FOUR
EAST LIVERPOOL
East Liverpool’s West Derby Road was once the location of the Liverpool Zoological Gardens, which opened their gates to the public on 27 May 1833. A Mr Thomas Atkins, formerly the proprietor of a travelling menagerie, was in charge of the zoo and its occupants. These apparently included specimens of the now extinct quagga – a partially striped zebra subspecies – and the monstrous tiger and lion hybrids now known as ligers47, which average 10ft (3.05m) in length and 50st. (318kg) in weight.
Knotty Ash, one of the city’s most easterly areas, reputedly takes its name from an ancient, gnarled and solitary ash tree which once grew where the forecourt of today’s Knotty Ash Hotel stands. The area was the scene of a brutal and baffling crime back in December 1961 when twenty-seven-year-old mother-of-two Maureen Dutton was murdered at her home in Thingwall Lane. Brian Dutton returned home from work that fog-drenched afternoon to find his wife dead, having been stabbed to death by persons unknown. There was no sign of a struggle, no immediate reports of anyone acting suspiciously in the area and no murder weapon to be found; the police were baffled. A peculiar theory was put forward that Mrs Dutton may have been the victim of a ritual killing at the hands of a Polynesian Tiki cult whose God demanded human sacrifice at the time of the Winter Solstice. Soon, less extraordinary rumours of a young man wearing a leather jacket being seen near to the house began to surface and presently this mystery youth became the prime suspect in the case. Even so, no person was ever actually apprehended and Maureen’s killer is still at large today, their motives remaining a complete mystery.48
West Derby, formerly owned by the fantastically named Lord Strange, was once home to Liverpool’s first castle which fell into disuse when a city centre fortification was built in the 1200s. Today the site is a small park whose surrounding thoroughfares – Castleview Road, Castlesite Road, the Armoury and Castle Keep – are all that hints to its former purpose.
The Old Swan district reportedly takes its title from the public house of the same name and its Montague Road is home to St Oswald’s junior school. In 1973, during the clearing of church land in preparation for the school being built, a macabre discovery was made:
Excavations revealed thousands of rotting coffins piled sixteen deep along an underground tunnel and across an area of forty square feet [3.7 sq. m], said finally to number 3,561. These anonymous bodies were exhumed and cremated while the area was sealed off and Public Health Officials continued their daily rounds for nearly two years.49
It has been postulated that those interred in the secret sepulchre could have been victims of the deadly plague known as the Black Death which swept across Europe during the fourteenth century CE, their bodies buried in an area then far from the general populace to minimise the risk of contamination.50
Unquestionably, the city’s eastern districts have histories ancient, strange, colourful and gruesome enough to challenge the imagination of even the most creative of writers. As a result, tales of spirits and supernatural happenings are understandably prevalent amongst the eastern populace, some of whom were kind enough to assist me with the following chapter.
Croxteth’s Haunted Hall
The name Croxteth is thought to be a contraction of Crocker’s Staithe (translating as ‘landing place of Crocker’), dating from around 800 CE when a Norseman by the name of Crocker sailed into the area via the River Alt and claimed the land as his own. Croxteth Park Estate is a large residential suburb adjacent to Croxteth itself, taking its title from the 0.77 sq. miles (2 sq. km) of parkland surrounding the historic Croxteth Hall, former home of the Molyneaux family, Earls of Sefton. The Molyneauxs were once the governors of Liverpool Castle and their association with the city can be traced back as early as 1296.51 The family are by no means the oldest recorded residents of the area however. In 1992 it was discovered that a site dating from the Mesolithic period (between 6,000 and 7,000 years ago) on farmland in Croxteth Park was to be destroyed by the council to make way for a new housing development. During a rushed archaeological examination of the area, more than 500 flint tools were found which, coupled with other evidence, suggested that the encampment was a temporary post used by hunters as they travelled through the dense woodland which once covered the area. The prehistoric camp now tragically lies buried beneath a twentieth-century housing estate.52
Originally built in 1575 but added to over the centuries, Croxteth Hall as it stands today is chiefly eighteenth century in style. The vast lands surrounding the hall were once used for riding, hunting and farming: however, over time the earl’s fortunes dwindled and they were forced to sell off much of the estate. The last lord of the manor died in 1972 leaving no heirs and in 1974 the hall and its land passed into the hands of Merseyside County Council.53 Today, the park contains a traditional Victorian farmyard, wildflower meadow, nature reserve and a Victorian walled garden as well as the hall itself, all of which are open to the public (see www.croxteth.co.uk).
