GARRET CHILL, ASTON HALL, BIRMINGHAM... (My poem about a spooky moment...)

 Garret Chill, Aston Hall, Birmingham…

Winter. Breath shifts.

I watch it pirouette 

Then dissipate as

Greyness wisps around deep polished brown.

Alone. Gaze drifts.

I peruse the Garret

Then cogitate as

Wry shudders turn to a perturbed frown.

Fear. Assurance lifts.

I succumb to threat

Then vacate, as

Strayed wraiths hover above me, then prowl down...

Pete Ray

Aston Hall, Birmingham, 1980s. 

I was upstairs, near Dick’s Garret, where one of Sir Thomas Holte’s daughters was said to have died. 

SIR THOMAS HOLTE...

I was preparing a worksheet for schoolchildren when suddenly the cold air intensified around me. 

ME IN ROLE AS SIR THOMAS HOLTE...

I felt watched somehow and in my uncomfortable disturbed state, soon fled the area...

TEACHING, AS SIR THOMAS HOLTE...

VISITED BY MY AUNT CAL, PLUS BEV, A COLLEAGUE OF MY DAD'S & ON THE RIGHT, MY MUM...