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 Image © PJW Artworks #punkienight #somersetfolklore #somersettraditions #somersetpunkienight #Halloween #halloweentraditions

The old belief that witches could visit the living in their sleep, pin them down and leave them terrified by morning. Imagine waking in the darkness, conscious of your surroundings but unable to move. Something presses upon your chest. You struggle to cry out, yet no sound comes. Perhaps you sense a presence beside the bed — or see a familiar face watching you from the shadows. For centuries, experiences such as these could be interpreted as something far more sinister than a bad dream. In parts of Britain, people believed they had been visited during the night by a witch or supernatural hag. The experience was known as hag-riding. It was not simply a frightening tale told beside the fire. In the West Country, this belief could have very real consequences, sometimes leading to accusations of witchcraft and physical attacks upon those suspected of causing the torment. What was hag-riding? Hag-riding, sometimes called hagging, was the belief that a witch or malevolent night visitor could attack someone while they slept. Victims might describe a crushing weight upon the chest, difficulty breathing, an inability to move and the terrifying sensation that another being was present. The word nightmare itself has older associations with this nocturnal oppression — the feeling of being held down or crushed by an unseen force. In some traditions, the attacker was imagined as an old woman or hag sitting upon the sleeper's chest. Elsewhere, the experience was blamed on a living person believed to possess harmful supernatural powers. The details varied, but the fear was much the same: something had come in the night, and the victim had been powerless to stop it. A presence in the darkness Today, some of these descriptions sound remarkably like sleep paralysis , a recognised sleep phenomenon that can occur as a person is falling asleep or waking. The mind becomes conscious while the body's temporary muscle paralysis associated with dreaming has not yet lifted. The person may be unable to move or speak, feel pressure upon their chest, or sense an intruder in the room. Some even see frightening figures or shadows. Although sleep paralysis is understood today as a sleep-related phenomenon, it can feel extraordinarily real. Across different cultures, similar experiences have been interpreted as visits from spirits, demons, witches or other supernatural beings. It would be too simple to say that every historical account of hag-riding was a case of sleep paralysis. We cannot know exactly what happened in every instance. But the similarities help us understand how a frightening experience could be interpreted through the beliefs of the time. For someone who believed witchcraft was a real threat, waking unable to move and feeling a presence nearby might seem compelling evidence of an attack. The experience could be terrifying; the explanation depended upon the world in which the person lived. When the nightmare became witchcraft In popular belief, witches were feared not only for supposedly causing illness or misfortune, but for tormenting people through supernatural means. Hag-riding made this threat intensely personal: the supposed witch entered the bedroom and attacked the victim in their most vulnerable moments. If frightening nights continued, a person might come to believe they recognised the attacker. Existing quarrels, local suspicions or a neighbour's reputation could reinforce that conviction. What began as a terrifying experience in the darkness might spill into daylight, becoming an accusation of witchcraft — sometimes with serious consequences. Historian Owen Davies has documented cases of hag-riding accusations in nineteenth-century West Country England, showing that these beliefs survived long after the great period of witch trials had passed. Charms against the hag If the danger was believed to arrive at night, protection had to be close at hand. One object associated with this folklore was the hag-stone — a naturally occurring stone with a hole through it. Such stones were hung near beds or in stables, where they were believed to guard against nocturnal attacks. Horses that appeared exhausted or had tangled manes might also be thought to have been hag-ridden. Prayers and other protective charms could offer reassurance, too. A familiar bedtime prayer was not merely a comforting ritual; it might also be understood as a defence against unseen dangers. These customs belonged to a wider tradition of protective folklore, and not every charm was used specifically against hag-riding. Their meanings varied between places and periods, but they reveal how seriously people could take the threat of supernatural harm. Hag-riding in Victorian Somerset It is easy to imagine that belief in witches disappeared with the witch trials. Yet folklore rarely vanishes so neatly. Historian Owen Davies identified at least six court cases involving assaults connected with hag-riding accusations in Somerset and Dorset between 1852 and 