The ghost of Emma Louise

A couple of minutes walk from Senate House is Arthur Tattersall House at 119 Gower Street - one of the many fine Georgian buildings on this street. It is now owned by University College London, and is used for student accomodation.

In 2004, the PARANORMAL DATABASE was contacted regarding the legend of a young girl called Emma Louise who was said to have been killed in a tunnel which is supposed to run between the more modern UCL building and the older Cruciform building. The legend was that if Emma Louise's name was repeated 3 times, she would appear. The informant, a former student resident of 119 Gower Street, stated that they and their friends had been very sceptical about this, but did performed the 'invocation' for a laugh.

Shortly after this, they claimed, they began to hear a young girl's laughter, which was repeated intermittently all night. The students searched everywhere, but could find no explanation for the sound.

Disturbed by this turn of events, they moved into a friend's room for the night, but could still hear the laughter. Eventually it stopped, but suddenly, about an hour later, they heard a bang as if someone had thrown themselves against the door - naturally, there was no-one there.

These noises were repeated on another night, with the same laughter, once again, the frightened students left the room - but when they returned, they found the door to be locked, even though they had left it open. A spare key was obtained, and there, written on the wall in large letters were the words: "HELP ME!", "DIE", written twice in two different parts of the wall. Elsewhere the word "MURDER" had been written on the wall, as was "R.I.P", besides which was a child's drawing of a person with a sad-looking face.

One of the students rubbed the word "MURDER" off the wall (it having been written in chalk or crayon). They again left the room for a brief moment, but when they returned, where "MURDER" had been written, there was a large kitchen knife balanced on the beading of the wall.

Book-throwing ghost?

A former Library colleague reports having undergone a frightening experience whilst in the Senate House bookstacks. Some years ago, he was alone on the 8th floor, and had to look for a book in the room at the southern end of the floor. It was quiet and still. Bending down to the bottom shelf to locate the book, he was startled to hear a sudden noise behind him, as a book scudded along the floor, landing close by. It had, apparently, been thrown across the room – but by whom?

Alarmed - since he knew there to be no-one else on the 8th floor at the time - he did not linger, but grabbed the book he had been searching for, and quickly left the room without further delay.

[NB: this is the same room where a similar event was reported... CLICK HERE ]

John! There’s someone up there!

“John!  There’s someone up there!”  “If you go into the head end, right, and look at what’s happened. The lights get switched on!”

This was directed to John Stone the Building Services Technical Officer.  John was taking me on a tour of Senate House and we were at that time exploring the basement to investigate stories of lakes and wells rumoured to be located beneath the building (more on that later). 

The concerned voice came from inside a room in the out-of bounds section of the basement which is currently undergoing building works.  We entered the room and found a group of subcontractors on a break. The subcontractors explained to us that for the past six weeks or so, at 3am each morning, the lights on the 12^th and the 15^th floors have come on by themselves. 

The 12^th and 15^th floors are used to store library books and the floors are secured at the end of every day by the library staff.  Presence detectors are installed on these floors; these are designed to turn the lights on if a large enough mass moves in front of their sensor beams. 

The lights come on at 3am, but no one is there; this has obviously perplexed the night staff somewhat. One subcontractor was interested to find out what books were stored on those floors and I’m rather curious about this myself.

Senate House - if you're passing by at 3am, look up to the 12th and 15th floors to see the lights come on by themselves!

The Field of the Forty Footsteps

A curious legend is associated with the immediate surroundings of Senate House - the tale of the Field of the Forty Footsteps. During the 17th and 18th centuries, the fields situated due north of Montague House (whose site is now occupied by part of the British Museum), were known as a place of ill-repute. This location - first known as the Long Fields, and latterly as Southampton Fields - was notorious as a meeting-place for duellists.

Legend has it that, at the time of the Duke of Monmouth’s rebellion (1685), two brothers were besotted by the same lady, who refused to choose between the two of them. Opting to fight for her affections at the traditional duelling ground of Southampton Fields, the unfortunate pair were both mortally wounded, and died there. It was said that the exact location of their duel could still be observed many years later, since the grass would not grow on those spots where their feet had trod during their deadly contest.

