Hello, folks!
Before we get started, I have a super exciting announcement to make. Are you subscribed to my newsletter? If you are, you should have access to the members’ area of this website, where I have just uploaded a teaser for Wicked Book 2!
For now, it’s only available for subscribers, so if you’re not a subscriber yet—why not?
Seriously, just do it.
You’ll thank me, I promise!
And if you haven’t read the first book yet… It will be going on sale on all platforms from the 12th to the 15th of November. That means it will only be USD/EUR/GBP 0.99 for four whole days. It has a rating of 4.5 on all platforms, and everyone who reads it loves the characterisations.
So, what are you waiting for? Check it out now!
In the meantime, here’s a little taster of what the supernatural world of Oxford has to offer.
Bloody Mary!
Last time, I covered several spooky Civil War spectres. This post, we’re casting a broader net: stepping out of the university and away from the 1600s, here are two more weird and wonderful hauntings in a very special location.
One of my favourite locations in my book was Oxford Castle and Prison. Aside from its cameo as the vampire headquarters in Wicked Magic, it also happens to be one of the most haunted buildings in Oxford—unsurprising, considering it’s a whopping 1000 years old! It was first built by the Normans in 1071-73, but after falling into disrepair in the 12th and 13th centuries, it was repurposed as a prison. The prison ran up until 1996, when it was taken over by the municipal council and became the tourist attraction we know today. During its tenure as a prison, it hosted several rather unsavoury inmates, one of whom was the not-so-bland Miss Mary Blandy.
In 1752, Mary Blandy was sentences to death by hanging. Her crime? Poisoning her own father with arsenic.
Mary was a woman in her twenties, who lived with her father in Henley. Concerned that his daughter was doomed to spinsterhood, her father set about acquiring a husband for her (by offering a rather considerable dowry). Enter one Captain William Cranstoun, a Scottish gentleman. Outwardly respectable, he seemed like the perfect candidate. By all accounts, Mary was rather enamoured of him. Sadly, her father was less willing to overlook the one minor flaw: he was already married back in Scotland.
When Captain Craunston proved unable—or perhaps unwilling—to annul his current marriage, Mr Blandy threw him out of the house. A short while later, Mr Blandy fell terribly ill and died. It turned out that Craunston had sent Mary a powder which would help convince her father to allow them to marry—or so she believed. In reality, it was arsenic!
Mary was arrested and found guilty of murder, and six months later she was hanged at the prison. However, the public remained divided—innocent, mislead young woman or conniving murderer? Whichever she may have been, she’s certainly a busy ghost. Here’s a short list of places she’s reportedly been seen:
Dolesden Lane, Turville, Buckinghamshire
Churchfield Wood, Turville, Buckinghamshire
Hambleden, Buckinghamshire
Little Angel Inn, Remenham, Berkshire
Oxford Castle and Prison, Oxford, Oxfordshire
Park Place, Remenham, Berkshire
Henley on Thames Parish Church, Oxfordshire
Thames Riverbank, Henley on Thames, Oxfordshire
Kenton Theatre, Henley on Thames, Oxfordshire
Blandy House, Henley on Thames, Oxfordshire
Town Hall, Henley on Thames, Oxfordshire
An Imperial Spook
Mary Blandy might have been getting into all sorts of places, but Empress Mathilda has only been seen in one single location. For that, she certainly makes her presence known—as is proper for someone of her standing!
Let’s rewind to 1135. England was faced with a problem: the king had died, and someone needed to succeed him.
His named successor was his only surviving (legitimate) child—bright, talented, multilingual… and a woman. What a shocking notion! There’d never been a female ruler before; there wasn’t even a proper word for it. At that time, queen just meant the king’s wife, not a ruler in her own right.
Born in 1102, Mathilda, granddaughter to William the Conqueror, was a force to be reckoned with. Unfortunately, the aristocrats of England weren’t having it. There couldn’t be a female king. Incroyable! But her older brother had passed away in a shipping accident, leaving her the sole heir. She made plans, including remarrying in order to produce her own heir.