1875. These reports offer a remarkable glimpse into a world where a belief in supernatural attack could still influence real behaviour. One particularly striking case reached the newspapers in January 1875. At Weston-super-Mare, 72-year-old widow Hester Adams was brought before the magistrates after attacking Maria Pring, whom she believed had been tormenting her and her husband at night. Adams described the supposed visitor as appearing spiritually rather than coming bodily, and believed that drawing blood would break the spell. When asked in court what she meant by hag-riding, Adams described it as a person coming to terrify others at night. The case attracted attention well beyond Somerset, with newspapers reporting on a belief many readers considered an astonishing survival from an earlier age. Yet for Adams, this was no mere old wives' tale. She believed she was under supernatural attack and acted against the person she held responsible. The 1875 case was not the only example found in contemporary reports. A Dorset case from 1871 also involved an accusation of hag-riding, in which a young man and an elderly woman were involved. Together, these reports show that the belief was not confined to one extraordinary incident. The last newspaper trail: Somerset, 1929 Nor had the belief entirely disappeared by the end of the Victorian era. In 1929, a dispute between the Sheppard and Lock families on the Somerset peat moors, between Langport and Aller, led to another accusation of hag-riding. Following a series of misfortunes, George Sheppard accused Reuben Lock and his wife of being responsible for the nocturnal torment. This is the latest example I have so far found in the British Newspaper Archive. It does not prove that hag-riding belief ended in 1929, but it offers a remarkable glimpse of an old supernatural explanation surviving into the twentieth century. From frightening experiences in the night to protective stones, accusations of witchcraft and disputes brought into the public eye, hag-riding reveals how deeply folklore could shape people's understanding of the unexplained. The hag might have been invisible to everyone else, but for those who believed they had been ridden in the night, the fear — and sometimes the consequences — were very real. © PJW Image - PJW Artworks Newspaper Articles - British Newspaper Archives 1875

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History - Collett Park owes its existence to John Kyte Collett, a successful businessman who was born in Shepton Mallet in 1836. The story goes that as a boy, Collett was frustrated by being turned off privately owned fields where he and other local children played. He apparently never forgot the experience, and many years later, having made his fortune in Cardiff, he began buying up pieces of land in Shepton Mallet. On 20 June 1906, he presented the land to the town as a public recreation ground, creating the park that now bears his name. Just three years later, in 1909, the park received a royal visit from the Prince and Princess of Wales, the future King George V and Queen Mary, who came to thank Collett personally for his generous gift to the town. Today, Collett Park remains one of Shepton Mallet's much-loved green spaces. Reported Encounter - Perhaps one of the more intriguing stories connected with Collett Park is one with a wartime link. A local story, as told recently on 'The Other Side' BBC Somerset tells of someone walking through the park who saw two young women dressed as Land Girls making their way through the grounds. There was nothing particularly remarkable about them at first — until the realisation dawned that the women appeared to belong to another time. The witness was able to describe the women's Victory roll hair styles, clothing, they had gasmask bags and the fact they were deep in conversation together, she thought they were real people, re enactors or in costume for something, but she looked back to check on her dogs and they had vanished..! She checked local events and couldn't see anything that would explain why they were there.. The Women's Land Army was very much a part of life in rural Somerset during the Second World War, with young women sent to work on farms and in agriculture as part of the wartime effort. So two Land Girls walking through Shepton Mallet would once have been an entirely ordinary sight. Today, however, a fleeting glimpse of two young women in wartime clothing feels rather different — perhaps a rare privilege, to catch a moment from the past lingering quietly in the present, a brief glimpse of what might be a residual haunting. Source - The Other Side - Secret Somerset - BBC/ Luke Knight Listen here - Secret Somerset - The Other Side - Land girls in the park - BBC Sounds Image - PJW Artworks Photo - Shepton Mallet Nub News

