Ghost Stories

This week, in the lead up to Halloween, we were looking at ghost stories. Sticking to our nightmare theme, we took Mary Shelley's preface to Frankenstein as inspiration, where she describes the nightmare vision she had which described the writing of this famous book. Inspired by this, the writers wrote their own short stories where a writer awakes from a dream/nightmare - and are changed in some way.

Next, we turned to ghost stories specifically, with the writers challenged to come up with the least likely setting they could think of for a ghost story (including an ice cream parlour, a hairdressers, a beach, etc) and the least likely character to encounter a ghost (suggestions included an accountant, anyone in finance, a dentist, etc) and then to choose one of each of these, from everyone's selections, to write their own unlikely ghost story.

Madeleine took this one step further, telling her story from the point of view of the ghost themselves - who is fed up with their garden being used as a backdrop for wedding photos! Read Madeleine's brilliant story below:

Miss Willmott in the garden

There’s another crowd of them there on the lawn by the Oh Wow! climbing rose. That’s my favourite rose, it really lives up to its name. In early summer it is a cascade of cream and burgundy striped blooms - people invariably say ‘Oh wow!’ when they see them for the first time. Hence its name, I suppose.

It’s June now - my busiest time - so much to do - dead heading, mowing, clearing out of spent bulbs and the weeding of course - getting rid of all those unwanted little plants. Do you know the definition of a weed? It’s simply: a plant that’s in the wrong place. I just go around with my hoe and cut them off at soil level. At this time of year they just wither away in the hot sun.

Look at that lot - over there on the lawn in the rose garden - yet another wedding party. All smiles, Sunday best clothes and stilettos (my poor lawn)!

You’d think that standing under a rose arch and posing for a photo, would be straightforward enough; but oh no - it takes them hours! Sometimes literally. I’d bet many a wedding breakfast gets cold while the photographer asks for “just one more…”

Huhhh! So much chatter and noise. I like it best here when all you can hear is the gentle clipping of garden shears; bees buzzing amongst the foxgloves; children laughing and the occasional bark of an excited dog.

This lot they barge in mess up my lawn and disturb the tranquillity of my garden. So I mess up their pictures.

They eagerly collect them from their posh photographers, carefully peel back the wrappings and joyfully scan the pictures - and there I am.

On the front row next to the bride’s mum; or at the back sticking my tongue out; or simply pushing my wheelbarrow across the lawn in front of the camera.

“Who’s that old biddy?” they ask “I don’t remember seeing her!”

But they’re on my lawn in front of my house, spoiling my little bit of paradise - they deserve to have something of theirs spoilt too. And If I catch anyone trampling the flower beds or the roses - I’m here with my hoe ready to weed them out.

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Ghost Stories