The Garrick's Head Pub - Bath

Bath Paranormal • October 31, 2023

The Garrick's Head Pub  - Bath


History -

The Garrick’s Head at 7-8 St. Johns Place, Bath can be found adjacent to the Theatre Royal and is Grade II listed.

The Garrick's Head was constructed by Thomas Greenway for Richard ‘Beau’ Nash circa 1720.

It stood in splendid isolation just outside the city walls and was evidence of the expansion of Bath in the early 18th century.

It was once one of the homes of the dandy and Master of Ceremonies for Bath, Richard Beau Nash (Born 18 October 1674 – Died 3 February 1761)

Nash is best known for his role as the Master of Ceremonies and undisputed social leader of Bath when the spa town was a fashionable destination in the 18th century.

The house was referred to locally as a palace and this further enhanced Nash’s image as the ‘King of Bath’.

The theatre was built in 1805

The Garrick’s Head bears the name of famed 18th century actor David Garrick.

He was among the later tenants when the building was still used for residential purposes to save him the bother of having to go out into the streets to go into next door he had a doorway made through the wall into the theatre.


Hauntings -

The building has many ghost stories and seems to have a traumatic past.


One is that a murder took place when a husband who had discovered his wife was having an affair find himself sitting at the gambling table close to the man that he knew was his wife's lover. He was suddenly overcome by insane jealousy and is said to have pulled out his sword and attempted to run through his heart and kill the man.

Apparently he missed his heart but succeeded in his intention to kill him, his wife took this very badly.

On finding out of her lover's death she rushed to the scene, screaming for her husband who had since left.

She then took it upon herself to very dramatically leap out of the window but it's not sure whether this show was intentional and she was trying to commit suicide or whether she was just in such a state of hysteria she was unaware of what she was doing..

It's thought that this possible outburst emotions and energy could have created psychic or residual energy which explains the alleged scream which can be heard audibly in the pub as it's thought the demented woman relives her full and massive sense of loss.


There is also a lot of poltergeist activity that items get moved sometimes in front of onlookers including candles and bunches of keys, in the 1990's a heavy old fashioned cash register was moved from the top of the bar and thrown across the room with such a force that it smashed a chair.

Wall cupboards shake for no obvious reason and money goes missing only to reappear later on few days later in locked rooms.

The pubs cellar has its fair share of activity with items having been moved around and then disappear.


A Regency styled gent with a large wig has been seen making his way through the door in between the pub into the theatre, this is thought to be David Garrick.


The strong but pleasant smell thought to be jasmine is also smelt in the pub as well as the cellar and is thought to be linked to the ghost of the lady who is said to have hung herself in one of the bedrooms.

She was apparently the prize to be won in a duel between two men one of whom she loved but was killed.

Her presence is thought to be of her remorse at his death which will not let her rest in peace, although it's not clear whether this is the same lady as previous mentioned or another one again as a death seems to be similar circumstances of a lover being killed and then subsequently committing suicide.


The smell of jasmine is also reported in the theatre accompanying the Grey Lady there.

When the two buildings were as one and its said that the box in the theatre where the Grey Lady is sometimes seen, was actually her bedroom in the original building.

She has also been spotted by Liza Goddard whilst she was on stage.


Guests staying in the pubs rooms also seem to have disturbed nights with knocking on doors in the dead of night, door handles turning , mysterious footsteps and a sinister laugh!

One of the rooms is said to be particularly alarming as a guest woke up to feel rope burns on his neck only to be told that it was the room that a lady had hung herself.


Another anomaly is said to be that of a blood stain which allegedly appears in the exact same spot at a certain time of year on the pub’s floor.


In the 1970's, Margaret Royal was a lady in Bath with a great deal of psychic knowledge.

She began to investigate and acquire stories from the witnesses of paranormal events in Bath.

Margaret Royal decided to create a ghost walk starting from the Garrick's Head and heading into the most haunted parts of Bath, telling the various stories she had uncovered on the way.

It was on this that it was discovered that the Theatre Royal and the Garrick's Head shared the same spirits.


Additional Third Party Comments-

*The Garrick’s website states that ‘Our two resident ghosts have yet to put in an appearance during our time at the pub however there are countless first hand accounts of supernatural happenings.’

*The author and investigator Andrew Green (Born 28 July 1927 – Died 21 May 2004) gave the following account of the case:

‘The ghost here is so closely linked with the Theatre Royal next door that it is assumed to one and the same, though mysterious knocks and raps and an occasional poltergeist incident associated with the haunting effect only the pub.