Elder A Tree of Spirits, Stories and Somerset Superstition. Among the hedgerows of Somerset, the elder tree stands quietly — but never entirely innocently. For centuries, elder has been treated with a curious mixture of respect, usefulness and superstition. Across Britain, it has been associated with healing, protection, witchcraft, spirits and death. At the heart of much elder folklore is the belief that the tree is inhabited — or protected — by a female spirit known as the Elder Mother, the Old Lady or the Old Girl. And in Somerset, elder has its own darker stories. The Elder Mother: Spirit of the Tree The Elder Mother was said to dwell within the elder tree and to take offence if her wood was cut without permission. In some parts of England, anyone wishing to take a branch was expected to ask the tree's permission first. One traditional charm was: “Old Woman, give me some of thy wood and I will give thee some of mine when I grow into a tree.” The wording varies between traditions, but the meaning is the same: the tree was not to be treated as ordinary wood. To take elder without permission could bring bad luck or illness, and stories were told of people who suffered misfortune after offending the spirit of the tree. The belief was strong enough that elder wood was sometimes avoided altogether for household objects. The idea of the Elder Mother was not confined to Somerset. Similar traditions are found across Britain and Scandinavia, where the spirit was sometimes known by names such as the Danish Hyldemoer, or Elder Mother. * A Witch in the Somerset Elder Somerset has its own particularly strange elder-tree tale. In the story, a farmer sees what appears to be an old woman — a witch — beneath or within an elder tree, and discovers that she has been secretly milking his cow. He shoots at her with a silver bullet, but misses. The witch flees towards the farmhouse, where the farmer's grandmother takes matters into her own hands. She picks up a burning coal from the fire and throws it at the elder tree. The witch is killed. It is a wonderfully Somerset kind of folktale: an ordinary rural setting, a familiar farmyard, and something distinctly supernatural hiding amongst the hedgerows. The story is recorded as a Somerset folk-tale in discussions of the Elder Mother and elder-tree witch traditions. * Never Burn Elder Wood Elder also acquired a reputation as wood that was best left alone. Across British folklore, burning elder could be considered unlucky, and stories warned of what might happen if the wood was brought into the home or put upon the fire. The Elder Mother might follow the wood indoors, bringing trouble with her. Other traditions said that the wood's popping and cracking in the fire was the sound of the spirit protesting. There was also a practical reason for elder's unusual reputation: its hollow, soft wood was not especially desirable as ordinary firewood, while the tree itself was valued for food, medicine and numerous household uses. So the warnings surrounding elder may have helped preserve a useful tree as much as they expressed supernatural fear. *Witches, Protection and Magic Elder has always had a distinctly double-sided reputation. It could protect — but it could also punish. In English folklore, elder was associated with protection from evil spirits, witches, lightning and other dangers. Elder branches or crosses were sometimes used around barns, houses and livestock. At the same time, witches were believed in some traditions to be able to take the form of elder trees. The tree therefore occupied an uneasy place in folklore: protector, healer, witch and spirit all at once. An old English tradition even held that elder could protect against lightning, while carrying elder twigs could guard against certain ailments. *Healing, Magic and the Elder Berry For all its darker associations, elder was also one of the great useful plants of traditional rural life. Its flowers and berries were gathered for food and medicine, and elder preparations appear throughout historical herbal traditions. Elderflower was used in traditional remedies for fevers and other complaints, while elderberries were made into syrups, wines and other preparations. This mixture of practical usefulness and supernatural reputation is perhaps what makes elder folklore so fascinating. It was a tree that could feed you, heal you — and, according to the old stories, take offence if you treated it badly. Kew notes the elder's long-standing reputation as both protector and avenger, with the Elder Mother said to curse those who harmed the tree. *Death, Spirits and the Elder Tree Elder's association with death is another recurring strand of its folklore. The tree was connected with spirits, witches and the boundary between the living world and the supernatural. In some traditions, elder growing around places associated with the dead was seen as protective. Its connection with both beginnings and endings has given elder an especially liminal character in folklore. It belongs to the hedgerow, the cottage garden, the churchyard and the boundary — places where the ordinary world and the supernatural have traditionally been imagined to meet. *A Tree of the Hedgerow Perhaps this is why elder feels so at home in Somerset folklore. It is not a grand ancient oak standing alone on a hill. It is the tree beside the lane. The tree growing through the hedge. The white blossom beside the cottage. The dark berries appearing at the end of summer. The