“The footsteps were in the middle of the field, and forty in number, and...were each imprinted by the approach and struggle of two combatants, who had fought, and perished there, in the dead lock of mutual hatred.” [Coming Out; and The Field of the Forty Footsteps (in 3 volumes), Jane and Anna Maria Porter, London: Longman, Rees, Orme, Browne & Green, 1828 (vol.3, p.5)]

A letter addressed to the poet Robert Southey (1774-1843), from his friend John Walsh, encouraged Southey to visit the Fields:

“I think it would be worth your while to take a view of those wonderful marks of the Lord’s hatred to duelling called ‘The Brothers’ Steps.’ They are in a field about a third of a mile northward from Montague house...The prints of their feet are about the depth of three inches, and nothing will vegetate them so much as to disfigure them...Mr George Hall, who was the Librarian of Lincoln’s Inn, first showed me these steps twenty-eight years ago...he remembered them about thirty years, and the man who first showed them to him about thirty more, which goes back to the year 1692...My mother well remembered their being ploughed up and corn sown to displace them, about fifty years ago, but all was labour in vain, for the prints returned in a while to their pristine form...” [Southey's Common-place book, Second series, Special Collections, Robert Southey (edited by John Wood Warter), London: Longman, Browne, Green & Longmans, 1850 (‘Curse of Duelling’, pp.20-21)]

Southey went in search of the footsteps and found them:

“about three-quarters of a mile of [sic] Montagu House, and about five hundred yards east of Tottenham Court Road. The steps answered Mr Walsh’s description. They are of the size of a large human foot, about three inches deep, and lie nearly from north-east to south-west...the place where one or both of the brothers are supposed to have fallen is still bare of grass. [We also saw] the bank where (the tradition is) the wretched woman sat to see the combat.” [Ibid, (p.21)]

In the early twentieth century, the writer and Spiritualist Jessie Adelaide Middleton investigated the legend, and believed that she had established the precise location of the mysterious footsteps. In her collection ‘Another Grey Ghost Book’ she wrote:

“I often wonder if those who sleep calmly and peacefully in the quiet lodging-houses of Torrington Square ever guess that the ground over which they are sleeping was once the scene of a desperate tragedy...As regards the exact locality, I have taken great pains to confirm it, and from various sources have ascertained that no doubt it covered what is now Torrington Square...” [Another Grey Ghost Book, Jessie Adelaide Middleton, London: E. Nash, 1914, (pp.49-60)]

The footprints may still be observed by the curious (and imaginative) visitor. Just north of Senate House and in front of Birkbeck College, is a recently re-designed ‘piazza’, still bearing its original name of Torrington Square. Is it mere co-incidence that the four grassed areas, newly planted, already have distinct bare patches the size of footsteps?

Sudden temperature drop - utterly discomposed

Another account of a mysterious drop in temperature and feelings of extreme unease in Senate House Library:

"The details are lost to the mists of time since this happened more than a year ago, but one day I was up in the Stack looking for a book. It was light outside and temperate inside, ideal (i.e. reassuring) conditions for being in the usually creepy Stack. As I was crouching for the book, it suddenly became cold, but there was no draft – just a drop in temperature. I also remember the silence started to roar in my ears in a rather eerie and persistent fashion. These two occurrences served to discompose me utterly and instil in me an urgent need to skedaddle out of there as soon as possible. I am happy to report however that the ‘presence’ in question (if it wasn’t just my nerves) took pity on me and did not make an appearance – for surely if it had, there would soon thereafter have been a death (from fright) in Senate House and perhaps another ghost to add to the collection."

8th floor ghost?