Establishing that the apparition who visits the theatre is a woman is the ‘scent of beautiful jasmine’, though experienced mysteriously in the cellars.

A number of artists appearing in a production at the theatre have witnessed the misty grey shape in one of the boxes, and others have noticed that it travels out of the window in a room just above the main bar.

Frequently the smell of jasmine accompanies these ‘visitations’.

The phantom is supposed to that of a young woman who jumped to her death in the 1800’s when here lover was killed in a duel with her husband.

Another belief, however is that she hanged herself in a bedroom.

But why should she frequent this pub, especially it seems the cellar, is an utter mystery.

Could it be that the site of the dual was in the pub or perhaps she may be buried beneath the barrels?’



Thoughts-

There seem to be lots of different reports of these various women in and around the building which all have similar details but all separate.

Are they the same woman? or several?

What is causing the poltergeist activity and audible knocking and footstep sounds ? or is it just an old building settling down.

As for the blood stain, there is no photographic evidence and this is not mentioned in reputable ghost books about the pub, so is this a figment of an overactive imagination and a gruesome story to tell the patrons of Baths ghost walks over the years.

As I was aware of this story back in the 1990's

Or is there an element of truth to it and could it have a natural or environmental explanation?


Together with the stories from the Theatre which are many, one starts to wonder Dear Readers, what happened in this spot and on this land to create such a maelstrom of paranormal activity, making it truly Bath's central paranormal hotspot.

I will have a look to see if I can find out anything about the suicides of the women and look back to see what may have been there prior to this building although its on the edge of the old City walls.


© Bath Paranormal/ P Wallace


Sources - Spooky Isles, Garrick's Head website

Paranormal Bath - Malcolm Cadey

Haunted Bath - David Brandon

Photos - Bath in Time 1945

Maps 1645 & 1888 - Know your Place

#hauntedbath #bathparanormal #paranormalbath #bathghoststories #ghostsofbath #hauntedpubs #Halloween


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Mary Shelley and Bath

By Bath Paranormal • February 1, 2026
Mary Shelley and Bath Today is the 175th anniversary of Mary Shelley's death on 1st February 1851 Mary arrived in Bath seeking refuge, yet the city’s ancient stones and shadowed corners became a fount of dark inspiration. Living in the looming presence of the Gothic abbey, she found herself drawn into the curious world of Bath’s medical pioneers. Among them was Dr Charles Wilkinson, an early experimenter in medical electricity. Mary attended lectures at his nearby laboratory, just around the corner from her lodgings, as she wove her tale of Victor Frankenstein—an audacious man who defied nature itself, stitching together life from the dead with the spark of galvanism. Frankenstein, often hailed as the first science-fiction novel, bears the unmistakable imprint of Bath. She lodged at the now-demolished 5 Abbey Church Yard upon her arrival in 1816, and much of her novel took shape within those walls, eventually published anonymously on 1st January 1818. Mary was unaware that she was dwelling nearly atop the Roman Baths, which would remain hidden for six decades after her departure. Her lodgings were swept away in the 1890s to make way for the Pump Room, and for nearly two centuries, her Bath connections lay forgotten—until a plaque was placed in 2018 on the bicentenary of Frankenstein’s publication, following the efforts of cultural historian Christopher Frayling. Today, visitors can trace her footsteps at the House of Frankenstein, 37 Gay Street, where the city’s echoes of shadow, science, and imagination live on. Sources: Portrait by Richard Rothwell Find a Grave - Tina Jones

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By P Wallace • February 1, 2026
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By Somerset Paranormal • January 30, 2026
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By PJ Wallace • January 18, 2026
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The Hauntings of Curry Mallet Manor

By Somerset Paranormal • January 10, 2026
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By Bath Paranormal • January 3, 2026
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The Sparkford Inn: History and Local Legends

