Irish Ghost Tales (11 page)

Many other graveyards were targets of the medical students or those who made robbing graves their profession. The largest cemetery in Ireland – Glasnevin Cemetery in Dublin, which was laid out in the eighteenth century – had a high wall with strategically placed watchtowers, as well as bloodhounds, to deter body snatchers. Even as late as 1853, a pack of Cuban bloodhounds was on patrol in Glasnevin cemetery.

Dublin's proximity to the sea meant that Irish corpses were exported to England and Scotland in barrels and crates so they could be sold to their medical schools.

Once corpses were dug up they were stripped of everything and just the body was taken. The reason for this was that if you took anything from the corpse it was considered a theft. The government tended to turn a blind eye to grave robbing as it was seen as a way of advancing medical science. The corpse would be placed on a cart and hauled away. Some of the body snatchers would wrap cloth around the horse's hoofs to muffle the noise and some would put an old coat on the corpse and walk it out of the graveyard, pretending it was a drunken friend.

A full-size display of the techniques used by body snatchers can be found in the museum at Glasnevin Cemetery, now calling itself ‘Ireland's Necropolis'. As you descend into the basement, aptly named ‘The City of the Dead', you will see many exhibits illustrating this macabre trade in the dead.

O
ne of the hazards of grave robbing was finding corpses that showed evidence of having been buried alive. During the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, cholera was rife. It left its victims looking wasted and lifeless. So many sufferers were buried alive that it was the subject of a painting by Antoine Wiertz, a contemporary of Edgar Allen Poe. However, accounts of live burial have been recorded throughout history. In the thirteenth century the philosopher John Duns Scotus was reportedly found outside his coffin with his hands torn and bloody after attempting to escape.

Edgar Allan Poe wrote ‘The Premature Burial', which was published in 1844. It contained accounts of supposedly genuine cases of premature burial, as well as detailing the narrator's own perception of interment while still alive.

The general fear of premature burial led to the invention of many safety devices which could be incorporated into coffins. Many of the designs were patented during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries and variations on the idea can still be found today. Most consisted of some way of communicating with the outside world, such as a cord attached to a bell that the interred person could ring should he or she revive after the burial. A safety coffin of this type appears in the 1979 film
The First Great Train Robbery
. I wonder if this is where the old saying ‘Saved by the bell' came from?

Some designs included ladders, escape hatches and even feeding tubes, but many neglected to think of the need for fresh air.

The first recorded safety coffin was constructed for Duke Ferdinand of Brunswick before his death in 1792. He had a window installed to allow light in, an air tube to provide a supply of fresh air and instead of having the lid nailed down he had a lock fitted. In a special pocket of his shroud he had two keys, one for the coffin lid and a second for the tomb door.

In 1995 a modern safety coffin was patented by Fabrizio Caselli. His design included an emergency alarm, intercom system, a torch, breathing apparatus and both a heart monitor and stimulator.

If you get the chance to visit Dublin and have a few hours to spare then you could pay a visit to Mount Jerome. This nineteenth-century cemetery has a fantastic atmosphere and contains the graves of Sheridan Le Fanu (writer of gothic novels, including one about a female vampire), Oscar Wilde's father, Bram Stoker's father and, most recently, the Dublin gangster known as the ‘General'. Wander around the older part of the cemetery and you will see Greco-Roman temples, angels, urns and a fantastic variety of monuments to those buried there. The Victorians certainly took death seriously.

Have a look at the Harvie memorial; on top of the granite tomb you will see the figure of a grieving dog standing on a cloak. He is howling at the moon, crying out for his master who died by drowning. Later, when the dog died, he was buried in the tomb with his master. Another interesting tomb that brings us back to the fear of being buried alive is the Gresham tomb. It's a large, flat-top, pyramid-style structure made of granite. The cast-iron door bears the family name and coat of arms. The lady buried within had a terrible fear of being buried alive. There is a chain leading from the coffin to a bell on the top of the tomb, which would allow the occupant to raise the alarm if she woke up. Just in case no one was around to hear the bell she also had her coffin constructed with a spring-loaded mechanism that would allow her to escape from within.

Despite the fear of burial while still alive, there are no documented cases of anybody being saved by a safety coffin.

The fear of being buried alive is as old as the hills. Famous bards, such as Shakespeare and Edgar Allen Poe, have written grisly stories on the subject – macabre tales of grave robbers opening coffins only to find that the people within had been buried alive; contorted, petrified bodies of poor unfortunates who, upon waking, found themselves trapped in a box, doomed to die a horrific death. Here follows the story of one such woman …

Margorie McCall was married to a doctor and the couple lived in Lurgan, County Armagh. They were very happy and content with their lot in life. Unfortunately Margorie became ill and even though her husband was a doctor, he was extremely worried. This was the early 1700s and medical science was not what it is today and simple illnesses could prove fatal. Sadly poor Margorie was to succumb to her fever. She passed away and she was buried in Shankhill Church of Ireland cemetery, not far from where they lived in Church Place. Her burial was a speedy one for at that time fever was feared as it was known to spread. This should have been the end of the story.

