Haunted ground Read online

  Flanker Press Limited

  St. John’s

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Jarvis, Dale, 1971-, author

  Haunted Ground : ghost stories from the Rock

  / Dale Jarvis.

  Includes index.

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-77117-622-4 (paperback).--ISBN 978-1-77117-623-1

  (epub).--ISBN 978-1-77117-624-8 (kindle).--ISBN 978-1-77117-625-5 (pdf)

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from Library and Archives Canada.

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  © 2017 by Dale Jarvis

  all rights reserved. No part of the work covered by the copyright hereon may be reproduced or used in any form or by any means—graphic, electronic or mechanical—without the written permission of the publisher. Any request for photocopying, recording, taping, or information storage and retrieval systems of any part of this book shall be directed to Access Copyright, The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency, 1 Yonge Street, Suite 800, Toronto, ON M5E 1E5. This applies to classroom use as well.

  Printed in Canada

  Cover Design by Graham Blair

  Flanker Press Ltd.

  PO Box 2522, Station C

  St. John’s, NL

  Canada

  Telephone: (709) 739-4477 Fax: (709) 739-4420 Toll-free: 1-866-739-4420

  www.flankerpress.com

  9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund (CBF) and the Government of Newfoundland and Labrador, Department of Tourism, Culture, Industry and Innovation for our publishing activities. We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts, which last year invested $157 million to bring the arts to Canadians throughout the country. Nous remercions le Conseil des arts du Canada de son soutien. L’an dernier, le Conseil a investi 157 millions de dollars pour mettre de l’art dans la vie des Canadiennes et des Canadiens de tout le pays.

  Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Introduction

  Chapter One: Tokens, Premonitions, and the Great Beyond

  The Wiltshire Token Port Union

  Voices on the Labrador Red Bay and Emily Harbour

  Poor Joe Benoit Garia Bay

  The Premonition of the Southern Cross Trinity and Birchy Cove, Trinity Bay

  A Smell of Death Spaniard’s Bay and Carbonear

  Saying Farewell Islington

  One for Sorrow Marystown, Spaniard’s Bay, Bay Roberts, South River, Cape la Hune, and Doctor’s Harbour

  Chapter Two: Shades of Yesteryear

  Ferries and Phantom Ferrymen Bell Island, St. John’s, and Trinity, Trinity Bay

  Mrs. King’s House Boyd’s Cove

  The Ghost of Mrs. Pride Pilley’s Island

  The Mortuary Wreath Crouse

  The Legend of Kitty Casey Elliston

  Astride a Pale Horse Mount Pearl, Mattis Point, and Bay Roberts

  Chapter Three: Historical and Contemporary Legends

  Lights in the Fog Nain, Tors Cove, Head of Bay D’Espoir, Harbour Breton, and Sandy Cove

  The Haunted Trestle Revisited Clarke’s Beach

  Hark! Phantom Drummers and Pipers Marysvale, Brigus, Bay Roberts, and Swift Current

  Mysterious Norsemen L’Anse aux Meadows, Bay de L’Eau, Harbour Mille, and Muddy Cove

  Red Eyes and Rod Stewart Glovertown

  The Webber Western Newfoundland

  Chapter Four: Locations of Mystery

  Buried Treasure and Ghostly Guardians Clarke’s Beach, Bay Roberts, Port de Grave, Torbay, Musgrave Harbour, Bonavista, Shoal Bay, and Money Point

  Father Duffy’s Well Salmonier Line

  Fogo Island’s Many Spirits Fogo Island

  Those Bloody Rocks Tilting, Alexander Bay, New Perlican, Hant’s Harbour, and Red Indian Lake

  The Boulevard’s Black and White Ghost St. John’s

  Chapter Five: Darkness and The Light

  The Devil at the Dance Brigus and Spaniard’s Bay

  Reading the Cards Joe Batt’s Arm

  Wicked Witches St. John’s, Joe Batt’s Arm, Comfort Cove, and Colliers

  The Cat Who Wasn’t There St. John’s and Carbonear

  Heavenly Representatives Carbonear, Bonavista, and Heart’s Content

  Bedtime with the Old Hag Coming soon to a mattress near you

  Works Referenced

  Index

  Acknowledgements

  A great number of people have helped in the production of this book. Thank you to everyone who pointed me to sources, told me stories, read drafts, and helped me track down more information:

  Ryan Adams, Garland Bailey, Rhoda Bailey, Dean Barnes, W. Ritchie Benedict, John Bodner, Erin Boyd, Bruce Brenton, Emma Burry, Ashley Byrne, Eanie Clarke, Marilyn Coles-Hayley, Brittany Corbett, Maggie Courish, Ron Delaney, Gail de Vos, Norma Dollimount, Jenelle Duval, Cynthia Egan, Heather Elliott, Holly Everett, Anne Farrell, Paula Feltham, Chantel Fisher, Mike Flynn, Francis Furlong, Bill Gilbert, Wesley Gosse, Shannon Green, Christine Hennebury, Denise Hennebury, Philip Hiscock, Anastacia Hopkins, Sherry House, Matthew Howse, John Nick Jeddore, Allan Jøn, George Jones, Kelly Jones, Jeff Keeping, Danielle Larmon, Christa Marshall, Pauline Chislett Masters, Eileen Balsom Matthews, Alice Moores, Rebekah Nolan, Gina Noordhof, Angela Noseworthy, Travis George Parsons, Dee Payne, Cindy Pearson, Daniel Penney, June Penney, Barry Penton, Dean Penton, Lloyd Pike, Bride Power, Tony Power, Molly Quinn, Kate Rideout, Sandra Roach, Debbie Robbins, Paula Roberts, Josh Russell, Shirley Ryan, Kharis Samms, Grace Shears, Lynette Snook, Megan Somerton, Dave Sullivan, Victoria Swyers, Alan Taylor, Dwayne Tuck, Grant Tucker, Krista Wall, Kimberley Welsh, Doug Wells, Rhonda Whalen, Lisa Wilson, Harry and Elizabeth Young.

  Thanks as well to those who shared stories but preferred some anonymity: Becky, Brandon, Caitlin, Carolyn, Cindy, Jeff, Julia, Kerri, Krista, Kristin, Louise, Mary, Nadine, Nicole, Ryan, Sandy, Sara, Sheila, Sheldon, Susan, and Tara.

  Introduction

  Searchers for pirate gold may still be held in thrall by legends that linger in Newfoundland. Phantom ships and ghostly lights still presage storm, and fairies dance in grassy dells on moonlit nights. Here in our land history speaks through age-old ballads, ancient custom, and quaint dialects.

  — L. E. F. English, Newfoundland Quarterly, 1949

  The briefly named Short Beach runs between Coley’s Point, Bay Roberts, and Bareneed. Many years ago there was a terrible storm in Conception Bay, and in the wind, rain, and darkness, a schooner ran aground on Short Beach and was dashed to pieces by fearsome waves. All hands were lost, and it is believed that the only survivor of the wreck was a dog.

  On stormy nights in Coley’s Point, a great black hound emerges out of the ocean, dripping wet. It pads up and down over the rocks, howling mournfully in the rain from one end of Short Beach to the other, a supernatural witness to one of Newfoundland and Labrador’s countless shipwrecks.

  Or so the legend goes.

  Every stretch of coastline in the province has a shipwreck story, and many of those have ghostly reminders of those tragedies. Some, like the black dog of Coley’s Point, occur when conditions match the time of the wreck. Some ghost ships appear to warn of coming bad weather, while others reappear on the anniversary of the wreck itself.

  Not every community
has a ghostly shipwreck story, but every community has its own folklore and intangible heritage.

  Yet there is an omnipresent danger in our communities of these stories being lost. We look to our glowing screens and we hungrily devour stories that come from away, while the tales that nourished the imagination of previous generations are sometimes passed over in search of more exotic fare. We are rich in stories here in Newfoundland and Labrador, and we need to ensure that our folklore and our oral history is passed from one generation to the next.