By Somerset Paranormal • December 19, 2025
The Sparkford Inn: History and Local Legends The Sparkford Inn dates back to the 15th century and has long been an important part of the local area. Originally a coaching house, it provided food, rest, and fresh horses for travellers passing through Somerset. Over time, it continued its role as a popular hostelry, later serving those travelling along the A303 and via the nearby railway. The inn has also acted as a posting house and a meeting point for local hunters, making it a well-used social space within the community for many generations. With so many people passing through its doors over the centuries, the Sparkford Inn has developed a strong connection to local history and shared memories. Alongside its historical role, the inn is well known for a number of reported paranormal experiences. The most commonly mentioned is the ghost of a young boy, believed to be around seven years old, who is said to run through the bar, pool room, and dining area. He is often described as giggling and wearing scorched clothing, with visible burns. Other unexplained activity has also been reported, including whispers heard in empty rooms and mild poltergeist behaviour such as objects moving or appliances switching themselves on and off. In addition, the presence of a man and a woman is said to be associated with one of the rooms. These stories have led to investigations into the inn’s haunted reputation and remain part of its ongoing local legend. Have you ever heard of, or experienced, any ghostly encounters at the Sparkford Inn?  © Somerset Paranormal Image created by PJW Artworks

The Enchanted Hawthorn: Somerset’s Tree of Fairies and Protection

By Somerset History & Mystery • November 4, 2025
The Enchanted Hawthorn: Somerset’s Tree of Fairies and Protection In Somerset and across Britain, the humble hawthorn (Crataegus monogyna) weaves its thorny branches deep into local folklore. Revered and feared in equal measure, it stands at the crossroads of magic and faith—guarding thresholds, sacred wells, and the edges of fairy realms. The Miracle of the Glastonbury Thorn Perhaps the most famous hawthorn of all grows—or once grew—upon Wearyall Hill in Glastonbury. Legend tells that Joseph of Arimathea, arriving in England after the Crucifixion, planted his staff into the Somerset soil. Miraculously, it took root and blossomed—flowering not once, but twice a year: in May and again at Christmas. This “Glastonbury Holy Thorn” became a cherished symbol of divine grace, with a sprig from its descendant still sent to the monarch each Christmas.  The Fairy Tree In broader folklore, hawthorn trees are known as “fairy trees”, said to belong to the fae themselves. Lone hawthorns standing in fields or by wells were often left untouched, for fear of offending the otherworldly beings who guarded them. These trees marked boundaries between worlds—places where the veil between the human and the magical grew thin. Many country folk would leave offerings or tie cloth strips, known as clooties, to their branches in hope of a blessing or a wish granted. A Protector in Bloom Despite its delicate blossoms, hawthorn has long been viewed as a tree of protection. It was planted beside homes to ward off lightning and evil spirits, and carrying a sprig was said to keep travellers safe. Yet its power was treated with care: while hawthorn flowers decked the garlands of May Day celebrations, bringing them indoors at any other time was thought to invite death or misfortune. Hawthorn also played a part in hand-fasting rituals, its blossoms symbolising love that endures through both joy and hardship—much like the tree itself, beautiful yet thorned. A Symbol of Thresholds Whether sacred to fairies, blessed by saints, or cherished for its protection, the hawthorn stands as a living symbol of liminality—where life and death, blessing and curse, heaven and earth all meet beneath its boughs. To this day, it blooms as a reminder that even the simplest hedge can hold the heart of a legend. Somerset History and Mystery Image - Somerset Photography