Margorie was buried wearing a beautiful gold wedding ring. Her husband could not remove it from her finger as her fingers had swollen since her death. People talked of the buried treasure and the resurrection men were listening. Here was a chance to make some easy money; they could sell the body and the ring. That evening, before the earth she had been buried in had time to settle on poor Margorie's coffin, the boys paid her grave a visit. In the cemetery they worked under cover of darkness, digging down silently until they heard the scrape of the spades upon the lid of her box. They reached down and prised off the lid.

They saw the glitter of gold upon her finger. They attempted to remove the ring, it would not budge. Well, times were hard and money was as tight as that ring, so they decided they were not about to let such a prize go so easily. She was dead already so she wouldn't need her finger, would she? It was agreed that they would cut off the finger to free the ring.

Unfortunately for them, the shock of the knife slicing through her finger was just what she needed to wake her up from the catatonic state she had been in. She sat up, eyes wide, and screamed like a banshee. Some say that one of the body snatchers had a heart attack and dropped dead on the spot while others say they took off like the devil himself was after them, never to be seen again. They were even reported to have given up their rather profitable trade. Margorie rose from her grave and began to stagger to her home nearby.

Back at the house her husband was talking to some relatives who had remained behind after the burial when he heard a bang at the door. He stood up, went to the door and opened it. There, as if in a scene from a horror film, stood his wife. She was still wearing her dirt-covered death shroud and she was dripping blood from where her finger had been severed. Some stories claim that he dropped dead from fright and was buried in the plot of ground his wife had recently vacated. The poor relatives are not mentioned and it's unsure whether they were pleased to see her alive or upset to see him drop dead.

It is said that Margorie went on to remarry and to have a number of children. Some even believe she was pregnant when she rose from the grave. She is still seen wandering the cemetery at night, although you would think she had had enough of that place. If you visit the graveyard you will see her gravestone, upon which is written, ‘Here Lies Margorie McCall, Lived Once, Buried Twice'.

T
he ancient Celts believed that when they died their spirits travelled to the other world, a place where the supernatural reigned, home of the dead and kingdom of the fairies. This was a place of beauty or dread, hope or despair, depending on how you had lived your life and even how you had died. At certain times the dead could return to the world of the living in order to influence decision-making and even interact with the living. They did not, however, return in spirit form but in a solid form; in fact, they could look the same as when they had been alive. They would eat, drink, make merry and take part in activities they had enjoyed in life. Here in Ireland, it was customary to set an extra place at the table for the returning entity at certain times of the year, such as Bealtaine or Samhain. It was at these times that the veil separating the two worlds was at its thinnest, the barriers were down and the dead could cross over. The dead didn't just come back to enjoy earthly pleasures though; they could return in order to warn you of some impending disaster, to offer advice, to complete some unfinished business or to take revenge on those still living.

The coming of Christianity to Ireland changed the way death was viewed. The pagan belief in the other world did not marry well with heaven and hell, so a clever compromise was reached: purgatory, a place where the soul could wait before it received its final reward or punishment. It proved to be a lucrative compromise. The soul's wait in purgatory could be shortened or ended so the soul could carry on to heaven and its final reward. However, there was a catch: in order to gain freedom from purgatory, the soul needed prayers to be said and a mass celebrated in its name. The only one who could perform this function was the priest, who had to be paid for his service. The Church decided to set up a special day for the purpose of saying mass for the souls of the departed. This day was called All Souls' Day and it fell on with the Celtic festival of Samhain, perhaps not coincidentally. The Church even taught the people that the dead could return for one night only. This was to remind the living of their obligation to them. And woe betide those who failed to pay, for the dead would have their revenge. The clergy also told their parishioners that this obligation to the dead included making sure they had a proper Christian burial, which also necessitated paying the Church.

This notion of the vengeful dead soon caught on, and people began to fear returning spirits. They even thought the dead could punish them by harming their livestock or making them weak by drinking the blood of their farm animals. It was just a small step from domestic beast of the field to their own families; if the animals could be attacked then why not the members of the family? The myth of the vampire was born. Years later Irish vampire stories were written by Carmilla, Sheridan Le Fanu and of course, the most famous of all, Bram Stoker.

In Irish folklore you will find many stories about vampire-like creatures. One tale, from the Dublin Mountains, is about a priest who returns from the grave to drink his mother's blood …

Once upon a time, long, long ago, there was an old widow who lived in a remote mountainous area just outside Dublin with her son. The community she lived in was scattered over a large area and although she felt lonely at times, at least she had her young son to keep her company. As he grew up her son spent most of his time walking the hills and valleys, either reading books given to him by some of their neighbours or just communing with nature. She noticed that as time went by her son seemed to become more withdrawn. He spent less time at home and avoided contact with any visitors to their little cottage. The widow decided that she would speak to the priest who came to their community every Sunday to say Mass. He was from the town and she believed he would know what to do.