However, luck wasn’t on Mathilda’s side. When her father, Henry I, passed away, she was in France.
Enter Stephen: Mathilda’s cousin. He seized the throne and forced Tillie to remain in exile in France.
But wait—there’s another player. Mathilda had a half-brother (actually, apparently she had several half-siblings). Robert was a threat to Stephen’s rule, and sensibly decided his head was more likely to stay on his body if his sister were to take the throne. He threw his lot in with her, and this gave Mathilda enough backing with the barons to attempt a takeover.
All did not go according to plan. (You know what they say about plans…)
With England split between Mathilda and Stephen, a stalemate ensued. This broke in 1141, when Stephen was captured at the Battle of Lincoln. Mathilda, having cleared her way to the throne, set about organising a coronation.
The barons weren’t having it. They blocked her attempt to crown herself and set the English press to work doing what it does best (ruining the reputations of perfectly upstanding politicians, obviously). Mathilda tried for Westminster (the treasury) next, but a battle there resulted in Robert being captured, and Mathilda only narrowly escaped. Mathilda was forced to exchange Stephen for Robert, and the fighting picked up where it had left off.
Mathilda retreated to Oxford, her centre of command, but things weren’t going well at all, and in the winter of 1142 Stephen laid siege to the castle. Except, he didn’t count on Mathilda’s wiliness. Rather than surrender herself, she made a daring escape: dressed all in white to camouflage against the snow, she climbed down the tower and crossed the frozen river.
The war waged on for years after that, before finally the cousins reached a truce: Stephen would take the throne, but Mathilda’s son would be his successor. Once again, Mathilda’s wiliness saw her the victor of the day: Stephen lived for only a year as king, whilst Mathilda enjoyed over ten years of her son’s reign.
Her ghost is said to haunt Oxford Castle and Prison to this day, recognisable by its white cape, though some remain unconvinced. Why would she haunt there when she died in France? Maybe she had unfinished business…
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That’s it for today. Two spooky women who have left their mark on Oxford. Want more content like this? Or to share your own ghost stories? Comment below. In the meantime,
and see you next time (with a little announcement).
Margot x
So, usually vampires and witches are more my speed, but I must confess—seeing as it’s Halloween and all—to a low-level obsession with ghosts.
There’s just something about a good ghost story, amirite?
Well, as it so happens, Oxford has those a plenty. I went a-diving through the internet to dig up a few interesting ones just for you, and unsurprisingly there were quite a few. Particularly, there were a lot centring around one period of British history.
Did you know that Oxford was once the capital of England?
Apologies to those poor souls who attended school in Ol’ Blighty, and are now being forced to dredge up bad memories of their truly dreadful primary school history teachers!
Let’s rewind to the English Civil War… It’s 1642, and King Charles I has just got himself in a sticky situation with his parliament. Why? Because he wanted money, but according to his agreement with the parliament, he had to ask their permission to use taxpayer money. Then the Scottish attacked, and parliament (sympathising with the Scottish desire for religious freedom) didn’t give Charlie the money to fight them off.
Hmmm.
So he had them arrested, which went badly. London chased him out, and he hopped on over to Oxford, where he lived in Christ Church College until 1646. New College became storage for ammunitions, St. Peter’s College was the royal mint, and Christ Church’s great hall served as the parliament meeting place.
Eventually, Charles left Oxford, and after various machinations and back-and-forths, found himself tried for treason and beheaded. But that wasn’t the end! Rumour has it that his spirit continues to wonder Oxford, along with several of his loyal supporters…
The much-lauded William Laud
Laud’s ghost sure does get around. After being exorcised from Merton College’s library, he’s popped up in St. John’s, where he has reportedly been seen playing bowling with a rather unusual ball…
William Laud was appointed Archbishop of Canterbury by King Charles I in 1633, and was correspondingly an avid supporter of the king. This saw him arrested in 1640 and imprisoned in the Tower of London. Like other denizens of the tower, he met a bloody end via beheading in 1645. His body was brought back to St. John’s College, where he’d been a student and fellow, for burial.