"I was working late until 6.30 earlier this year and had to fetch from the Stack. One of the items on my list was on the 8th floor. I approached the relevant section; suddenly I felt the temperature drop and I began to feel uneasy. I thought maybe I was imagining it, but when I looked up the book I saw that the book in question was about ghost stories. I decided to take the book and leave as quickly as possible. As I was leaving, I glanced through the lift door and noticed that a light had come on near to the section where I had been. The lights are motion sensitive and there had been no one else up there. I told a colleague about this at a later date and we tried to find the book on the catalogue but had no success."

stories from' the store rooms'

John Stone and Alan Train take me to 'the central stores'

As part of a search for old Senate House artefacts,  I was taken on a tour of 'the store rooms' by two long standing members of Senate House staff, John Stone and Alan Train. John and Alan know a great deal about the building and its past; they also literally hold the keys to all the 'behind the scenes' stories.
After thoroughly disorientating me by leading me along many corridors, through locked doors and up and down endless staircases, I was finally brought to the entrance of  the dimly lit store rooms. These rooms are used to house old furnishings and other material from the buildings past. The main part of the store rooms are reached via a staircase cased in scaffolding, lined with shelves of  fading, silver plated dinner ware.  This staircase, and its mirror image on the far side of central stores, were designed to lead up to a viewing gallery overlooking  'The Grand Hall'. 'The Grand Hall' was part of the original more extensive plan for Senate House which was never completed.  The site of the proposed 'Grand Hall' is now occupied by the post-modern Stewart House.
 

We climbed the stairs and passed through an imposing green doorway into the main storeroom.

the stores - once used as a rifle range

 I was informed that this narrow yet high ceilinged room was used as a rifle range by officer cadets in need of firing practise during the second world war.  Today, the space is lined floor to ceiling with shelves which are the resting place of many original Holden designed chairs, desks and tables along with period light fittings and soft furnishings.

treasures from the stores- maintenance minutes books form the 1930s - 1950s

On a back shelf, John and Alan unearthed some other treasures, including a box of minutes books belonging to the maintenance department and dating from the 1930s - 1950s.  Standing amongst the marooned old furniture, listening to John and Alan reading out interesting accounts from the minutes books, I felt quite surrounded by, and buried along with a ghostly assembly of past Senate House employees; an extra-ordinary, but claustrophobic experience.

"

"Furnish'd and burnish'd by Aldershot sun"

.from John Betjeman's - A Subaltern's Love Song. John Betjeman worked for the Minsitry of information at Senate House and so did the subject of one of his poems

(allegedly)

Output Arts phase into Senate House

Output Arts made our first visit to Senate House today to soak up some of the ambience in anticipation of beginning work on our installation as part of the Ghosts of Senate House project.

Pictured here are two members of the team materialising into place behind our tour guide, Sarah.

Where's the Mummy?

Oddly, at the time of writing (April 2011), room 62 of the British Museum displays this information board (left)...

...whilst the 'Unlucky' mummy-board itself (below right) is, unaccountably, missing.

















© Trustees of the British Museum

The Unlucky Mummy of the British Museum

The British Museum is situated next to Senate House, just to the south. Its Egyptian galleries draw tourists from around the world. In room 62, on the first floor, is - amongst other Egyptian artefacts - a painted mummy-board made of plaster and wood, originally the lid of a coffin. The painted image depicts a woman of high status, possibly a priestess of the god Amen-Ra ('the Hidden One'), and is thought to date from around 900 BC. This exhibit, number 22542, and labelled “Painted wooden mummy-board of an unidentified woman,” was acquired by the Museum in 1889, and has, ever since, been the focus of numerous strange stories, becoming known as ‘The Unlucky Mummy’.

It was claimed that when a photographer was commissioned to take pictures of the mummy-board, the plates, when developed, showed not the calm face as depicted on the board, but instead, “the face of a living Egyptian woman whose eyes stared furiously with an expression of singular malevolence.” It was further claimed that “In the course of a few weeks the photographer died suddenly and in mysterious circumstances.” [Witchcraft and black magic, Montague Summers, Senate, 1995 (p.109)] Elsewhere, the photographic plates are said to have revealed “the contorted face of a woman in torment with a look of terror in her eyes” and that strange noises were sometimes heard coming from the exhibit, such as the weeping of a woman. [Chambers’ Guide to London : the Secret City, Michael Chambers, Millington Books (an imprint of Davison Publishing), 1979 (p.62)]

Writer and journalist Bertram Fletcher Robinson investigated the artefact’s history, and became convinced that it possessed sinister and malevolent qualities. Supposedly, Robinson’s research had uncovered a trail of misfortune, accident and death associated with those who came into contact with the object, ever since its discovery in the 1860s.