Shadows Among the Ruins

By P Wallace • October 30, 2025
They moved to the village in the spring of 1952, when the hedgerows were just beginning to flower and the air still carried the faint chill of winter. Arthur and Lillian made their home in a low, ivy-clad cottage on the edge of the village green, where the ancient ruined castle loomed over the village like a wounded sentinel. The locals spoke of the castle with the careful hush of those who know better than to invite attention. It had been shelled during the Civil War — a jagged rent in the south wall showed where the cannonball struck, still blackened after three centuries. Yet older evils lingered there too: the witch trials, the whispered confessions, the women led weeping to the moat. Lillian was fond of walking in the evenings, her cardigan buttoned tight, listening to the soft thud of her shoes on the damp lane. The castle drew her — she said it had a sadness about it, like something forgotten but not gone. Sometimes, as dusk fell, she fancied she heard voices by the water, a low murmuring as if the reeds themselves whispered. One night Lillian woke to find the room filled with pale light. From the window she saw her — a woman in flowing white robes gliding across the moat, her head bowed, her hair silvered by moonlight. Lillian thought at first it was reflection, until the figure paused and turned as though sensing she was seen. Her face was lost in shadow, but the impression was of infinite sorrow — and something pleading. Arthur dismissed it as a dream until, a week later, he came in white-faced from the pub, swearing he’d seen a mounted knight pass silently through the square. The horse’s hooves made no sound; its rider was head bowed, the armour dulled by centuries of dust. After that, things changed. Footsteps creaked on the stairs though neither moved, voices — indistinct, pleading, angry — seeped through the night air. Once, during a sleepless, restless Summer night, Arthur stepped outside to breathe in the crisp, ghostly air of the witching hours. Behind him, he glimpsed the faint outline of a grand hall, its walls bathed in flickering torchlight. Shadows of dark, floating figures drifted through the space, while faint strains of music and laughter echoed, as if an ancient celebration were replaying itself in the still of the night. The scene felt suspended between past and present, a secret revelry hidden from the waking world. Drawn by an irresistible curiosity, Arthur moved closer, and the outline resolved into a magnificent castle rising from the edge of a glimmering moat. Its stone walls shimmered under the moonlight, and the water reflected the phantom torches with a trembling glow. Every ripple seemed to whisper the stories of lords and ladies long gone, their mirth and sorrow intertwining in a haunting symphony. Arthur felt as though he had stepped into a memory etched into the very stones, a place where time itself paused to watch and listen. By autumn, the couple had grown accustomed to the castle’s presence. The ghostly whispers and fleeting shapes became part of the quiet rhythm of the village, strange companions rather than threats. They would walk by the moat together at dusk, sometimes catching a glimpse of the pale-robed woman and smile at each other, sharing a shiver that was equal parts fear and fascination. Though the ruins held the weight of centuries and sorrow, life went on. The villagers eventually accepted the couple, and the castle — scarred, mysterious, haunted — remained a reminder that the past is never truly gone and sometimes, on quiet nights, Arthur and Lillian would pause by the moat and hear the softest echo of a distant horse, or the faintest sigh of someone longing for the light — a reminder that even in darkness, there is a strange, enduring beauty. Footnote: While Lillian and Arthur are figments of imagination, the castle itself stands in reality, and the eerie lights, shadows, and unexplained occurrences that inspired this tale are drawn from true ghostly accounts associated with its ancient halls and the surrounding village . © P Wallace - Somerset Paranormal Image © PJW Artworks

Punkie Night: A Somerset Spectre’s Tradition

By Somerset History & Mystery • October 30, 2025
Punkie Night: A Somerset Spectre’s Tradition When the last Thursday of October descends upon Somerset, the air grows chill and the fields of the West Country whisper with an ancient song. For on this night—Punkie Night—children parade through the lanes, their faces lit by the flickering glow of hollowed roots. They chant a haunting refrain that echoes through the darkness: "It’s Punkie Night tonight, It’s Punkie Night tonight, Adam and Eve would not believe, It’s Punkie Night tonight." No soul can say for certain how this eerie rite began. Some claim it is bound to Hallowe’en itself, that night when the veil between worlds thins. The word “Punkie”—an old English name for a lantern—hints at the light that defies the shadows. But unlike the modern pumpkin, these lanterns were once carved from swedes or mangel-wurzels, their twisted grins glowing from pale, gnarled flesh. Others whisper that Punkie stems from punk—tinder that sparks fire—perhaps a clue to the old ways now half-forgotten. Across the centuries, the custom has glimmered in many places: upon the windswept crest of Castle Neroche in the Blackdown Hills, through Long Sutton, and most enduringly, in Hinton St George and Lopen, where the night still belongs to the Punkies. The Legends Behind the Lanterns Local lore tells of the men of Hinton St George, who would vanish to the fair at nearby Chiselborough, returning home drunk and stumbling through the black October night. To find their way, they set candles within hollowed roots, their makeshift lights bobbing eerily in the mist. Yet some tales turn the story on its head. They say it was the women who carved the lanterns—fashioning Punkies from the harvest’s remains—and went searching for their wayward husbands. Some even knocked at doors, begging for mangel-wurzels and candles, their plea giving birth to the Punkie Night song that still drifts through village lanes. Others tell that when the drunken men glimpsed those ghostly lights, they mistook them for spirits or “ghoulies,” fleeing home in terror—proof that even the living may be haunted by their own folly. Though cloaked in folklore, the roots of Punkie Night stretch much deeper—a flicker of Samhain’s ancient fire, carried down through the centuries.  It is a night when the old world breathes again, when lanterns gleam like souls in the dark, and the West Country remembers that not all lights are meant to guide the living. ©Somerset Paranormal #punkienight #somersetfolklore #somersettraditions #somersetpunkienight #Halloween #halloweentraditions