was a chapel disused since the reformation
The house burned down in 1860 but the estate buildings survived.
We fell in love with this granite horror with its eyeless windows and creepy carvings. Gradually we have restored it to life with a gentle hand and a scarily large credit card bill each month.
When you live in an old house you get a lot of attention. Film companies looking for a location.
Tourists, who think they have the absolute right to wander all over your garden and take photos because it’s interesting, and ghost hunters.
There are definitely rooms in this place that I don’t like going into after dark. Something nasty happened in the cellar which used to be a crypt. There are echoes of history all over the place.
Every so often we get a request from the psychical research mob. Generally speaking they are polite and not at all pushy but occasionally we get a rogue one.
Mr Anderson was one of those! He turned up one day all hi tech kit and smarm.
Mr Anderson was fascinated with the cellar. We let him look around and take his readings but that wasn’t enough for him. We got e-mails, constant phone calls and requests for more access.
He pushed it to the limit, even suggested that it was our duty to allow him access.
In the end my husband told him to bugger off and not come back. That, seemed to do the trick because it all went quiet for a bit.
We went away on holiday. Three lovely well deserved weeks in the sun. When we came back my hubby opened the post. He wandered into the kitchen where I was sorting the washing.
He held out a letter. I took it and read it with disbelief.
Mr Anderson was suing us. It turns out he had made a little trip to our place while we were away, the cheeky beggar.
He was claiming damages for a large bite on the backside inflicted by our guard dog.
The letter said he wanted damages and was seeking to have the dog destroyed.
We looked at each other and grinned like a couple of idiots. Both of us wanted to be the one to tell Mr Anderson that we don’t have a guard dog.
We have an ancient Jack Russell named Doreen she’s sixteen, she was my late mother in law’s dog. We also have a Yorkie named Fred, a puppy that I found in the barn and kept.
He’s tiny, we think an owl scooped him up and dropped him there. Both of them were at our son’s house on the other side of the county while we were away.
Well it went to court. Anderson said it was a large brown dog. We said we didn’t have one and various witnesses including our neighbours were called to confirm the fact.
Anderson told us it chased him down the drive and he made out he had to run for his life.
The Magistrate ruled in our favour and said that he was lucky we didn’t sue for trespass.
As we walked out of court we both said a silent thank you to Barney, wherever he was.
We call him Barney because the barn is where you often catch a glimpse of him.
It’s useful having a ghost pet. No walkies, no scoopies, he’s pretty quiet unless the moon is full, and of course he makes an excellent guard dog.