Whether you believe in ghosts or not, Lundy can feel like a place where the past never quite goes away. Its old buildings, paths worn by previous inhabitants, and centuries of stories seem to linger.
Stories shared in the Tavern
At the Marisco Tavern bar, with its walls covered in reminders of shipwrecks, you often hear whispered anecdotes from locals and visitors alike. They share stories with me that give me goosebumps. Stories of encounters with crying babies, men from past times passing through a kitchen, and fishermen leaving through a door.
When I finish a night shift in the Tavern Bar and come to put the lights out, I feel there must be more than spirits hanging around, but to date I have neither seen nor felt anything; I am still curious.
Footsteps in the Walls
As a child, my family often holidayed on Anglesey. We rented a detached house down a quiet lane. One night my dad heard footsteps inside the walls beside my parents’ bedroom. He waited until we were driving home to Lancashire before telling us. My father wasn’t one for fanciful stories, so seeing him unsettled left a lasting impression.
Stories of Witchcraft
I grew up near Burnley, close to the Pendle witches story. Suppose you don’t know of it. In 1612, a famous trial called the Pendle witch trials took place. Twelve people (mostly women) from around Pendle Hill were accused of murdering 10 people through Witchcraft. Since then, Pendle Hill has been a place to walk at night on Halloween. I have written before about how Pendle Hill has a similar geographical outline to Lundy, spooky coincidence!
I have been accused of Witchcraft myself when I created weavings in the Trees in Millcombe. Some people liked my creative work; others said it was like Witchcraft and reminded them of the Blair Witch Project.
A Cold Room on Harris
Later in my early thirties, my husband-to-be and I stayed in a croft on Harris in the Outer Hebrides, a family home passed down through generations. A cold feeling definitely lingered in the room at the back of the house. More unsettling still, a neighbour would quietly let himself in each morning and sit by the fire while we slept. At least, I’m fairly sure he was real.
Hells Gate and the Power of the Sea
The names of places on Lundy conjure up stories in your head—Hell’s Gate, the two rocks that take you through into Devil’s Kitchen. The only time I have had a swimming incident where the sea was in control (or the devil!) was when the tide was coming in high; I was swimming with an ex-warden. It was a beautiful, windless day, but the water’s power started to push us through the gate. We had to grab rocks to keep from being pushed out the other side.
With southwesterly winds, the sea stirs like a witch’s cauldron. On a calm, sunny day, it is a lovely place to swim, but with a strong wind or a dark sky, it becomes ominous. Perhaps that is how ghost stories begin—not through sightings, but through places that make us feel small and vulnerable.
I am currently reading a book called Dark Isle; it’s a murder mystery set on Lundy, where the murder happened at Devils Kitchen.
The Silhouette
Then, on Lundy, other place names might make you wonder. Hangman’s Hill, renamed to sound more palatable to visitors. Gibbets Point, again renamed: Devil’s Limekiln and Devil’s Slide. As a Lundy Ambassador, I once led a guided walk on the island’s west side. Looking north, I noticed a dark silhouette against the rock formation. For a moment it looked exactly like someone hanging themselves from Devil’s Slide. A trick of light and distance, no doubt—but enough to make us all look twice.
Walking in the dark solo
In the daytime, I feel confident that I could go out at night on my own, but when night comes, I become less confident. This summer I took myself off to hear the sound of the Corncrake at Quarter Wall. I had to stop at the gate as darkness descended, and I was too scared to go much further. I heard lots of shuffling and snuffling, but I didn’t hear the Corncrake on that solo visit.
Ghosts Beneath the Waves
Then there are the shipwrecks; I always think divers who go to the wrecks must have a ghostly experience. The thought of visiting a paddle steamer like the Iona II at 25 metres gives me the heebie-jeebies. Just seeing parts of ships abandoned on the seabed, their stories dead.
Perhaps that is why ghost stories thrive on Lundy. It is an island of shipwrecks, storms, ancient buildings and dramatic place names. Add a little Fog, a dark October evening and a strong imagination, and it becomes easy to understand why visitors swap tales in the Tavern Bar.
As for me, I haven’t seen a ghost here yet. But when I lock up the Tavern after a late shift and step out into the darkness, I still find myself a little on tenterhooks.
Leave a Reply