WAITING FOR A GHOST

Greymouth Evening Star, 16 July 1934, Page 8

WAITING FOR A GHOST

SPECTRE DOES NOT COME For three months villagers and farmers in the neighbourhood of Silsoe Park, Bedfordshire, have been spending nights attempting' to “lay” a ghost. Many people assert they have seen or heard the ghost—an elusive figure on horseback—flitting through the trees where long ago there was a bridle path. From Ampthill to Silsoe is a bleak, terrifying walk any night, especially when one is with a fellow like George. In a tavern at Ampthill he elected to be the writer’s guide. There was nothing he did not know about the ghost. “It’s as regular as a variety act,” he said. “Twice nightly—seven and nine. Nevei* known to fail.” “Splendid,” the visitor echoed solidly—solidly because it was still daylight. Two hours later, slinking along the road toward Silsoe, his confidence in the ghost’s appearance was not so strong. “There’ll be no moon or stars tonight,” said George cheerfully. He was right. It was the world’s blackest. On the borders of Silsoe' an eerie rattling sound penetrated the stillness.

The stranger gripped George’s arm. “It’s here,” he pronounced breezily. There was the clatter of horse’s hoofs, the reflection of a misty light—like a will-o’-the-wisp. “Don’t move, hissed George. “Stand still even if he rides right on . . .” His companion could not think of a reply which would be sufficiently crushing.

The rider was coming nearer, accomIpanied by an ominous rattling. It [rounded the corner. A dappled pony ! with staring eyes—pulling a milk cart"' George was quite unabashed. “False alarm,” he stated obviously, declared that the ghost rider always raises his hat to her. No one is afraid of him. He is so polite” In the opposite direction came the lights of the village bus. It was the last one to Ampthill that night. The visitor stepped into the road and waved it to stop. “You’re not going back ....?” George asked. ' “Aren’t I?” the other man said. He caught the bus!