Some Scary Poems and Ghost Stories from North Longford

Heres some true ghost stories from my family from the wilds of North Longford, Irleand.

Here are some seasonal poems for Halloween, all true, as told by my family from North Longford... "Old Clonbroney" is the story of a man who met a headless horseman when calling on a neighbour after moving into the area. Above: (left) Irish famine victim with children (right) A black dog, thought of as a damned soul or personification of Satan   Apperantly this is actually true, the miller he was calling on was an uncle of mine who lived in Clonbroney, where an old road led up to a disused cemetry, and a new road now led to the village. The old road partly made the lane to his house and mill that used to be on the side of the old road, but the road was blocked of at the rear, where both sides had grown in to form one hedgegrow that went up the fiends to the old cemetry.   "The Hungry Grass" was where famine dead collapsed and breathed their last, and the ground on which they fell, should you walk on it, you would be overcome with a terrible hunger, that could not be sadisfied by the best of food, but only by tearing a loaf in your hands and eating the bread only with water or milk, as people did during the famine...   There was a spot outside the gate of Willie Carty's in Aughagreagh that was said to be of it, and an event of when he was a boy where a neighbour bust into the house demanding bread after standing on it... which was very bad etiquette in the peasent housholds, where a routine of denying hospitality and only accepting it under protest due to their belief that you "never left a house poorer than when you entered".   Ghost story lovers will love this story "Dead Souls and Black Dogs"- its true, honest! - of an old woman who died in North Longford some years back, whose soul, or that of the devil formed the form of a black dog on her death... and walked out the door! Hope that sends a chill up your spines...   Again Willie Cartys farm is the focus of the poem "Sitting There Saying Nothing". The ghost poem that tells of how my father swears he saw ghosts at a cousins farm he inherited, supposedly of a woman and her children who died outside the gate on the way to the workhouse... My family, though Irish, were none too helpful to the poor at the time, I gather from family legends... ========================== Old Clonbroney ========================== One night dark walking along A lane onto its end, A neighbour walked up to a house To call upon a friend. The neighbour was new, his friends wife too Had arrived not long ago, And friendship new as neighbours do They called on one another each other to know. And as he approached the house, He wondered at how strange shadows moves, It looked as if it were a hearse, And all of a sudden a sound of hooves, And a wall through at terrific speed, Driven by a horseman with no head, A hearse up through the feilds fleed To Old Clonbroney with its dead. Our hero stood there shaking, Wondered if he imaged was what he had seen, When the woman opened the door to the house, Asked where the horses had been? He raced into the house so fast, Slammed behind him the door, Told how the hearse before him passed, And where it came from before... That it went up to Old Clonbroney, After driving through a wall, But it was not real: twas but a ghost, For the wall was not damaged at all. And drinking whiskey strong his nerves setlled down, Though still great in him was fear, Though you may mock and you may frown, You too would shake if the headless horseman did appear... And in time the husband returned, A miller he was by trade, He came to see his wife terrified, And his neighbour, a man strong, afraid, They told him of the horseman, Of the hearse, that the man had no head, He srugged his shoulder with a sigh, Declared one of the neighbours dead. It was like the banshee, The miller said of the apparition, When these neighbours died, the spectre youd see, So was local superstition, And so all a prayer they said, For their own and the deceased sake, Its not told the name of who was dead, Or if the miller and his neighbour slept or stayed that night awake! ========================== Sitting There Saying Nothing ========================== She sits there saying nothing A wee woman and her wains We know not who she is That sits there with her bains As the Scots would say if seeing What my father claims to have seen That sitting on a wall In broad daylight had been… Going to the workhouse Stopping for a rest a while A woman and two little ones And one of the three smile But just sitting there A word by none was said My father knew from famine times there were Victims of, and dead The dead will not harm you Sometimes themselves they show So another at another time Of their pain will know. Maybe twas too much poitin Da knew how to make it pure And enjoyed his brew testing But I am not so sure. If dead they be, from famine times And they to show themselves cease I hope they rest at the bosom of Mary And their souls now know peace. (i) wain: child (ii) bain (baby)

========================== Dead Souls And Black Dogs ==========================   The little old lady had lived for long, She was great of age And the time was coming along For her to exit life’s stage But there were those who dwelt beside her That strange things of her said She had contact with the other world And that strange prayers she made Some they were of her afraid And were not afraid to say That when she was dead It would not be a bad day. And so the illness struck And slowly she got more weak And by her her neighbours stuck And failed bad of her to speak For tis bad ill to speak of the dying And of those that are past and gone So to pray and think good they were trying Though they fooled no one. They were gathered in the bedroom More in the living room too There was but two for a broom For large houses they were few. And the toilet it was outside Water was drawn from a well As was normal for the times standards applied As many old people will tell. And the chatter of the neighbours As the woman drew her last breath Was silenced as from her room Came a shout at her moment of death, And of a sudden, out the door A big black dog fled Snarling, racing across the floor The spirit of the woman, now dead! “Twas Satan himself” more say Came to take her soul to Hell And to their knees to pray In unison, they fell. Those near the door outside raced fast To the yard where the beast had been And light twas good though evening was past: There was no dog to be seen. If this is all true I don’t know But to tell it I never fail For when there is conversation in flow It sure makes a damn good tale!   ========================== The Hungry Grass ==========================   A shiver runs up my spine As stories I recall Of people dead in times gone by I was told of when I was small. Of famine dead who to the workhouse went Dropped dead as they our gate did pass And the ground on which they fell Became known as the hungry grass. For should one walk upon it Even though they did just eat The hunger gnawing would strike them Till they were quick upon their feet And nothing would quench the hunger So the story’s said Bar milk and break hand torn The only sustenance of those now dead. You could eat meat untill full At any other time be you would But this time the hunger only by bread Hand torn, washed by milk would Quench the hunger of the dead Who outside our gate died Not so terribly long ago Who to survive tried But the Lord in mercy took them Though grain was exported at the time And people died for want of bread… Oh the shame for Britain of the crime! Some people don’t believe the story When I tell of the Hungry Grass Should I go there I tell you On the other side of the road I’ll pass!

Author's Note

Hope you can sleep without nightmares tonight...

Reviews

[Fabian G. Franklin]

This was priceless! Really cool ghost stories! My own neck of the world has some pretty cool ghost stories as well like the tale of the Brown Mountain Lights or The Bell Witch of Tennessee. Fabulous reading fun.

[TL Boehm]

wow. even though October is passed, these lose none of their bite. I've heard about the "black dog" before...a nice fright here on your page. Well done.

[A. F. Stewart]

Some very nice ghost stories; the poetry was reminiscent of old folk tales. I enjoyed reading them.