ordinary tree that, according to generations of rural stories, might contain something watching from within. The folklore of elder is found throughout Britain, rather than belonging exclusively to Somerset. But Somerset has contributed its own memorable stories — including the tale of the elder-tree witch — to a much wider tradition surrounding this curious and much-feared tree. **Folklore Disclaimer This piece explores traditional folklore, superstition and rural belief. Elder folklore varies considerably between regions and communities, and not every custom was practised everywhere. The traditions described here belong to the wider folklore of Britain, with particular reference to West Country and Somerset material where this can be identified. They should be understood as folklore and oral tradition rather than established historical fact. Folklore is cultural memory: a mixture of belief, superstition, storytelling and local tradition. *Sources & Notes This article draws on established British and European elder folklore, including: Katharine Briggs, A Dictionary of Fairies Charlotte Sophia Burne, Shropshire Folk-Lore Christina Hole, English Folklore Nicholas Culpeper, The Complete Herbal Folklore Society collections and published folklore studies Historical and botanical accounts of elder traditions The Elder Mother, the custom of asking permission before cutting elder, the tree's associations with witches and spirits, and its medicinal uses are all well-established elements of elder folklore. The Somerset elder-tree witch story is a particularly useful example of how these wider traditions became part of local West Country storytelling. © Somerset Paranormal Read more on my new Substack publication - Somerset Hidden History, Mystery & Folklore | Penni Wallace | Substack Images - flowerfairies. com, RitaE - Pixabay Petals and Stone - Somerset

Born on 16 December 1775, Jane Austen remains one of England’s most beloved authors — yet her relationship with Bath was complicated. She lived in the city for several years, drew inspiration from it, disliked it intensely, and ultimately left with a sense of relief. But with such a strong connection to the place, some wonder whether her spirit ever returned. Jane Austen’s Bath Years (1801–1806) When Jane Austen moved to Bath in 1801, the city was a fashionable spa resort, bustling with visitors seeking health, society, and entertainment. Although she never warmed to the city, Bath became the backdrop for two of her six published novels: Northanger Abbey and Persuasion. During her association with Bath — roughly six years — she lived in four different houses, each marking a chapter of her family’s shifting circumstances. 1799 – 13 Queen Square Jane stayed here for a month with her mother during a summer visit. 1801–1804 – 4 Sydney Place After her father, Rev. George Austen, retired from his parish at Steventon, the family settled at 4 Sydney Place. A bronze plaque now marks it as Jane’s principal Bath residence. 1804–1805 – 27 Green Park Buildings The Austen’s moved here on a short lease. It was in this house that Jane’s father died in January 1805. 1805–1806 – 25 Gay Street Jane, her mother, and her sister Cassandra relocated to Gay Street, close to what is now the Jane Austen Centre. They remained only a little over a year before leaving Bath permanently. By the summer of 1806, the family departed for Clifton, then Southampton, and finally Chawton, Hampshire, where Jane spent eight productive years before her death in 1817. She is buried in Winchester Cathedral. Her Feelings About Bath Despite Bath’s influence on her writing, Jane Austen never hid her dislike of living there. After leaving, she wrote to her sister Cassandra: “It will be two years tomorrow since we left Bath for Clifton, with what happy feelings of escape.” Her novels echo this sentiment. In Northanger Abbey, Isabella Thorpe famously complains: “I get so immoderately sick of Bath… we would not live here for millions.” Yet Austen’s detailed observations of Bath society — its balls, promenades, gossip, and social rituals — are woven seamlessly into her fiction. Even if she disliked the city, she understood it intimately. Did Jane Austen’s Ghost Ever Return? With four Bath addresses tied to her life, and two novels rooted in its streets, it’s natural to wonder whether Jane Austen’s spirit lingers in the city she escaped from. There are no confirmed sightings of her ghost in Bath — no documented hauntings at Queen Square, Sydney Place, Green Park Buildings, or Gay Street. But the idea persists in local imagination. She may not have loved Bath, but her connection to it was undeniably strong. The Jane Austen Festival — Bath Today Bath’s relationship with Jane Austen has transformed dramatically since her lifetime. Every September, the city hosts the Jane Austen Festival, one of the largest Regency celebrations in the world. Thousands of visitors arrive in period dress, filling the streets with promenades, dances, readings, and theatrical events. It’s a striking contrast: a city she once longed to escape now celebrates her with devotion. If her spirit ever did wander back, she would find Bath transformed — not the fashionable spa she disliked, but a place where her legacy is cherished. Perhaps that’s why the question remains open: Did Jane Austen ever return to Bath in spirit? Maybe… maybe not — but Bath shaped her life so deeply that the question remains an intriguing one. It would certainly be interesting to know whether any of her former homes have ever reported unusual activity. After all, dislike or not, Bath shaped her life — and her literature — in ways that lasted long after she left.  Created by P Wallace/Bath Paranormal, with AI assistance for writing clarity. **All research, structure, and content choices are my own. This piece draws on publicly available details and historical references.**

