Tag Archives: Irish ghost

The Confidential Secretary: 1880s

lady-bess-male-impersonator

The following story is narrated by the son of an Irish politician whom we will call by the name of O’Brien. The events narrated followed on his return from abroad consequent on his father’s death. In recounting the circumstances of his return to his native land he put on record the following striking occurrences:

My father’s death recalled me from abroad. His letters and MSS. were sealed up, and it was my duty upon my arrival in Ireland to wade through the enormous pile of correspondence. He was a man with literary tastes, he was a strong Home Ruler, a Parnellite, and although he had never made the public a participant in his labours, he left a testamentary instruction for the publication of his essays, etc., on this great political problem.

Now I myself, as one of Her Majesty’s civil servants, was strongly for the Union, and was afraid that I could not do justice to the intentions of the testator.

I had been away from home more than ten years, and I found that my father had been assisted in his work by a young fellow, Louis Sullivan, who seemed to be his only companion, my mother having died when I was quite young. Of course, I was only too glad to retain the services of the young man. I requested him to call, and we soon came to an arrangement satisfactory to both of us. Louis Sullivan. who was about twenty years of age, was slim and fragile, his face was very handsome, of true Irish type, with dark hair and blue eyes. He was well versed in my father’s literary work, and absolved me entirely from any responsibility. I left him fully in charge of all matters referring to Home Rule, and took the sifting and investigating of letters and other papers upon myself.

During some months we were daily together, and I often observed that my young companion looked at me with an expression of fondness which touched me in an inexplicable manner. I came across some letters which showed me that Louis was more than a mere acquaintance to me. My father had years ago formed an intimacy with a woman residing on his estate, who had nursed him through a severe illness, and a child was born as the result of this attachment. The name of the woman was Sullivan, and she was dead. I thought it more than coincidence that Louis Sullivan should have been with my father ever since then, and I could understand why my father should have provided for his young companion by a substantial annuity. He was his own child, though I soon became convinced that Louis was not acquainted with this fact. Nevertheless, I felt that blood spoke loudly, for I saw that Louis loved me, and such a state of things can only be due to a strong sympathy, which, no doubt, is based upon blood relationship.

In a conversation with him one day, I gathered that he was under the impression that his father had died before he was born. I could not undeceive him and let him know that he was an illegitimate child. At last our tasks were finished, and as I was leaving Ireland, a separation became necessary. The night before my departure I asked Louis to dine with me.

It was a sad occasion; little was said, and it was evident we both felt keenly the approaching parting from each other. At last Louis broke the silence, and taking my hand in his, he asked my forgiveness for making a confession. I saw now that I was mistaken, and that he knew our relationship, and I told him that his confession was not needed, that I knew all, and embracing him, kissed him, and called him brother. The result of my action was a great surprise. Louis burst into a fit of the most violent weeping. I told him how I had found out the secret, and entreated him to come with me, and be my brother before the world. I could not understand his subsequent behavior, but he refused point-blank. This was the last I saw of him…

  • • • • •

I was in ___, where I intended to spend some weeks. It was just eight days since I had left Ireland. I was ascending the staircase of the Hotel___in ___. It was the evening twilight. Suddenly I saw standing before me the shape of a woman dressed in white. I stared at her; she bore the face of Louis Sullivan. Too astonished to speak, I stood looking at her in amazement, when she vanished.

  • • • • •

Subsequently I learned the truth. The being who recently had been my companion, and whom I had discovered to be so near a relation, was indeed no brother, but a sister. Why my father had made her wear men’s clothes I never exactly understood, unless it was the fear that the presence of a young girl at his house would have given occasion to gossip. She is now dead. She died the very evening she appeared to me at the hotel in ___. With her own hands she made an end to her life. The letter she left behind her told all: she loved me, and was just on the point on that evening before my departure of confessing her feelings when, misunderstanding her purpose, I told her she was my brother. Her relationship to me had not been known to her, but she found now that she was my sister—she could not bear the situation and she died.

That I should have seen her in the shape of a woman, when her sex was entirely unsuspected, seemed to me the most inexplicable feature of the occurrence.”

The Occult Review November 1912, p. 270-1

 Mrs Daffodil’s Aide-memoire: Females disguising themselves as males is a well-worn plot device—Shakespeare was particularly fond of it—but rarely has it been deployed to such tragic effect.  

Mrs Daffodil invites you to join her on the curiously named “Face-book,” where you will find a feast of fashion hints, fads and fancies, and historical anecdotes

You may read about a sentimental succubus, a vengeful seamstress’s ghost, Victorian mourning gone horribly wrong, and, of course, Mrs Daffodil’s efficient tidying up after a distasteful decapitation in A Spot of Bother: Four Macabre Tales.