It was further claimed (admittedly, without any basis in fact) that the Museum, wishing to dispose of this troublesome exhibit, sold it to an American buyer, to whom it was shipped on board the Titanic, resulting in the ship’s disastrous maiden voyage! (it is not explained how the mummy-board managed to make its way back to London).

1930s ghost in the stack?

One one occasion a few years ago, a former Library staff member returned from the tower bookstacks saying he had just seen the figure of a man dressed in a 1930s style: blazer, slicked-back hair, Oxford bags. The figure had seemingly been in the process of reaching up to take a book from a shelf, but was apparently motionless.

That haunted lift, and the Harry Price Library room

From a Library staff member:

"But I do remember, back in the days when we used to escort readers up into the Harry Price Collection sometimes, when Mr Wesencraft (Harry Price Librarian) worked up there, over hearing a conversation about the Tower Lift. A visitor, as they left the Library was saying something along the lines that they had “felt” nothing when they were in the Harry Price Library although with the subject of that collection, and the age of some of the material there, they had expected to.

However they did not like being in the Tower Lift and always felt “cold” when in that area. Another member of staff agreed they felt this too, and commented that this did not surprise them since it was the lift shaft in which the Principal (Sir Edwin Deller) had been killed during the building of Senate House.

Another commented that it was also the lift shaft which had had the fire in it, thankfully no one was killed by that! The smoke did make an awful mess of the stacks though."

Several people have also remarked upon the cold temperature in the former Harry Price room (the current writer can also confirm this to be the case). Whether this is a result of its being situated on an outer wall, or because of some other, more eldritch cause, remains to be determined...

Death of Sir Edwin Deller

New staff commencing work at Senate House are inevitably regaled with stories of the 'haunted lift', although there is some uncertainty as to which lift (Senate House has several) is intended.

What does not seem to be disputed is the identity of the putative ghost - that of Sir Edwin Deller, Principal of the University of London. Elected to this position in July 1929, Deller was originally "...a member of the administrative staff, who had left school at 14 and worked as a clerk in various offices, taking his degrees in law as an evening student. He was, in fact, a born admin-istrator as well as a man of great wisdom and savoir-faire." [(p.218, The University of London 1836-1986: an illustrated history by Negley Harte, Athlone Press, 1986]

On 27th November 1936, Sir Edwin was showing some visitors around the half-finished building, still being constructed. A contemporary newspaper article explains what happpened next:

"They were standing in a temporary lift used to reach the tower of the buildings. The lift had gone up to the first floor, about 30ft, with a skip containing concrete, and this had been run along steel rails on the first floor and emptied. John Lapper, a workman employed by Holland, Hannan and Cubitt, Ltd, who was handling the skip, did not know that the lift had gone down again for Sir Edwin, who was going to view the new works. The skip, weighing about 5 cwts, was pushed along the rails to return to the lift. It fell down the shaft with Lapper on top of it, and struck Sir Edwin and those with him."

Three days later, Sir Edwin died. His memorial service was held the following month at the Temple Church. The inquest arrived at a verdict of accidental death, additionally stating that the tragedy had been the result of "negligence by employees."

Newspaper obituaries did not fail to point out the irony of his death having been a direct result of the new University building project, a project to which Deller had dedicated so much time, energy and enthusiasm.

A death notice published in The Times (30th November 1940) contained the following elegy:

I find him in the wonder of his Tower,

That monstrous, beautiful and bloody Tower,

His wordless monument, which seems to say,

"For this he worked and planned and gave his life,

Then took his wages - Death - and went his way"

The lift haunted by Deller's ghost?

Haunted Lift?

Sir Edwin Deller (1883-1936), was Principal of the University of London between 1929 - 1936.

On November 28th, 1936, Deller was visiting Senate House Tower, then under construction, and it was here that he met an untimely end, being crushed by a falling item of construction equipment.  The exact nature of this equipment is under dispute, though it was large enough to simultaneously injure four others!                             

Deller's ghost is said to haunt a lift in Senate House , but is it this lift? 

Another lift has been suggested as a possible site of the accident, although possibly not of the haunting...

                                                                                                                 

Watch this space for more on Deller's ghost and please do send us any relevant information which may shed more light on the haunting.