Eyewitness accounts say that he can be seen in the library, kicking and throwing his severed head. Obviously, none of these sightings have been linked to stress during exam time.
Colonel WHOOOOO?
Oh Francis, oh Francis…
Colonel Francis Windebank was a promising young man, recently married, when he met his end in 1645. Loyal to the king, he had enlisted as a royalist colonel when the war broke out. He was appointed governor of Bletchingdon Hall, a country home near Oxford—by all accounts a rather boring position for such an up-and-coming man. To liven things up, he threw a ball. The parliamentarians got wind of the affair and attacked the house, whereupon the good colonel (sensibly, some might argue) surrendered in order to protect his new wife and daughter.
The royalists, finding this to be not in keeping with their ethos, court marshalled him. He was found guilty of treason, and executed by firing squad against the length of the town wall behind Merton College. This is where his ghost can be found to this day, wandering knee-deep in the ground. Why not on ground level? Because at some point the Oxfordians raised the level of the path.
Interestingly, on a totally unrelated note, this stretch of pathway is called Dead Man’s Walk. It used to be the route of medieval Jewish funeral processions.
Obadiah Walks Again
Every time I hear the name Obadiah, I think of Iron Man. Oh, wait, you’re here for the ghost stories. Right!
Obadiah Walker is, according to official University College sources, one of their most famous Masters*. He was initially a fellow from 1635 to 1648. After some bother with the parliamentarians, he was deprived of that position—politicians, honestly—only reinstated again in 1660. So, I suppose that one thing remains consistent in the UK over centuries: no one can ever make up their minds. He became Master in 1676, advising the King on matters in Oxford.
So caught up in his worship of King James II (successor to the unlucky Charles I) was he that he made public his conversion to Roman Catholicism. Unfortunately, Jamie was deposed in 1688 and fled to France. Walker tried to follow him, but was picked up in Kent. Like many before him, he landed up in the Tower of London, though he dodged the death penalty. He spent the last years of his life back in Oxford, though without his former job, and eventually died miserably in University College, which he still haunts to this day.
*Master, in this case, refers to the position of head of the college, not to the degree.
A Wandering Spirit
Another ghost that’s doing the rounds… King Charles I’s ghost seems to be popping up everywhere. Eyewitness accounts have put him in Painswick Court House (Gloucestershire), Chavenage House (also Gloucestershire), and Christ Church College (Oxfordshire). Oxford eyewitnesses say they’ve seen him both with and without the head that he lost during his sticky end in 1649, though fortunately, he doesn’t seem inclined to play football with it. Will this restless spirit ever find peace? Hey, maybe he just really likes holidaying in the Cotswolds!
He’s also been seen causing havoc in the Bodleian Library. Denied the right to take books out in 1645, he can now be seen in the Upper Reading Room, pulling books out at random and reading a single line.
Bonus: A Cavalier Attitude
It’s Halloween and, okay, the last one was kind of a cop-out. Here, have another story!
The Old Bank Hotel is, you guessed it, an old bank. We’re so creative at naming things in England. (Oxford, from Oxnaford, literally “place where oxen cross the river”.) The bank has been through a few incarnations: stately home, mercers and drapers, bank, hotel… But this isn’t a story about urban reinvention and capitalism.
During the Civil War, this was the home of a young lady name Prudence Burcote, Puritan and supporter of Oliver Cromwell and his parliamentarians. To her misfortune, she discovered what every romance novel protagonist can tell you: the heart cares not for politics or religion. She fell in love with the most terrible sort of all, a royalist cavalier. Allegedly, her displeased parents banished her from the family home. She stayed with her lover until his royal duties drew him away, whereupon she returned to her parents’ home to await him… only he never returned.
The story goes that Prudence died of a broken heart. Today, she still roams the building, waiting for her lover.
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Further resources:
For all manner of supernatural stories: https://www.darkoxfordshire.co.uk/
Lots of pictures: https://the-history-girls.blogspot.com/2018/08/ghostly-oxford.html