On the rise of Lynch Hill, between Emborough and Chilcompton, stands a house with a quiet presence and a surprisingly tangled identity. Today it is private accommodation, closed to the public and folded back into the landscape. But for decades it was known as The Court Hotel , a place whispered about for its resident ghost — a tall figure in old‑style judicial robes, said to be Judge George Jeffreys, the infamous “Hanging Judge” of the Bloody Assizes. It’s a story that has circulated for years. But when you trace the building’s history, the legend begins to unravel. Linch House: The Building Before the Myth Early maps from the 1800s list the property not as a court, nor as a hotel, but as Linch House . The name comes from the Old English hlinc, meaning a ridge or boundary terrace — a clue that the house stands on land shaped by centuries of agricultural use and early settlement. Somerset is full of “lynch” place‑names marking old field systems and medieval terraces, and Linch House fits neatly into that pattern. This tells us something important: the building began life as a private residence , not a judicial building. Its position on the ridge, overlooking the surrounding lanes, would have made it a desirable spot for a small manor or gentleman’s house. Nothing in its early naming or placement suggests any connection to legal proceedings, assize courts, or the machinery of 17th‑century justice. The 20th‑Century Reinvention: From Linch House to The Court By the time of the 1947 map, the house had adopted a new name: The Court. This kind of renaming was common in the late Victorian and early‑20th‑century period, when rural manor houses often took on grander titles to reflect status, aspiration, or simply fashion. “Court” was a popular choice — it sounded distinguished, landed, and steeped in heritage, even if the building had never hosted a single legal proceeding. This change is the hinge on which the later folklore swings. Once the house became The Court, it became easy — almost inevitable — for people to assume it had once been a court house. And once that assumption took hold, the next step was equally predictable: attaching the name of the West Country’s most notorious judge, George Jeffreys. Judge Jeffreys: A Legend Looking for a Home Jeffreys’ reputation during the Bloody Assizes of 1685 was so severe that his name has become a kind of folkloric shorthand for cruelty. Inns, manor houses, and old buildings across Somerset and Dorset have stories linking him to their walls, often without any historical evidence. In the case of Linch House — later The Court — there is no record of Jeffreys ever visiting the property. His documented circuit passed through Wells, Taunton, Exeter, Dorchester and Salisbury. Emborough and Chilcompton do not appear in any official accounts of the Assizes. The Jeffreys connection here is almost certainly a 20th‑century invention , born from the building’s new name rather than its past. But the haunting itself? That’s a different matter. The Haunting: A Figure on a Familiar Path Witnesses from the hotel era — both staff and guests — describe a tall figure dressed in old‑style clothing, interpreted as judicial robes. He appears in the hallway, walks through what was once the original front door (now sealed), crosses the garden with deliberate purpose, pauses beneath a massive oak tree, and fades away. Even when the apparition doesn’t appear, people have reported the sound of the old front door opening and closing — a door that no longer exists. It’s a quiet, looping haunting. No theatrics. No messages. Just a repeated moment, as though someone is still following a familiar route. And once you remove the Jeffreys myth, the figure becomes far more plausible: a former resident of Linch House, replaying a routine from long before the building was ever called The Court. A Residual Haunting, Not a Judicial One Residual hauntings — those that replay a moment like an echo — often reflect: habitual paths daily routines emotionally charged places long‑term residents The apparition’s behaviour fits this pattern perfectly. He walks a known route, pauses at a known spot, and disappears. Nothing about the haunting suggests a judge delivering verdicts or a figure tied to the Assizes. It feels domestic, not judicial. The “judge” interpretation likely came after the building was renamed The Court, colouring how witnesses described