 

 

A Titanic Banshee: 1912

(c) Burton Art Gallery and Museum; Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation

The Wail of the Banshee, Clifford Boucher James, (c) Burton Art Gallery and Museum; Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation

A TITANIC BANSHEE

Mother Saw Apparition of Son Who Sailed on Lost Vessel

Dublin, June 22. The Banshee has reappeared in Banagher. A priest in Tullamore vouches for the authenticity of the following story:

A young man named Tynagh decided on emigrating to America in opposition to the wishes of his mother, whose only son he was, and the morning on which he left home for Queenstown she refused to shake hands with him. The parting scene between the mother and son was a very sad one, and tears rained down the cheeks of the former, whose grief was agonizing. They parted, the mother still declining to take her boy’s proffered hand, and saying she would not do so until his return, when she promised him a hearty handshake. He sailed on the ill-fated Titanic and the moment the big ship went down Mrs. Tynagh heard a noise outside her house which startled her, and caused her to look towards the door. Just then she saw the figure of her son approaching her in the same attire he wore the morning he left. She wondered very much at his sudden return, and thinking he had changed his mind, with outstretched arms and gladness in her heart, she rushed forth to embrace him, exclaiming, “Have you come back again, Tom?” when suddenly the figure vanished. Young Tynagh was amongst those who perished in the terrible disaster, and the sympathy of the district for miles around is extended to his widowed mother.

Augusta [GA] Chronicle 23 June 1912: p. 3

Mrs Daffodil’s Aide-memoire:  Mrs Daffodil fears that the American press was paltering with the truth in the headline, as they are wont to do. To be Relentlessly Informative, unless the “noise” his mother heard was a scream, the ghostly young man was what is known as a “crisis apparition,” rather than a Banshee, as Mrs Daffodil is informed by that para-knowledgeable person over at Haunted Ohio, who has written about the many portents of the Titanic disaster. Still, a poignant tale, to be sure. There is just one slight problem with it: there was no Tom Tynagh on the Titanic’s passenger list. However there was a Patrick Shaughnessy, age 24, from Tynagh, who sailed from Queenstown. Mrs Daffodil cannot explain the discrepancy, although there is always the possibility that the story was made up as a cautionary tale to young men to be kind to their mothers and not run off to America.

Mrs Daffodil has written previously of the ghost of Captain Smith of the Titanic, seen by a former shipmate, in a street in Baltimore.

Mrs Daffodil invites you to join her on the curiously named “Face-book,” where you will find a feast of fashion hints, fads and fancies, and historical anecdotes

You may read about a sentimental succubus, a vengeful seamstress’s ghost, Victorian mourning gone horribly wrong, and, of course, Mrs Daffodil’s efficient tidying up after a distasteful decapitation in A Spot of Bother: Four Macabre Tales.

 

Week-end Compendium: 30 January 2016

Mrs Daffodil is already losing patience with Winter, but unless the Family decides to go on holiday to warmer climes, requiring Mrs Daffodil to supervise things like “bar-b-ques” and drinks with little paper umbrellas in them, there is not much to be done.  Mrs Daffodil invites her readers to don a becoming dressing gown and ask Cook for a mug of cocoa to sip while perusing the Week-end Compendium.

This week Mrs Daffodil has reported on:

Staging a Sandstorm, wherein the stage-magic secrets of the thrilling spectacle are revealed.

An engaging lady detective, who reports on her techniques and cases: her use (or non-use) of make-up, her professional flirtations, and what it takes to be a detective.

And a barber’s ghost who wreaks havoc by walking again, asking in sepulchral tones: “Do you want to be shaved?”

To-morrow, Mrs Daffodil gives a delicate sketch of that rara avis, The Ladies’ Man, and the peril he poses to those he professes to adore.

Mrs Daffodil’s favourite links of the week:  An American millinery apprentice writes about the question of “historical authenticity” and, well, 18th-century bosoms. Plus, who does not love red shoes?

Over at the Haunted Ohio blog, that exceedingly morbid person has out-done herself with this week’s posts:

A Post-mortem Room Ghost, in which a young medical student finds an unwelcome visitor in the Dead-room of a Dublin hospital.

And,  “The Lesser (King’s) Evil,” a shockingly gruesome account of a woman with scrofula, who undergoes horrific DIY surgery at home to relieve her pain. Not for the faint-of-heart or weak of stomach.

From the Haunted Ohio archives, a less fraught post on ladies and their tattoos: “The Girl with the Tell-all Tattoo.”

Incidentally, Mrs Daffodil has been asked by the Haunted Ohio blog author to remind readers that the blog covers international Fortean topics, rather than the merely parochial. One will note that this blog is described as “The genteel and the unspeakable from Chris Woodyard.”

Haunted Ohio’s favourite links of the week: A scientific study of “EVP.” and taxi-drivers in Japan’s tsunami districts are being haunted by ghostly fares.

A jolly frogged and embroidered dressing gown, c. 1880 http://www.nationaltrustcollections.org.uk/object/1362484

A jolly frogged and embroidered dressing gown, c. 1880 http://www.nationaltrustcollections.org.uk/object/1362484

purple dressing gown

Chris Woodyard is the author of The Victorian Book of the Dead, The Ghost Wore Black, The Headless Horror, The Face in the Window, and the 7-volume Haunted Ohio series. She is also the chronicler of the adventures of that amiable murderess Mrs Daffodil in A Spot of Bother: Four Macabre Tales. The books are available in paperback and for Kindle. Indexes and fact sheets for all of these books may be found by searching hauntedohiobooks.com. Join her on FB at Haunted Ohio by Chris Woodyard or The Victorian Book of the Dead.

Mrs Daffodil invites you to join her on the curiously named “Face-book,” where you will find a feast of fashion hints, fads and fancies, and historical anecdotes

You may read about a sentimental succubus, a vengeful seamstress’s ghost, Victorian mourning gone horribly wrong, and, of course, Mrs Daffodil’s efficient tidying up after a distasteful decapitation in A Spot of Bother: Four Macabre Tales.