Lost legacy

The house, an aristocratic pile

Sat nestled into the hill,

Hidden by trees and bushes, while

It harboured its silence, still.

No outward sign of its infamy,

No clue to the years before,

When men had described it, clinically

As being, itself, at war.

Designed and built by my grandfather

In a late Victorian style,

It had all the trappings of balconies

And of lacework in wrought iron,

The tiles were Italian marble

And the pathways local stone,

My Grandma, Jenny McArdle,

She gave it a heightened tone.

The gentry came for the parties,

They came for the dress-up balls,

I don’t remember a time they weren’t

Wandering through the halls,

It fretted Jenny McArdle

Who wanted a little peace,

But Jock was a hunting sporting man

And he wanted peace the least.

He’d take his chums to the library

Where they’d play their six card stud,

There were threats and there was bribery

And before too long there, blood,

Then finally, on an ill starred night

That would hit my grandma hard,

Her husband wagered the house she loved

Just once, on a single card.

The moment she heard the house was gone

She flew at their deck of cards,

Split open the heads of more than one

Left acres of glass in shards,

‘You’ll not be taking my home from me,’

She screamed at the Earl of Vane,

Before she fell from the balcony,

Cursing her husband’s name.

And Jock was never the same again

He had to vacate his home,

While Jenny McArdle’s blood was still

Staining the local stone,

They say her ghost wouldn’t leave the place

And that’s why it caught alight,

Once when her shape had leapt in space

From the balcony one night.

And now I sit in the clearing where

That once great house had sat,

Amidst the trees and the sounds of bees

When I’m feeling low, and flat,

That house, it should have been left to me,

I’m the only downward line,

But still I hear when the weather’s clear

My grandma’s voice, ‘It’s mine!’

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Barbz]

I felt a sort of sadness while reading this poem. Grandfather was well aware, I'm sure of Grandmas love for this families Victorian mansion and the aristocratic lifestyle it held. So much so, that when he lost it in one gambling bet, she became crazed, killing others and ultimately herself. All that remained was her ghostly spirit, and you made it quite clear not to mess with That!! .....side note ...I had a friend in Vegas who hung himself after losing his vast fortune, Gambling! Very well done, DLP, Barbz

[A Soap Mess Stories]

Loved the imagery of this tale...well written...

[andrew mitchell]

A great old yarn finished perfectly with that last line Its Mine!

[R Smith]

a super old creepy mansion ghost story and one I can entirely say I'm on the ghosts side, if that happened to my mansion I'd be hanging around to haunt whoever set foot there, brilliant as always David :)

[Beautiful Christmas Tre..]

ah..poetry...the language of love

i love this poem..a great read

[Valentine]

This reads like many classic old tales. Well written with a good solid but sad ending. Made me think of the house I grew up in that my father built. Last time I drove by it it was still standing and fixed truly beautiful. But they butchered the year of all its trees. Valentine

[Marie]

It's a wonder Jock didn't wager his wife as well as his house. In fact that probably would have been next if Jenny hadn't fallen fromthe balcony...