  This collection of ghostly tales is, in a small way, part of that transmission of cultural knowledge. Some of the stories in this book are old, some are new. Some are personal accounts of true hauntings, some are urban or contemporary legends, and some are tales of special places steeped in local folklore. Here, you will meet intriguing characters from Newfoundland and Labrador’s past and present and delve into the lore and legends behind some of our myths, folk beliefs, and fears.

  Enjoy the stories! And, as always, if you have one of your own to share, I would love to hear it.

  Dale Jarvis

  @dalejarvis

  [email protected]

  www.hauntedhike.com

  Chapter One

  Tokens, Premonitions,

  and the Great Beyond

  An old fisherman, who shall be nameless, takes his cranky little boat along to the fishing grounds, now he finds himself in the water, the boat has gone down neath his feet, and the relentless sea has claimed yet another victim. His daughter at home is grief-stricken, yet not entirely unprepared for the terrible stroke.

  Why? Because just a few days before his “Token” had walked into the bedroom fully clad in oil clothes, and sou’wester, and sat down by the side the bed. At the time this happened the man was at his nets and did not return until hours later.

  — Charles Jamieson, Newfoundland Quarterly, December 1928

  The Wiltshire Token

  Port Union

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  In 2014, I got an intriguing email from Chantel Fisher, who was then a seventeen-year-old ghost story enthusiast from Bonavista. Fisher had spent the past summer working at the Heritage Shop in Bonavista and had been reading one of my previous books on Newfoundland ghost stories, Haunted Waters.

  “I notice you have many stories about St. John’s and I would like to see some smaller towns’ stories in your book,” she wrote. “My family has always loved sharing ghost stories and have shared some with me.”

  Fisher then went on to retell one of her favourite family stories, one she had learned from her grandfather. The story is of one of the most common types of stories I hear from Newfoundlanders—a token story.

  A token is where someone has some sort of supernatural warning or premonition that someone close to them is about to die or has just died. In many cases, these stories are quite touching and show the strong emotional ties between relatives. For the most part, these are not evil or angry ghosts, just people who want a chance to say farewell. Rarely are they as dramatic as what happened to Fisher’s grandfather.

  Anguish. Illustration by Tony Johannot, 1838.

  “My pop’s name was Wesley Wiltshire,” Fisher told me. “He’s the one who told me the story.”

  The story took place in the early 1900s, in Port Union, and involved Fisher’s great-grandfather, Ezra Wiltshire.

  “My pop passed away several years ago now,” says Fisher, “but my great-grandfather’s token still remains in my mind. My great-grandfather had a very sick brother who lived with them and slept in their spare bedroom downstairs. He had pneumonia and was too sick to even get up out of bed. One night my great-grandfather checked on his brother and gave him some water before he went to bed.”

  Ezra Wiltshire, 1945. Photo courtesy Sir William F. Coaker Heritage Foundation, Port Union.

  Fisher’s grandfather told her, “Father said that his brother was the same as always and he didn’t think that he’d last much longer.”

  Later that night, Fisher’s great-grandfather and his wife were upstairs in bed, asleep. The husband woke up to the sound of his bedroom door slamming, and he looked up to see his brother, standing at the foot of the bed.

  “Brother?” said the man. “What are you doing here?”

  At this, the brother took hold of the foot of the bed and started shaking the frame with such force that the occupants were almost flung from it.

  “Father didn’t know what to think,” Fisher’s grandfather told her. “He knew his brother was too sick to climb the stairs, let alone take hold of the bed and almost flip them over.”

  When Ezra Wiltshire looked again, his brother had vanished. He looked over at his wife, who had slept on, undisturbed by the commotion, a fact which confused him further.

  “He jumped from the bed and ran downstairs to his brother’s room,” describes Fisher. “When he opened the door, the glass of water was tipped over and his brother was dead in his bed, still warm.”

  The man then knew that his brother had been trying to tell him that he was dying. He covered his brother’s face, and braver than I would be, he went back upstairs for the night.

