A spooky tale of ghosts that haunted the Crooked House pub, terrifying those that stayed there

In the dim light, the startled guest could make out a figure, in full Royalist uniform, of an English Civil War trooper.

She was, according to a December, 1930, Express and Star report “fearfully startled”, a phrase that has slipped from the journalistic lexicon. Individuals are now shocked or stunned. They are no longer fearfully startled as in: “Wolverhampton store boss fearfully startled by ram-raid.”

We reported: “Advancing to the foot of her bed, he leaned over it and, looking steadfastly at her, open and closed his mouth in quick succession as if desirous to speak, but for some peculiar reason was unable to utter a sound.

“Convinced by this time that her visitor was a denizen of the other world and no ill-mannered practical joker, the lady became paralysed with fear.

“At last the ghost abandoned its efforts and, moving towards the fireplace, with an infinitely sad expression in its eyes, pointed emphatically at the hearthstone and vanished.

“When she screamed and switched on the bedside lamp all that remained was the disappearing sound of spurs.”

The woman had endured a chilling close encounter with a ghoul that, according to the Express and Star article, was a regular Christmas Eve visitor to the wonky Himley watering hole.

I’m not sure why. The building was erected as a farmhouse in 1765 – long after the Civil War battles – and didn’t become a pub until around 1830.

Yet, in the 1930s, the Cavalier appeared regularly on December 24 and attempted to converse with sozzled regulars.

Tis the season of spirits, a time of ghost stories – and the Crooked House was a favoured haunt for phantoms of the optics. It pulled nearly as many poltergeists as pints.

Now it has gone – razed by fire in August, demolished without permission two days later, where will the spirits who wandered its slanted rooms wander this Sunday?

Spectres such as Spring Heeled Jack, a nightmarish apparition with red glowing eyes, cloven hooves and horns, capable of bounding like a coiled spring over farm buildings.

He was first seen in a lane close to the Crooked House in 1877. Back then, a farmer dared to take a pot-shot at Jack: the bullet simply exploded into a ball of flame and only a patch of scorched, smoking turf betrayed the spot where the demon had stood laughing manically.

What of mischievous Polly, a parlour maid believed to have worked in the farmhouse who stood watch by the inn’s blazing fire? When things went missing, she took the blame.

There’s also the ghost of a landlord, an undead of pensionable age, who would enter the bar as if carrying out an inspection, then vanish.

All will be homeless this Christmas, all will spend this festive season on the streets.

They will not want for company – and quite a few of their new neighbours have been roaming the land since the failed 1605 Gunpowder Plot, which was very much a West Midlands conspiracy.

Two days after failing to blow-up Parliament, the plotters sought sanctuary at Holbeche House, near Himley. It was there, they made a final stand, exchanging musket fire with the Sheriff of Worcestershire’s men in a Butch Cassidy and Sundance Kid style stand-off.

Many have, in death, returned to the site of their destruction, it is claimed.

Those travelling near Himley Hall – only a stone’s throw from the siege – should keep an eye out for Gideon Grove, a groom at Holbeche who was killed while attempting to flee to Wombourne.

He was shot by a posse in swampland close to the hall. Gideon, translucent and dressed in black, has made numerous Christmas appearances, sometimes on horseback, sometimes on foot. The scores of witnesses – mostly motorists - include a police officer.

Is Gideon the product of an over-active imagination, perhaps a visual misconception spawned by too much mulled wine?

Members of Dudley Urban District Council certainly took the ghost seriously enough to place it on the agenda of a December, 1926, meeting.

Bizarrely, minutes unearthed by local historians Richard Pursehouse and Ben Cunliffe, reveal the local authority debated giving a nightwatchman one shilling a day extra for facing Gideon.

The bonus was available to employees engaged in work of “an exceptional disagreeable character”. The meeting discussed at length whether the spirit was an exceptionally disagreeable character.

The watchman first encountered Gideon while guarding road repairs outside the hall, informing his employers of a ghost in “long military cloak”. He could see right through it. “There was nothing there but a skeleton,” the nightwatchman told superiors.

I imagine a belligerent individual, well versed in his rights, aware of the financial benefits of brushes with the other world.

“Not part of my job description, mate,” I can almost hear him say. “No one mentioned ghosts, the union’s going to have to hear about this.”

At the meeting, one committee member asked “if the regulation which empowered the surveyor to pay one shilling a day extra to employees engaged in work of an ‘exceptionally disagreeable character’ would be made applicable to the nightwatchman doing duty near the haunted house”.

The buck was passed. The chairman ruled it was down to the surveyor to decided whether ghouls met the disagreeability criteria and called for further investigation.

The meeting heard the spectre “is in form the same as that reported to have been seen some years ago at Holbeche House, which is about a mile away”.

It was told: “The ghost is said to be that of one of the Gunpowder Plotters, who, after being attainted for high treason for his involvement in the regicide of King Charles I, was hung, drawn and quartered in 1606 after the trial at Stafford Assizes and it was rumoured one of the quarters of his body ‘scattered to the four corners of the kingdom’ ended up near Himley Hall.”

That’s an interesting conclusion by councillors. Local folklore identifies the spook as Gideon, but the local authority appeared to have decided Thomas Wintour – captured alive from Holbeche and sentenced to mutilation – was to blame.

The Crooked House spirits will also encounter many Civil War casualties. A host of Roundheads and Cavaliers have made a beeline from the other side to our region and the Royalist who made 1930s headlines won’t be lonely this Christmas.

We’ve got more spirits than you can shake a pikestaff at.

In June, 1645, King Charles I bedded down his weary, dejected troops in the grounds of Himley Park before heading to bloody defeat at Naseby.

Legend has it, one attempted to desert, was caught and executed. He’ll be floating home for Christmas along the A491, between Wall Heath and Kingswinford. Travellers should keep ‘em peeled for an individual in black velvet, plumed hat and billowing cape.

There’s also a spook taking a cavalier approach to road safety by sprinting along the A456 Hagley Road dual carriageway, close to the Badger’s Sett Pub.

The Black Country Society’s Jack Price reports: “A police officer, returning home from work at around 1am one night, spotted a figure wearing the full attire of a Cavalier running across the dual carriageway.

“The figure halted on the central reservation, but, as the officer approached, launched itself directly in front of the car. Fearing he had hit the man, whom he presumed was wearing fancy dress, the officer stopped his car and began looking for the body, only to find absolutely nothing.”

It is a time for ghosts. And our region has more than most – Dudley Council even once considered paying one worker a boo-nus for tackling them.

The Crooked House had more spirits than most public houses. Now they are searching for a new haunt. May I suggest a Whetherspooks?