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Thursday, 20 March 2008

Scottish Ghost Story

By Peggy Race of Day to Day Life of a Very Lazy Gardener

Quite a few members of my family are convinced that they have seen ghosts. I've never seen anything that can't be explained or I can definitely say was a ghost, however…

Are we all sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin.

Years ago, shortly after we had moved here and George was a toddler, I used to help out twice a day at the farm up the road. I helped with the cows and calves. It involved letting the cows into the dairy barn, tying them up in stalls, feeding them and then letting their calves out to suckle.

My neighbour and I used to stand our little boys (eight weeks apart in age) on the opposite side of the dairy barn to where we were working, out of harm's way and get on with our work. The boys used to move some of the hay and feed around in their chubby little toddler fists. George didn't care for the cows the first couple of times we did this, but he got used to them. As long as they didn't want to sniff him, he was okay.

Once the calves were fed, they were put back in their big straw filled pen in the barn and the cows were let back out in the field.

From time to time, I would bring a bowl from my kitchen that had been scalded and milk one of the cows (Jenny) before we let the calves in. In exchange for the milk, I'd bring some eggs from my hens. Back then I kept my chickens indoors during the winter where I could keep a light on. With the light on, they laid eggs through the dark winter. It was a good trade. A big mixing bowl full of fresh milk for six nice fresh eggs.

Through the autumn and into the winter, it was part of our daily routine to walk the quarter mile to the barn and tend to the cows and calves. As the winter grew colder, we just bundled up warmer. George and our little neighbour pal Gordon had practical, all-in-one, waterproof boiler suits. This cut down on the washing considerably, keeping their winter coats cleaner for longer. I really like the smell of hay and silage when I'm forking it into the troughs.

One winter morning, we awoke to piles and piles of snow. I love snow and I couldn't wait to get out in it. As the roads were closed and the older boys couldn't go to school, it could have been a weekend. It's been so long now, I can't remember.

I left George at home with his big brothers. The snow was too deep for his short legs and I didn't fancy carrying him. I started making my way up the road. I had put my waterproof over-trousers on and didn't tuck them into my Wellies as I normally did. Snow inside Wellies is unpleasant.

As I shuffled up the road, our part of the world was a winter wonderland. It was covered in fresh white snow and all the sounds seemed to be muffled. I was blazing a new path through the snow. There hadn't been a single car or tractor up or down our road. The only marks in the snow were from clumps of snow that had fallen from the branches, tiny animals and me.

When I got to the farm, I noticed that there weren't any other tracks in the snow yet. I was the first person there. Charlie, the bachelor farmer who lives there, wasn't up and out yet. My neighbour who lived across the road from this farm hadn't shown up yet either.

I shuffled around the farmyard getting feed for the cows and making paths for others to follow. Our neighbour's eight-year-old daughter had a new pony that she was required to clean and feed each morning. I shuffled a path in the snow for her too. I wasn't going to shovel a path for everyone, that takes too long and the cows were hungry!

I started in with the work when my neighbour showed up. Pink cheeked and out of breath, we worked away. I asked if she came by herself and she said that she had. It was too cold and snowy for the children and she'd take care of the pony afterwards for her daughter.

It was then that we heard a man singing in the big shed next to the dairy barn. It must be that Charlie was up and feeding his dogs. He didn't normally sing, but then it doesn't normally snow here. I shouted over to say hello to Charlie. No reply. I shouted again. Silence. I asked my neighbour if she had heard the singing. Yes, she had. Odd. I wonder who that was.

We both definitely heard a man (an older man's voice) singing a song. Neither of us could make out what was being sung, but we heard singing.

When we finished with the cows and calves, we went out into the yard. No footprints in the snow to the shed where we heard the singing. No footprints other than ours.

That's my one and only ghost story.

Posted by Ronni Bennett at 02:30 AM | Permalink | Email this post


What a great story too. Thank you.

Great story…I can only hope that if something similar ever happens to me, I’ll also have a witness to share in unexplainable experience.

What a great story....thanks Peggy.

Eerie! Maybe I will believe the ghost story in my family after all.
Thanks for a supernatural beginning to my day.

great story! the snow doesn't lie...there was nobody there but two women. nicely told, peg-o!!

xo, ma

well said. I would have been scared - a little. LOL

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