  Voices On The Labrador

  Red Bay and Emily Harbour

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  Uncle Ambrose Powell, like many men along the Labrador Straits, was a fisherman in the warm weather, and in the colder months he worked his traplines. He had no family of his own, and his mother had passed away some time before. One spring, Uncle Ambrose went out to set his traps, and while on the trapline a strange, disembodied voice saved his life.

  I heard the story of Uncle Ambrose from Alice Moores of Red Bay, who is a fine storyteller. Uncle Ambrose Powell was one of her ancestors, a Red Bay gentleman who died in the mid-1900s.

  Once he arrived at his cabin on the trapline, Uncle Ambrose settled himself away and got his supper started. Outside, wind and wolves howled in the cold Labrador night.

  “The tilt wasn’t very tight,” describes Moores, “so you had the wind whistling through the tilt, through the boards.”

  Suddenly, the man heard a voice.

  “Like anyone would, he questioned what he was hearing, and he blamed it on the wind,” Moores says, “but it seemed as if this particular voice was telling him ‘Go home tomorrow, Ambrose.’”

  The voice had a familiar ring to it, but he shrugged it off and went about his business.

  “He got his supper ready, and he cleaned up from supper,” continues Moores. “Then he settled back in the heat of the cabin. He had a nice fire going, and he smoked his pipe. He filled his pipe full of tobacco, and he set back to relax a bit after a long day’s walk.”

  Uncle Ambrose was not settled long before he heard the voice again, a little bit closer.

  “Go home tomorrow, Ambrose,” said the voice.

  “He thought about it,” says Moores, “and the voice seemed to be a little bit familiar, but he still wasn’t sure that it was anything to it, and he was still a little bit hesitant. So he said, ‘If I hear this voice one more time, and I can recognize who it is that’s talking to me, then maybe I’ll listen.’”

  The man did not hear anything else for a while. He got squared away into his bunk and settled down for the night. Everything was quiet except for the wind, which still howled mournfully outside.

  Then he heard the voice again, this time quite loud and very close to his ear.

  “Go home tomorrow, Ambrose.”

  “Yes, Mother,” said Ambrose. “Tomorrow I’ll go home.”

  “The next morning, Ambrose packed up all his things and set off to go home,” says Moores. “He arrived home just shortly before spring broke, and he never returned to the country again.

  “As far as I know, that is a true story. He did come home, and shortly after he got home, spring broke.
If he hadn’t come home, he would not have gotten home, because there are some very large rivers and brooks that you have to cross, and if they had broken up, there was just no way. He would have been stuck outside and perished then, for sure.

  “That’s the story of Ambrose.”

  Uncle Ambrose was not the only one to hear voices from beyond while exploring the wilds of Labrador. In 1949, a fifteen-year-old girl named Louise left Conception Bay to go up working on the Labrador for the first time. She set off with her father and three other men. Her father had a fishing room in a little place call Tar Barrel in Emily Harbour, five miles below Smokey on the way up to Nain. There, the girl worked cooking, working in the stage, splitting fish, and heading fish. As she put it, “whatever a man could do, I’d do it.”

  At the time that Louise and her father’s crew were working on the Labrador, the fish was sold to J.W. Hiscock’s in Brigus. A quintal (112 pounds) of dried fish would fetch between $4.50 to $5, if they were lucky. Much earlier, in the late 1800s, fish from Emily Harbour was sold to J. Munn and Company, with the agent at that time being George Apsey. James Ryan of Bonavista also had an economic interest in Emily Harbour, as his 1902 will and testament show that he and Daniel A. Ryan were equal partners in a mercantile premises at Emily Harbour.

  Emily Harbour was a regular stop for the mail steamer which ran between the first week of July and ended about the first week of November. Emily Harbour was also noteworthy as being the final resting spot of the schooner Shamrock of the Rorke firm, which burnt in the harbour while loading fish.

  There were thirty crews in the Emily Harbour area in the late 1940s and early ’50s, but Louise spent most of her first days alone. Every morning, she would get up at four o’clock, make bread, scrub clothes with the washboard, and do other chores while the men went out jigging. They would return around one or two o’clock.