"Helpful" ghost in the stack

The eighth floor on Senate House Library continues to be associated with some strange goings on and we have recorded several uncanny stories emanating from this level.
Here is the latest story, from an anonymous member of staff, proving that once again the lifts of Senate House live up to their other-worldly reputation.

"Members of staff in the Library routinely go to fetch books/periodicals from the closed stack.  The stack is the tower area of the Library occupying floors 8-19.  In order to reach the stack you have to get into an old lift with a slam door.  On this particular day I needed to fetch a book and a periodical on different floors.  I went to the floor for the book first and left the printout for the periodical inside the lift.  I then heard the sound of someone calling the lift so after I had got out on the 8th floor I closed the lift door so that the lift would be free for whoever called it.  After I had fetched the book I called the lift back and was astonished to find the periodical plus printout waiting in the lift.  This is not the sort of thing that another member of staff would do.  I questioned any likely members of staff and no one said they had done it.  I cannot offer any other explanation if this was not the case.   (There was nothing remarkable about either of the titles which were fetched incidentally and the date was not onerous in any way)".

more ghost stories from The Stack:
What's up on the eight floor?
More eight floor weirdness
Sudden temperature drop - utterly discomposed
8th floor ghost?

Who called the lift?

Mick Lucette is the Building Services Manager at Senate House. 

Mick witnessed a mysterious, cloaked figure, moving on the stairs ahead of him, as he made his way towards  a lift in the building.

The same lift has been linked to sightings of what is assumed to be Sir Edwin Deller’s ghost. 

You can hear Mick recounting his story here: 

Glowing figure in doorway of Senate Room

The photographer was sure that the room was empty at the time; subsequently - examining the resulting image - they realized that a mysterious luminous figure could be seen in the doorway at the far end of room.

Is this the Blue Lady? Or a reappearance of the Time Warrior from the Tom Baker-era Dr Who?

More 8th floor weirdness

Regular readers of this blog may recall previous posts click here and here outlining some Library staff's odd experiences on the 8th floor of Senate House.


There have recently been reports of further incidents, although of a rather indeterminate nature. The current writer was, a few weeks ago, fetching books from the same room. As the only person in the stacks at the time, all was quiet. Even the famous Senate House howling wind was absent. Upon exiting the room, a very slight but definite touch of the hair on top of the head was felt, akin to walking through a cobweb. Upon re-examination of the doorway, no cobwebs were to be found. The 'presence' (if that is what it was) did not give an impression of being threatening or sinister, merely curious.


Another staff member reports fetching books on an adjacent floor recently, and hearing a loud, repeated clicking sound coming from this same 8th floor room. Again, there was no one else present - the person concerned had verified this to be the case.


Riddle: What makes a clicking sound and touches peoples' hair?

Tom Ruffles remembers the old HPL

Tom Ruffles has posted a fascinating and informative account on his blog detailing his memories of the Harry Price Library when it was still possible to access the contents of this unique archive together in one location. Tom was a regular visitor to the Harry Price Library (HPL) in the late 1980s and early 1990s when he was undertaking a part-time psychology degree at Birkbeck. 

Here are some extracts from Tom's reminiscences:

"The space occupied by the HPL had a cosy feeling (or perhaps that is nostalgia giving it a glow). The wind used to whistle round, which was atmospheric. There was a good view but there was never time to spare for looking out of windows. Sometimes there would be other people working at the small tables and I seem to remember there was only space for three people at any one time. The rest of the floor was very quiet, seemingly unvisited. I remember going for a walk around the deserted stacks, finding it creepy and unnerving in the semi-darkness"

The Old Harry Price Library

Photograph by Tom Ruffles

"The librarian in charge of the HPL, Alan Wesencraft, was extremely welcoming and helpful Alan, or Wesey as he was generally known, had actually retired in 1977 and worked only part-time as the HPL’s Honorary Curator, so eventually I, like other regulars, was given a card that enabled me to ask for the key if he was not there and travel up to the HPL where I would work unsupervised and often alone"

Another view of the old HPL -

Photograph by Tom Ruffles

"Despite the cramped environment everything was well organised. There was always a huge feeling of serendipity when browsing the shelves, not knowing what might turn up. You felt like a small child in a toyshop, wanting to see everything as quickly as possible, unable to decide what to look at first, knowing you could spend years in there and only scratch the surface. In addition to the shelves of books there were film canisters on the window ledges, and filing cabinets with photographs, correspondence and clippings. One cabinet housed Eric Dingwall’s files, now sadly embargoed but then freely available to researchers. Had I realised that they would become inaccessible I would have made more use of them when I had the opportunity."


"Sitting in the room, there was a sense of continuity with the past, and one could feel that Harry Price himself might put his head round the door to see how you were getting on, and tell you about the collection of which he was so justifiably proud."

You can read more about Tom Ruffles memories of the old HPL on his blog  HERE

Tom Ruffles is Hon. Review Editor, Journal of the Society for Psychical Research and author of "Ghost Images: Cinema of the Afterlife"

Read more about the SPR HERE

Return of the Lost Rivers

'The Moat'  - could one of London's Lost Rivers be attempting to fill it up?

Several stories are circulating about the existence of a pond, lake or well beneath the foundations of Senate House.  John Stone, Building Services Technical Officer at Senate House, was able to shed light onto the possible origins of these watery tales when he took me on a tour of the subterranean world beneath North Block.

Our tour began above ground on North Block Green, a grassy square overshadowed by Senate House and SOAS buildings; here John took me to look over the side of ‘the Moat’ a sunken, tile-lined gully built to bring light into the basement levels of the building.  At the bottom of ‘the Moat’ and going unseen by most is a surprisingly fast flowing stream of clear water!
.

“There has always been a bit of water here” John explained, going on to say that in recent years the amount has significantly increased, ebbing and flowing with the seasons, the water decreasing towards the end of the summer.  John told me that tests show only trace elements of chlorine and other Thames Water chemicals making it doubtful that the source is a leaking water main.
.
Geologists, employed to investigate the water, suggest that a spring up to a mile away has been diverted by building work  however, this does not account for the fact that the water has been present to a greater or lesser extent since the buildings construction. I speculate that this water may originate from one of the lost rivers of London, possibly the Fleet.  John agrees that there may be some truth in this citing that recent excavations of North Block Green unearthed an old conduit.

 Next, we descended below ground into ‘The Moat’ itself.

John unlocked an ominous looking doorway and we stepped through into a warm chamber heavy with the noise of pumps and generators.  From here we climbed a steep ladder up to a narrow service tunnel bathed in the eerie green glow of the safety lights and leading right underneath Senate House.

This tunnel runs all the way from the British Museum to Torrington Square, but is mostly inaccessible due to the current building works at the university. As we travelled further along the tunnel the sound of running water grew louder until finally we descended another ladder into a deeper tunnel from where the sound was emanating.  An extraordinary and haunting sight met my eyes - for here, beneath Senate House, was a large pool of water.

Water is flowing through a fissure in the wall and collecting on the floor.  The duck boards dotted along the tunnel serve as stepping stones and were placed there when the building was first constructed showing that the water was always present.   A channel two inches by two inches has been carved into the stone floor to allow the water to flow into a sump pumping the water up to The Moat above.

What lies beneath Senate House

 Below Senate House, water is flowing in from some mysterious source.  The water is constantly pumped out to prevent serious flooding. The pump keeps going and the water keeps coming back, but where is it coming from?



Please note: These tunnels are not open for public access.  Access was granted under special circumstances and the correct safety procedures were adhered to.

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 ]

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)

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.