what they saw. What Stands There Today The Court Hotel has long since closed. The building is now believed to be private accommodation, likely converted into flats. The old signage is gone, the car park is quiet, and the house has returned to its original role as a private residence — much like it was when it was still Linch House. Whether the haunting continues is unknown. If the figure is a residual imprint, he may still walk his path regardless of who lives there. If he is something more conscious, perhaps the new residents have seen him — and simply chosen not to share it. A Legend Born From a Name In the end, the haunting of The Court is a story shaped as much by the building’s changing identity as by anything supernatural. A private house becomes The Court, a name invites a legend, and a ghost becomes tied to a judge who never set foot there. Strip away the myth, and what remains is still compelling: a quiet house on a ridge, a figure walking a familiar path, and a story that has grown and shifted with the building itself. Sometimes the truth is simpler. Sometimes the folklore is louder. And sometimes a haunting doesn’t need a famous judge — just a house with a long memory. Images - Google Streetview 2016 Maps - Know your Place - 1888 (Linch House) 1947 (The Court) Articles - British Newspaper Archives  Created by Somerset Paranormal, with AI assistance for writing clarity. All research, structure, and content choices are my own. *UPDATE - On looking through the British Newspaper Archives I have found a few interesting things, Lynch House has been bought and sold quite a few times, as I have found a lot articles of it for sale in different years, it hasn't been in the hands of one family at all, it was let out in 1894, residents include FH Knight, who put in the telephones in 1933, also a Milicent Whitehouse died there in August 1893. There also seems to have been a fire which destroyed the original house in March 1872, see article, when it was the residence of Major Boyle, no one was injured. A Mr S Daniels owned it up to 1948, but it gets its first mention of being a guest house in 1946. Its earliest appearance in the newspapers I can see is in 1838, when it was owned by Mr Green. So to sum up, lots and lots of owners, a fire? just one death recorded, a female and no unusual or interesting events recorded.

Bath’s Forgotten Corner: The Eerie Legend of No. 1 Orange Grove History - Nos. 1–7 Orange Grove were built between 1705 and 1708 on former Priory churchyard land which was gardens and an orchard beside Bath Abbey, forming one of the city’s earliest commercial terraces. By the 1730s the row already had its distinctive multi‑gabled frontage, facing the fashionable promenade where visitors gathered beneath the 1734 obelisk honouring the Prince of Orange. The shops became part of a lively Georgian hub of busy shops, including a perfumier and Mr Bulls toy shop. In 1897 the architect C.E. Davis refaced the terrace, regularising the gables and rebuilding the corner turret, giving the buildings the striking fairy‑tale silhouette seen today. Behind the neat frontage, the structures remain largely 18th‑century — old cellars, thick walls and uneven floors that have held centuries of Bath’s social life and gossip! The Haunting of No 1 No. 1 Orange Grove is one of the locations frequently highlighted on Bath’s ghost walks, mainly because of its long‑standing reputation for feeling cold, still and unnervingly oppressive, especially on the top floor. Over the years, people have claimed experiences of being pushed or having objects thrown or moved, which is why the tours describe it as a site of poltergeist‑style activity. These reports are impossible to verify and are almost certainly exaggerated for dramatic effect, but the building’s uneasy atmosphere has been talked about locally for a long time. Today No. 1 stands empty, previously an Antiques shop, owned by an elderly landlord, where the rooms lay untouched, adding to the sense of a place suspended in time. Whether the stories grew from genuine experiences or simply from the mood of an old, unused 18th‑century building, No. 1 remains the address most associated with Orange Grove’s darker folklore. Facts and Thoughts - There are mentions of a fire and children perishing, but on researching the address, I have found that there was indeed a small fire, in 1940, but no children perished, just a young maid, who somehow set herself on fire in one of the rooms above at that time a dressmakers and later died in hospital, see the full story below images  No 1 has been a county court office in 1852, a milliners in 1900 and for 30 years or so John Collins was a tobacconist there. I would love to hear from any eye witnesses to paranormal activity in this building, also is there anything reported for the other 6 buildings in the terrace? Real Life at No 1 Sources - Google Streetview 2015 Bath in Time 1945, View over to Orange Grove - 1979, credit - Frank Newport Know Your Place maps

Discover the history and haunting of Cranmore Tower, a Victorian folly on the Mendips with Roman remains, wartime connections and reports of a mysterious ghost.