St Albans' Haunted Abbey

From Ghosts of Hertfordshire

Betty Puttick

It was a crisp, cold Christmas Eve as a 16 year old youth made his way up the hill towards the great Norman Abbey, standing serene in the moonlight, dominating the city of St Albans as it had for hundreds of years.

On this special night of the year people should have been flocking there for the Christmas Midnight Mass as the bells pealed out the age-old summons to celebrate the birth of Christ. But the Abbey was dark and silent, the twelve huge bells removed from the belfry, for it was 1944, England was at war, and the young man who let himself in through a side door was there as one of a team of firewatchers. It was their job to spend the night in the Abbey in case of fire bombs, and to make a regular check of the whole building and the fire-fighting equipment. Nights like this, with what people called a 'bomber's moon', required vigilance.

There was no sound but his own echoing footsteps on the stone-flagged floor as Basil Saville made his way through the vast dark shadowy building to the vestry. He walked confidently for, as he had been a chorister, the Abbey was a familiar place to him, but when he discovered that no other fire-watcher had arrived, he had to admit that the thought of guarding this historic edifice on his was a daunting prospect.

But it had to be done, so when no one else came, he set off on the regular tour of the building. It was cold and frosty outside, but the Abbey seemed even colder, with that deep penetrating chill of old churches, and the moonlight filtering faintly through the windows made the shadows even deeper.

Basil felt uneasy, something wasn't quite as it should be, and he tried to shrug off a growing feeling that although his regulation hooded torch revealed nothing untoward, he was not alone in that ancient holy place.

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He followed his usual route through the Abbey, checking the water containers, stirrup pumps and hoses as he went, until he reached the Saint's Chapel where the Shrine of Saint Alban stands, and an early 15th century watching chamber from which monks used to keep a vigilant eye on pilgrims visiting the martyr's shrine.

The feeling that he too, was being watched was very strong now, and as Basil shone his torch high up into the watching chamber he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as he thought he could glimpse two hooded figures. He called out, then climbed the rickety old staircase up to the loft, but his torch revealed no intruders and he knew no one could have passed him. His heart beat faster as he noticed two monks' habits lying there on the floor, but Basil tried to reassure himself that they must have been used for some theatrical production, although he could not recall anything of the kind.

He was relieved to reach the blacked out Lady Chapel where at last it was possible to switch on some light, and he sat for a while trying to collect his thoughts, conscious of the lonely emptiness around him, then continued his patrol.

On his way to the twisting staircase which led to the roof he almost fell against one of the Abbey's 12 great bells which had been stored on the ground floor for the duration of the war. But as he climbed into the upper regions above the nave he all but lost his balance as suddenly a bell began to toll in the belfry. How could this be happening? Hadn't he nearly tripped over one of the bells down below? And yet the steady tolling went on, so summoning his courage he opened the belfry door as the sound died away and found, as he knew he would, that there were no bells hanging there.

The tolling had stopped and, confused and at a loss to understand his extraordinary experiences, Basil climbed out on to the roof of the tower, standing there in the moonlight, grateful for the cold fresh air on his face.

But the events of that strange Christmas night were not yet over. As he started back down the stairs, the organ began to play and looking towards the organ loft he saw a candle flickering by the console but could not see the organist. Instinctively he called out the fire-watcher's familiar warning - 'Put that light out' - and moved to get a better view.

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There was no one seated at the organ and yet, from his vantage point above, Basil could see the pages of a book of music turning, and the organ keys being depressed by unseen fingers. Then suddenly from the direction of high altar came a glorious burst of singing.

Hardly knowing what he was doing, Basil hurried down stairs and through the Abbey towards the choir stalls. The music had stopped now, but as he looked towards altar he saw a magnificent sight. A procession of monks with their abbot, all holding candles, were leaving the high altar and passing through the screen doors into the Saint's Chapel. The doors closed behind them, and Basil followed to the chapel, only to find it empty and in darkness. He ran back and climbed up to the organ loft and, in the light of his torch, found a spent candle and a book of music. Here at least was some tangible evidence that he had not imagined the whole extraordinary experience.

The book was quite large, with plain black covers and yellowing manuscript pages. Opening it he read the title, Albanus Mass by Robert Fayrfax.

Back in the vestry, he was relieved to find his fellow fire-watcher had arrived. The other man had apparently heard and seen nothing, and together they went round the Abbey again, as Basil told his companion about the strange events he had witnessed. But when they reached the organ loft the used candle he had seen was no longer there, and the two monks' habits had disappeared from the floor of the watching loft.

Had it all been a dream? But after all these years the powerful impression of that wartime Christmas Eve remains with him.

'I was stunned by it - overwhelmed,' he recently told me. 'I'm not psychic or anything like that,' he added, 'and I've never seen anything like it either before or since. People may not believe me, but I know it happened.'

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