Most Haunted

Back at the arse end of the late 1970’s I was in primary school, the primary school I attended was divided in to three definite sections. Firstly, located close to the schools main gates, there was a compound containing four ramshackle huts, which housed the school years one and two.1

A little further in was another enclosed area, within which, were more of the same aforementioned huts housing year three. Beyond that lay the main school building itself, a sprawling three story sandstone affair, built in the early 1800’s, that housed years four to seven.2

Given the buildings age, imposing Dickensian appearance and the over developed imagination of the schools four hundred plus pupils, it was not long before rumours of ghostly goings on began to circulate. The talk of the playground was of all manner of ghastly apparitions, poltergeist activity and even talk of certain pupils having soiled their trousers on encountering all manner of spooky antics.3

Mr. Dell, the schools Headmaster, for reasons clearly apparent years later, was to put it mildly, less than pleased as the schools rumour mill went in to overdrive. Several of our more feeble minded classmates were, to put it mildly, scared shitless and refused to go anywhere near the main building, never mind enter it. The upshot of which was that they would eat their packed lunches out in the playground, even if it was pissing with rain, despite the best efforts of Mrs. Simpson, the schools nurse, to cajole them in out of the downpour.4

The following week, at assembly in the schools main hall, the dreaded Mr. Dell took to the stage and launched in to one. Banging the palms of his huge hairy hands on the lectern to emphasise his points, all the while standing in front of the gathered throng with the words “THERE ARE NO SUCH THINGS AS GHOSTS!” Projected in six inch letters on to the large screen behind him.5

You would have thought a stern lecture, delivered to us with his usual aplomb, in the style of a Third Reich dictator, would have quashed the never ending tales of terror.6

Did it?7

Did it fuck!8

If anything the tales of woe at the hands of these apparitions grew a long set of legs, such was the furore around the school that certain pupils, who will remain nameless, Fat Brenda and Bucktooth Teresa, actually persuaded their parents to keep them off school until their fears were allayed. This of course only fanned the flames and young chaps being young chaps, we decided that the only sensible course of action would be to go on, what would turn out to be an ill-conceived ghost hunt. 9

As is the way of all red blooded males, when word of our forthcoming quest leaked out to the school population, we relished the attention, played up to anyone who would listen and generally mugged it up.10

It being November, the clocks of the nation were on day light saving time and so it did not get light until after 8am and darkness was upon us by 4pm each evening. You have to understand that this was 1977 and unlike today’s, mollycoddled, wrapped in cotton wool and allergy riddled children. We used to walk to school ourselves, running the gauntlet of, if the modern press are to be believed, all manner of Fagin type characters and sexual deviants.11

So the following Monday morning we all met outside the schools main gate at 7.30am. 12

It was dark, freezing and decidedly gloomy. The bravado of the classroom the week prior was long gone and so through the gates myself, Oss, Knumbnutts and Nimble went. The schools main building was in total darkness apart from the ground floor corridor, where two cleaning ladies could be seen at one end, wrestling with a large buffing machine which was used to polish the floor.13

We took our chance, opened the main door and made a tip toed dash for it, up the main staircase in to the darkness and stopped as a group to catch our breath on the landing. Now we were only in year three, had only ever been on the ground floor of the building for weekly assembly, to the dinner hall and when summoned or sent to the dreaded Dell’s office for summary execution, having transgressed some school rule or another. Unfamiliar with the layout of the floors above we pressed on in to the darkness, armed only with a torch Nimble had purloined from his father shed.14

It was the consensus of our seven year old opinions that any ghostly goings on would be far more likely to occur on the upper most floor. So in complete silence and it has to be said tangible terror, we crept all the way up to the third floor illuminated only by the shoddy yellow puddle of light omitted by Nimble’s fathers piss poor torch.15

We pushed a very creaky door open at the top of the staircase and stepped in to the corridor. The corridor itself stretched out before us for about one hundred yards, had a series of doors down either side set out at regular intervals and as was the way of all schools of the period, stank of industrial strength disinfectant.16

“Fuck this! This is one spooky bastard!” Whispered Oss summing up the situation with his usual tact and succinctness.17

“No, no!” Hissed Nimble. “We’ll go along the corridor, down the stairs at the far end and out through the side door. The cleaners will never see us!” He continued.18

Top marks to Nimble for keeping a cool head and having a plan, however a big dunces cap to him for thinking we would get away with its completion without further incident.19

With brown trousers most definitely in the “On” position we huddled together behind torchbearer Nimble and moved slowly along, hugging the left wall until we reached the corridors end.20

Just then Nimble span round on his heels, held the torch under his chin so that it illuminated his face and let loose a truly blood curdling “Aaaaaaaaaaah!”21

That was it, we were all off at top speed as far away from him as we could possibly get, convinced as we were that he had indeed become possessed by some demonic or indeed Beelzebub himself.22

I tripped over Oss, who was then trampled on by Knumbnutts as all three of us lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. Nimble for reasons clearly apparent to himself and himself alone emerged from the darkness smiling like a cat locked overnight in the fishmongers.23

“You’re a fucking dick!” Hissed Knumbnutts as Nimble nearly wet his pants laughing at us sprawling on the hard polished floor.24

Then…25

The door at the far end of the corridor gave an almighty creak as if being pushed open, every hair on the back of my neck stood on end, as blind panic set in and we all ran for our lives for the door that led to the other stairwell.26

Oh spoons, the door was locked, what would we do?27

Would we:28

(a) Put the lights on and see what had made the noise.29

Or30

(b) Charge past what ever was in our way and hopefully make it out in to the safety of the playground.31

Correct neither, we did what all small boys do when faced with the prince of darkness and his minions. That being we hid in the cleaners cupboard located next to the stairwell door and hoped nobody would notice.32

Standing pressed together, in the pitch dark, we could hear the sound of approaching heavy footsteps. To say I was scared would be an understatement, I recall I genuinely thought at the time, that it was curtains for the lot of us and the dreaded Mr. Dell was farthest from my mind.33

Just then Nimble came up with a plan, well I say plan, perhaps the last resort of a fear stricken seven year olds mind would be more accurate. “ If this door opens just run for it!” He whispered.34

Great, I thought, “Run for it!” Still sounds like a plan.35

The footsteps halted on the other side of the door and Nimble extinguished the torch. The door slowly swung open and as one we all made a Scooby-Do style escape attempt, which was on balance a total failure, as we all ended up, once again in a heap on the floor.36

This time however it was not a tangle of seven year old boys, there knocked flat on her large arse and struggling to get to her feet while keeping hold of my left leg. One very angry and red faced school nurse a.k.a. Mrs. Simpson. “You! You little hooligans!” She shouted prior to marching us downstairs to await the dread Mr. Dell, who if he was true to his usual form, would undoubtedly kill us to death, prior to contacting our parents, who would in turn probably kill us to death as well.37

So six of the belt, a letter home to our parents and aside from attending school, not aloud to go out of the house for two weeks it was then.38

Once again arses!39