The Ghost at Redwullen Manor

James was a clever boy. Fair enough he nearly always got, COULD DO BETTER, highlighted in his school reports, but it didn't worry him anymore. Once he had got over the shock of a new school at eleven years old, suddenly school work became clear. It all made sense. How that could be didn't faze him either. In fact after the initial euphoria, and both, annoying and delighting his teachers, and making a few enemies amonst the envious classmates, he would sail through any task he was given. He would then sit day-dreaming out of the window. It was with in mind that his English teacher set him the task of finding out about the local country folk in and around the Dartmoor town of Tavistock. This was the reason he was on the road out of town heading for the moors, with a rucksack full of lunch and note paper and pens. 'Keep walking for long enough and I'm bound to find a farmer somewhere' was his naive outlook. Assuming they would have the patience to stop and talk to him came naturally. Out of Brook Lane and the Devon hedges immediately dominated his skyline, apart from the solid looking white chimney, James couldn't see anything but the tarmac road and lots of prickly hedges with very high sides. A very steep hill was the next obstacle to confront him, testing his resolve, but he was still full of enthusiasm so he pumped his legs and climbed steadily. Sweat bursting along his forehead he got to the top, and the hard work had been worth it. The Tavy valley was spread out to his right, and he took several minutes to catch his breath and drink in the scene. The hedge was dotted by gates now and he could see well managed and not so well managed fields as he walked on towards the moors. About a mile along the road and he still hadn't seen anyone. The hedges and fields were full of animal and bird life and they kept his senses full while he travelled. Around an 'S' bend and he could see the figure of a woman in front of him. She seemed to be staggering slightly. He quickly caught up with her and noticed that she was wearing very strange clothes, a very long heavy skirt that trailed the ground and was very dirty along the hem. As he reached her he could see that she was holding an even dirtier rag up to her head. Muttering to herself, she didn't seem to be aware he was there. James had trouble making any sense out of her words, except the word Billy or Bully, every now and then. He thought about asking if she needed any help. She suddenly looked straight at him, startling him with her strange eyes. "I'll be orlright as soon as oi gets 'ome. Me father'll sort Billy out soon as". Then she went back into her shell and seemed to forget he was there. James decided discretion was better than valour and assumed from what she had said that she was close to home. He walked on faster and the next time he plucked up the courage to look around, she was gone. 'Must have gone through one of the gates', he thought, and carried on down the country road. He had completely forgotten the strange woman, when he noticed someone inside the grounds of a big house. Over the Devon bank he could just see the roof of a very large manor, but the man was just the other side, and James could see him from the waist up and he seemed to be doing something with a garden tool of some sort. "Mornin' to you youngun, if oi may ask, what brings you out on the moors, not a place to be on yer own?" The man rested his chin on the long handle of his hoe and looked over the five bar gate at the boy, who, in his eyes was very strangely dressed, probably wasn't much younger than him, but had obviously not seen as much life as he had. The boy for his part, looked back at the man opposite him, it was difficult to tell how old he was, with a stubbly beard, rough dirty clothes, and very muddy boots, he could have been anything from 18 to 30, he could see the well kept gardens behind the man, he obviously took more pride in his work than he did of his appearance. "Perhaps you could help me, I'm doing a project for school about the people on the moors, if I could ask you a few questions, would you mind if I wrote down your answers?" "You'm talkin' but oi'm 'avin' trouble un'erstandin' what you'm sayin' my lad, never 'ad o schoolin' in my day, oi started 'ere as soon as oi was old enough, where you from then son, London or sumwhere loik that?" "No, I'm going to Tavistock College down the road, you accent is very difficult to understand, I've only heard the older people here speak the same way as you." "Hmmmm never moind tha' oi don't sees a lot of people our yere, can't remember the last toim oi spoke to anyone, they goes by on their 'orses, don't seem to notice oi a' all, noses in the air, so anyways boy what's these 'ere questions oi got work to do?"
"When did oi start 'ere, eh? Cor tha's goin' back a foo years, seems oi bin yer ages, back when ol' Courteney still 'ad the place, never seen 'im, 'e lived in London most of the toim." The mans eyes took on a glazed expression as he remembered the past. "Cor oi seen a foo owners come and go since then, they all took it for granted that oi got me job done, kep' it tidy for 'em, never spoke to oi, the children now and again, would run around and annoy me, but oi' didn' really moind, but they soon lost interest as they growed up. The ol' Lord would turn in 'is grave if he saw what the new owners'ad done to the big 'ouse. Knocked bits down, changed all the insides by all 'counts scandlus 'tis. Oi don't never say nothin' moind you, keeps meself to meself, best ways all round. Anyways where was oi? Me da' worked 'ere fust, soon as oi was lo' enough, they took oi on as a 'prentice. Mr Poplar, was the 'ead gardener then, 'e soon showed oi the ropes, so t' speak, oh ar, proper name for a gardener innit? Didn' know all the fancy names for plants and such loik 'till la'er, ol' Mr P as we call 'un even showed oi the basics or reedin' and wroitin', so oi got me schoolin' 'ere, didn' need no fancy collige. Bein' so small then oi got all the weedin' to do, but oi gradually grew, me mother would allus complain tha' oi grew ou' o' me clothes before they was wore out. As oi grew oi was given the prunin' to do, very importan' Mr P. said. He was very strik' but fair, oi learned a lot from ee, stood oi in good stead these years. Anyways, oi'm ramblin' on yer, am oi talkin' to much? Oi sees you scribblin' away there. Right oh, where was oi? Ah, roit, as oi got older oi got more jobs given to oi, when oi got about 18 or so they said oi could 'ave the vegetable garden to look after, dead chuffed oi was, cock o' hoop oi was, walked all the way into town, and decided to treat moiself to a drink, in one of they new places, tha' sold coider an' such loik. Anyways oi took to it, an' that was moi downfall, well oi met a gang o' lads, they seemed all roight, they took the roise out of oi, for a while, didn' mind to much. The sort of leader of this bunch was a lad called Billy Brown, oi called 'un Bully Brown but not to 'is face o'course. 'e was very popular 'cos 'e was goin' to rich one day, when 'e in'erited 'is Da's farm out Mry Tavy way. 'e 'ad a pretty maid taggin' after 'im, real shame, 'e treated 'er rotten, alus shoutin' an' cloutin' 'er, oi felt real sorry for 'er. Had a bit of a soft spot for 'er truths told. One night after we'd bin drinkin' we was on our way back up the Tavy road, Billy an' the maid was shoutin' fit to wake the dead, as we goes 'round a bend 'e ups and clouts 'er one, she goes down an' 'its 'er 'ead on a rock, tell by the blood 'ers dead, we all runs for it. Didn' take oi long to get 'ome tha' night. Next day the Parish Constable comes to arrest me, says oi killed 'er, oi told 'em over and over oi didn' do it, it was ol' Billy, but they say 'e got witness's and they all say oi did it, the magistrate bein' a friend o' 'is father, oi didn't 'ave a leg to stand on. The judge did oi for murder, an' on the 3rd o' june 1751, oi'll never forget it, they 'ung oi down on the crossroads, me mothers 'eart gev out at the the same time,---------Now where's 'e gone, runnin' off loik tha' an' me in full flow. Hoy son yerve dropped yer fancy book, wots on yer then, 3/June/2004, what's that? Looks loik a spiders run over the page, leave it yer 'case 'e comes back. Strange lad, seemed interested, wonder why 'e ran off loik tha'?"