My mind is currently dwelling in
the world of superstition, ghosts and all things supernatural. This of course
is down to my latest release, Laurel’s Gift, being a tale of a haunted house
and the ghostly child who dwells there. I don’t know why it’s taken me so long
to write a story containing a ghost, as I’m probably considered strange by more
than a few because of my belief in ghosts and other unworldly things. I’ve made
no secret of the fact that I have seen my share of ghostly figures. Some would
try to explain it away as a vivid imagination. I can live with that, as part of
being a writer is doubtless being able to imagine what some might think unimaginable.
I had my own fairy as a small
child. Not a ghost for sure, but she was very real to me and would help me
overcome my fear of the dark by visiting me at bedtime to keep me company. I
loved holidaying in Cornwall and Devon, and perhaps part of that love was
because of the Cornish folk’s strong belief in their legends, ghost stories and
the many myths that abound there. I saw my first ghost while holidaying near
Lynton in Devon. My husband slept soundly at my side when this sensation that
someone else shared our room came over me. I think I was scared at that time, but
since then have become used to it. It’s never bothered me when members of my
family come to say their last goodbyes before moving on. In fact I was upset
after my dear sister passed away in January as she was the only one who didn’t
come visit straight away. But I’ve seen her twice since, where she was at
peace, surrounded by all our loved ones who had gone before.
I’ve just been watching the latest
season of Outlanders, Diana Gabaldon’s famous series adapted for TV, where
Claire goes through standing stones to get back in time to meet up with her
Scottish Jamie. Well Cornwall abounds with its own share of these standing
stones, perhaps the most well-known (to me at least) being those on Bodmin
Moor. The Hurlers derived their name
from the group of men who were caught playing the Celtic sport of hurling on
the Sabbath, and because of this sinful act were turned to stone where they
stand petrified to this day.
Another great Cornish story is
about the ghost of a lady in white who is seen on Marazion Green jumping onto a
horse behind the rider and then the pair gallop off, presumably into the
sunset.
I enjoyed telling the story of Laurel
and her ghostly child so much. It was one of those tales that more or less told
itself without a lot of help from me. I know little of psychics and their
abilities, but can understand that some consider them charlatans. One of my
nieces shares my affinity with ghosts and to my surprise at a recent family
gathering my nephew, the last person I would have expected to do this, admitted
that he’d been to see a psychic after my sister’s death and she told him a couple
of things that made him sit up and take notice. Call it silly superstition and
gobbledegook but we all have a right to our beliefs and fancies.
Another good site to visit if you share my interest in superstition and folklore:
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