THE LONG-EARED GHOST OF CARISSBROOKE

Southland Times, Issue 23740, 11 February 1939, Page 7 (Supplement)

THE LONG-EARED GHOST OF CARISSBROOKE

As Richard climbed the steep path toward Carissbrooke Castle, he was thinking of the strange tale he had heard the night before. A king had long ago been held prisoner in this castle on the Isle of Wight, and it was claimed that his groans could still be heard within the walls. "It looks spooky,” Richard said to himself, as he trudged toward the gate. A heavy wooden door barred his entrance, but as soon as his hand touched the handle, a bell began to ring, and the gate opened as if timed to his coming. He found himself in a courtyard shut in by high stone walls. At first he saw no one. Then a head popped out of a window in the gate house. ‘‘lf you want to look round,” ( the guard’s voice said, “there’s the

keep." A long finger pointed to a high tower, then closed the window against the rain, and silence followed. With a feeling of strangeness, Richard looked about him. To his left rose a long flight of steps, and at the top of them stood a tower. This must be the keep, for to it the finger had pointed. Richard climbed the steps and found them so high that he soon stood above the tree tops. A stone arch yawned before him. Richard paused and clutched the umbrella which he had scorned when his aunt, had pressed it into his hand. “Whatever do I want that for?” he had asked. “I’m no stick of sugar to melt in the rain.”

“The sky’s dampish,” was all she had answered, as she poked the umbrella at him.

Now he was glad he had brought it. Richard did not mind the rain, but the umbrella would serve as a

weapon of sorts, and this gave him courage as he . looked through the arch down another staircase which led into a dungeon. . The staircase was almost lost in darkness. With the aid of the umbrella he felt his way down the steps. The air was cold and damp and the shadows pressed close round him. His breath caught in his throat. But at last he came to the bottom step. The dungeon was uncanny. As he peered into its shadows, a sound startled him. “Haw—he—haw,” it came through the darkness. Then louder, “Haw — he —haw!” .... Richard jumped back and his foot slipped on the stair. Umbrella and all, he tumbled down on the dungeon floor. The umbrella fell from his hand, and as he tried to find it

something cold and damp touched his face. He threw out his arm, certain that his cheek had been brushed by a clammy finger. In his hand he caught a wet tree leaf which had been carried above the roofless tower by the wind and left to flutter into the dark, damp dungeon far below.

“Haw —haw—haw,” came the sound again. It was shrill and rasping. To his relief, Richard found the umbrella. He swung it about his head in the dark. He’d clear the air of any ghost that hung about here groaning! The rain pelted into the tower and the wind moaned round it. Breathlessly, Richard listened. The darkness was terrifying, and while a way of escape still lay open, Richard crept back to the stair.

And now a voice mocked him. “What a donkey! Shies at his own shadow.” This was too much for Richard. He might not be exactly

lion-hearted, like the king whose name he bore, but he wasnt a coward, either. And he certainly was no donkey. He was .determined now to find the ghost, and choke his taunting words down his phantom throat, if he had one. “Such long ears!” the voice mocked again, but now it seemed to come from some other part of the castle. Richard felt his ears. They had grown no longer. They were very good ears, ' set close to his head. They had no welcome for ghostly insults. : He hurried up the steps, for it was from somewhere within the wall 'that the voice now seemed to come. , , . “Funny old donkey, the voice echoed. . - .t. “You won’t think so when I catch you,” Richard shouted. He had reached the top of the wall and he ran for some distance along its dizzy height, swinging the umbrella right and left. Now he could hear footsteps beneath him. He came to a sudden stop just in time to save falling down a flight of steps in which the wall ended. Then he plunged down the steps into another dark passage. Again he braved the darkness and came to a room inside 1 the castle wall. It was lighted only by cannon holes. He pushed past j them and came to another room with an arched window. With his back toward Richard, a figure stood poised in the window. Richard flung the umbrella high above his head ready for defence, but before he could speak, the figure jumped through the window into the courtyard a few feet below. , . ii,. Richard also jumped from the window: He .saw a boy run at top speed across the courtyard and into a little stone house forming part of the wall. Richard darted after him. the umbrella held point forward like a jousting stick. “I’m not a donkey,” he cal 2 et V “And I haven’t got long ears. And even if my face is funny, its not for you to remind me of it. tie darted through the door of the little house in hot pursuit. He could hear a bell ringing as if to souna an alarm. * . , . . Inside the house an odd sight met Richard's eyes. A well curb filled the centre of the room. Beside it was a great wooden wheel. Inside the wheel was a treadmill and on it stood a donkey. Already scrambling upon the donkey s back was the boy Richard had seen running across the courtyard. Richard flourished the umbrella. Come down there! I’ve got a score to settle with you.” The boy clung to the donkey and shook his head. “I’ve been waiting this chance to ride while the keeper answers the bell at tte gate,” he declared. “And if you spoil it. I’ll have a score to settle with you.” He bent forward, urging the donkey to start the wheel turning. , Richard looked over the curb. The well was so deen that he could not see the bottom. The place seemed bewitched. and he could not tell whether boy or donkey were real, or ghostly vision. He looked at the thick oak beam above his head. From it a bucket hung into the well. It must be the donkey’s job to turn the wheel which lifted the bucket. “If the donkey kicks, he’ll toss you into the well,” Richard warned. “And ghost or no ghost, that will be the end of you.” “He won’t kick. He won’t even move,” the boy said, and he gave

the donkey’s flank a slap to start him. , , . , For 17 years the same donkey had been lifting the buckets of water for Carissbrooke Castle, but. he had never before worked with a rider on his back. He suddenly threw; up his back feet and humped himself in. > the middle. The boy hurtled-into the air. ' His two eyes bulged as he tumbled in a heap against Richard. . “Who’s got a funny face now? Richard asked. “If I’m a donkey, you’re another.” “I wasn’t talking about your face,” the boy answered in surprise. ‘I was having sport with the donkey as .the guard led him into the well house.” He looked toward the door through which he could now hear the guard’s returning footsteps. When the guard' entered, the boy was standing innocently enough by the well curb. i The guard looked over to see how the bucket was rising. "Get on with your job, Eric,” he said to the donkey. “In air the donkey’s years you’ve fe.ched up this bucket you’ve never been so slow about it. And' mind you don’t lean too far over the well curb,”, he; cautioned the boys. ; < “I won’t,” Richard assured him, and the keeper’s eyes had a puzzled look as Richard added, “I don’t want to be kicked down the “well by the ghost of Carissbrooke Castle.”

Margaret and Michael are playinjj musical chairs. Who will win? Trace the way they go, and see which competitor has the shorter distance to travel. Be careful they; don’t cross any . lines

Lady (to small boy): Why are you f making faces at that JA Q bulldog? 4 »o» P Boy: Well, h« / started