Croxteth Hall has a reputation as an exceedingly haunted place; half of Liverpool seems sure that the historic building is replete with ghosts, yet there was a certain amount of difficulty attached to finding someone with any idea what form the hauntings are supposed to take. An early obstacle I came up against in researching this piece was the spectre of Phillip Flynn – ghost hunter. Several online sources state that Croxteth Hall was actually built by Mr Flynn, a supposed sixteenth-century paranormal investigator.54 55 Naturally, I was very intrigued by the idea but alas, it would seem to be a work of fiction. Flynn is not mentioned in any of the official literature I have found pertaining to the hall or the estate, neither is he listed in the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography or any other such publication. Furthermore, when I asked Neil Bascombe, Event Manager at Croxteth Hall and Country Park, about Mr Flynn, he responded thusly, ‘Philip Flynn? Sorry, I have asked the staff and nobody has even heard the name.’ With old Phillip out the way, I was fortunate enough to come into contact with Fiona Campbell, a person who had previously done a fair amount of research into the hall’s hauntings.
During the mid-2000s, while studying for a Master of Philosophy degree at Liverpool University, Fiona became a member of the Merseyside Anomalies Research Association (MARA – www.mara.org.uk), under the co-ordination of Mr Tony Eccles. Ms Campbell joined the project as an extension of her research interest into paranormal experiences, a field which she is now concentrating upon in her PhD at the University of Manchester. Around 2004, as part of her work with MARA, Fiona spent a day interviewing members of the Croxteth Hall staff and recording their personal accounts of anomalous events experienced in or around the building. The consultations were strictly confidential; those who told their stories to Ms Campbell did so on the understanding that their names would not be revealed to the general public. The data collected by Fiona was then organised into a walking tour of the hall on which she would act as guide. Neil Bascombe was kind enough to forward me a document which Ms Campbell had prepared to aid her memory as she directed visitors around the building. With Fiona’s permission, what follows is my own interpretation of that data. So, please purchase your ticket at the gift-shop counter, turn toward the door which leads to the mansion and let us begin our tour of Croxteth Hall.
At the top of the main stairs, beneath the unseeing gaze of Victorian portraiture, witnesses have reported seeing the figure of a young boy. The child is said to be dressed in ‘Victorian rags’, his face a mask of perfect misery. A similar apparition has been described appearing in the nearby dining room. The restless spirit of an urchin does seem slightly out of place in such a grand house but, without any historical evidence as to whom he might be, it seems futile to speculate. Staff also told Fiona that disembodied voices are often heard in the area, and that a cool, eerie atmosphere seems to pervade the space.
An unassuming door to the right, just outside the dining room, leads to an old housekeeping corridor; staff once had their own hidden routes around the building so as not to disturb the earl, his family or their guests with their presence. An electrician brought in to do some work in the corridor a few years ago reportedly left early, his job unfinished. When pressed, the workman confessed that he had seen something, a person maybe, in the passageway. He declined to elaborate any further but was so upset by the encounter that he refused to return.
In the late 1990s a security guard stationed in the old mess room on the ground floor heard childlike footsteps running around at the top of the Red Stairs. Having ascertained that it could not be one of his colleagues playing a joke on him, the man climbed the stairs to investigate. As he reached the top the sound stopped abruptly. Yet, as soon as he began to descend, the tiny footfalls resumed. The guard repeated his journey up and down the stairs several times and each time the sound ceased when he reached the top. There was no sign of person, not even a diminutive one, upon the upstairs corridor. A figure in white is also said to have been glimpsed in this area, flitting quickly into one of the rooms off the corridor.
In Lady Sefton’s sitting room some ten or twelve years ago, a member of staff glimpsed a curious reflection in the large mirror which hangs above the fireplace. He saw a woman standing in the corner of the room behind him:
He described her as wearing a cowl [and] a longish jacket which was square with embroidery around the edges, all of it grey. He can remember thinking that the reflection was solid, not spooky and see-through, but he can’t remember her having a face at all.
A similar faceless grey figure has reportedly been seen on the corridor to the left of the main staircase.
Downstairs in the servant’s hall, there was an occasion when a member of staff suddenly caught the strong and distinctive aroma of pipe smoke. The hall being a non-smoking area, this caused the worker some alarm – but he was baffled to learn that his colleagues who stood beside him could smell nothing at all. This event, like many other minor yet odd occurrences, is said to have taken place on the anniversary of the birth of the first earl.
Croxteth’s Victorian kitchens, like much of the building, are dressed to give the appearance of a busy working environment. Up until the death of the last earl in 1972, it was here that chef (and one-time fugitive from Nazi-occupied France) Raymond Lempereur worked his culinary magic. Mr Lempereur, now in his seventies, still lives in the grounds of the hall with his wife. His extraordinary life has already been the subject of a novel entitled Avignon to Liverpool as well as the 2008 film Croxteth Hall and the French Connection. Back in 2004, staff reported an odd sensation of being watched in the kitchen area. One worker, standing on a chair to change a light bulb near the old pantry, reported suddenly feeling hands pushing at her back as if to shove her from her perch. Turning to see who would do such a thing she saw that she was perfectly alone.
There are many, many more weird tales from the staff at Croxteth Hall; it seems that most of the workforce has had some kind of peculiar experience relating to the building. One interviewee told Fiona Campbell ‘there is never anything you might think is malevolent, it’s just like somebody’s there. The events are not that regular; you hear noises and things but assume they’re the natural settling of old houses. Just every now and again you see something which you just can’t explain.’
*Thanks to Fiona Campbell, Neil Bascombe and all the staff at Croxteth hall for their help with this piece.
The Woman Through The Wall
Memory is a curious thing, especially when it comes to events which might be classified as uncanny or supernatural; more than a handful of the people who I interviewed for this book seemed to have all but forgotten their own peculiar experiences right up until the point when they were asked the crucial question ‘have you ever seen a ghost?’ Ms J. was one such interviewee, positive at first that nothing strange had ever happened to her ‘except for that one time…’ The peculiar event in question took place in suburban Croxteth less than half a mile (0.80 km) from the modern-day boundary of Croxteth Country Park, in 1973. Ms J. would have been five or six years old at the time, visiting her grandmother (who lived in Sovereign Road):
We were sitting on the sofa watching telly just as we always did. I don’t remember the woman appearing; we both just became aware of her as she walked across the living room from the opposite side of the room. My Nan got up and faced her, asking her who she was and what she wanted but the woman just walked past – not through – her. It was as though she was heading ‘downstage’; she was walking at an angle which was not the angle of the house. I honestly can’t remember her exit. I have a feeling she just walked into the corner but I don’t remember her ‘disappearing’ as such, she just wasn’t there anymore.
Prior to the houses being built on Sovereign Road, it and the surrounding area was farmland, Ms J.’s grandmother having moved into her property when it was newly built. Ms J. informed me that her grandmother referred to the area as Dog and Gun, a title which may well have either derived from, or else inspired, the name of the historic Dog and Gun public house. Evidently, the locale must once have been part of the hunting ground belonging to the earls of Sefton who lived in Croxteth Hall, the inn providing a welcome rest stop for weary huntsmen and their associates. Sadly, Croxteth is an area which has had its fair share of social problems since the new estates were erected in the 1970s and 1980s. The Dog and Gun pub was closed in 2004 following a police raid in which, somewhat aptly, armed response teams were accompanied by dog patrol officers.56 Despite Sovereign Road’s rural history, the woman who seemingly stepped through Ms J.’s grandmother’s wall that day was no farm girl or groundskeeper’s daughter from days of yore. According to Ms J.’s recollections, the woman was dressed in near-contemporary clothes, ‘wearing a knee-length skirt and jumper. She had blonde hair; I remember telling my mum when she got home that she’d looked like Norma, a friend of hers from work.’
I have scoured records for any likely candidates for the phantom woman but nothing unusual or noteworthy seems to have occurred in the vicinity around that time. Of course, should ghosts actually exist, there is no reason to suppose that the manner of their demise has to have been exceptional in order that they remain in, or pay visit to, the land of the living. If there was nothing in the area prior to the houses being built then it stands to reason that the spirit could be that of someone quite contemporary, having met their end in the vicinity or else perhaps making their way home for one last time; the brick walls of their neighbours’ houses no longer presenting such an unyielding boundary as they had previously.