Haunted Nottingham

Queens Medical Centre

During the night shift, the nurses work a long shift with a couple of hours to rest in the middle. They have a room where they can get some sleep if they need to. In one section of the Hospital the nurses won't sleep in that room, instead they sleep in the staff room. This reason for this is that apparantly whenever a nurse goes to sleep in there they are waken up shorty after by a female black nurse who shakes them awake they says "com'on dear, time to get back to work" then leave the room. I've been told that nobody suiting the descripstion of the nurse works at the QMC. Also i've heard that one time, a female nurse went to sleep in the designatated room (in a differnt section of the hospital) she was woken up by the voice of somebody screaming. She leapt out of bed and ran to the where the patients where but they where all asleep. She thought nothing more of it, thinking it was a bad dream and went back to the room to get some sleep. Again she was awaken by screaming and somebody shouting "Please help me, for the love of god please help me!" She again got up and went to the area were the patients where being kept but found nothing out of place, after speaking to the nurses nobody else had heard anything. Finally the person who i know told me that themselves and another nurse working there saw a person walk past the staff window with a dark grey "hoodie" on. Sinc it was a night shift both of them got up to see who it was. When they got out the staff room, they couldn't see any sign of this hooded figure.

A experiance of someone on Perry Road Nottingham

My parents bought a house on Perry Rd, on the same side as the graveyard, but further up when i was 4 yrs old. On the day of our second viewing we the old lady that lived there allowed me and my older sister to look around. My sister went outside and i went upstairs. On coming down the stairs i met a man, standing in the hallway doing his ironing. He had the iron plugged into the light. We stood there talking for about 5 mins. My mum shouted me. I went into the living room where they all were, and told my mum of the conversation i'd just had with the man in the hallway. The old lady selling the house looked shocked. She said that her husband had died and thats why she was selling. They'd owned this house from new, and she was sad to go. Her husband always did his ironing in the hallway years ago. It must have been him i was talking to! My parents did buy the house and they are still there. When i was growing up i could hear footsteps walking along the carpet upstairs, but my parents always said i was silly, imagining things! I know i wasn't. I used to have recuring dreams about the man with his iron in his hand (sounds funny now but wasn't at the time) My dad used to get angry cos i'd always want to sleep in my mums bed. I was scared, this went on until i was about 16! Now when they go away, i sometimes go and house-sit as they have a dog. I always have recuring dreams about that man when i'm in the house, and last time i stayed i saw a face of an old man on the tv, i shouted at my husband to turn it off, but it wasn't even on! The house has always had a creepy feel to it, though if the spirit is still there, he doesn't bother anyone. And it's only me who has the spooky things happen. But i know that the man is still there on Perry Road.

Old lady at Newstead Abbey

I'm afraid that I do not have a picture but after reading about the Ghostly goings on at Newstead Abbey I feel compelled to tell you my little story. I'm going back about ten years or so. Some friends and I had been out clubbing in Mansfield town centre and being as I had been given my brothers car for the evening we decided to go for a drive around in the early hours. Newstead Abbey had been our destination as we thought it a suitable place to lark about. It was lightly snowing this night and as I pulled into the Abbey gates off Nottingham Road at around 3.30 am we were faced with a bit of a shock. I caught the smiling face of an elderly lady in my headlights causing my passengers to scream. I had intended to do a U turn and drive off as quickly as the snow would permit me to but one of our group of friends told me stop. He opened the passenger door and shouted over to the old lady who was still smiling at us. He asked her if she was aright but she said nothing and pointed in to the Abbey grounds. He sat back in the car and feeling a little spooked I drove away. The lady had been surrounded by suitcases, which had seemed a little odd but these cases were very old fashioned looking, more like woven baskets. After we had driven a short way back towards Mansfield we decided to go back feeling a little guilty about her being alone in the cold. When we reached the gates again she had disappeared. It had only been a matter of minutes since we had left her. We parked up and had a quick walk around, bearing in mind that it had been snowing the only tyre tracks on the ground were mine and there had been no trace of her where she had stood in the snow or her luggage. The next day I relayed the story to my Mother and we tried to look for some logical explanation. My Mother called the National Express bus service to see if there had been any late buses that night that may have dropped someone off so late ,but there had not. Not long after this event there had been a story in the Mansfield Chad about a Taxi driver who had picked up a lady at Newstead Abbey gates and after he had driven a little while, he turned round to find that she had disappeared. Very coincidental, i'm wondering if this could have been The White Lady but I realise she died fairly young.

Rebecca Parmenter,

Nottingham

Very old ghosts in East Bridgford

My Mum and Dad lived in East Bridgford and I always had trouble getting to sleep on the put-up bed when I stayed over. The problem was whisperings which were like voices through a walkman - I could never hear what was said but knew two male voices were talking over my bed. Some time later my aunt confirmed a small stream ran under the house and since the place was the first home built on the land, and the garden was full of 'plant pots' as my Dad said, but actually roman pottery, I have to assume I was being bothered by Romans or Romano British men having a chin-wag to my annoyance. I was quite pleased when my parents moved - I never did tell them why I slept so badly.

Anon, Nottingham

09-October-2002

Poltergeist

From 1937 to 1955 I lived at 177 Birkin Avenue, Hyson Green. In the September of 1954 my bedroom was a large room on the top floor. On this particular night I was awakened by a scratching in the corner of the room. Thinking it was a mouse I got out of bed to take a look but the noise stopped immediately. On getting back into bed the scratching started on the headboard and persisted until I had fallen asleep. Not thinking very much about it, on the following night after a hectic few hours at the Astoria, I got into bed to be greeted by a very disturbing shaking of the headboard. This caused me considerable alarm, the noise also awakening my parents in the room down below.Then night after night as soon as I retired, the violent shaking would begin. By now I was quite used to this phenonama and used to say "Ok Good night then, let me get to sleep" Funnily enough this worked and there'd be no more disturbance until the following night. This strange haunting continued until I lef! t the house in 1966. The new residents were named Cairns (I think). I don't know if they had any trouble.

Ron Haines, Noosa, Australia

Ollerton Hall

I grew up in Ollerton, a small town not too far from Nottingham. There's a huge house called Ollerton Hall that dominates the old part of the town. It had been abandoned for years, and is still empty and slowly decaying to this day. Obviously stories began to grow up around it, stories about ghosts, rumours about murders and secret rituals. Late in the summer of 87 (I think) myself and a few friends decided to break in and look around the place. It was very much a machismo thing, we were testing ourselves and each other to see if we had the nerve to do it. We broke into the grounds in the late evening, and planned to go into the house just as it was getting dark. A couple of the guys cried off before we got there, another couple decided not to go any further as soon as we got into the ground. There were three of us who approached the house and started to look for a way in. We had to pull board off a window, and break most of a window frame to get access - all the time it was getting darker and we were getting jumpier. Because I felt I had something to prove, I said I'd be the first to go in - although every nerve in my body was screaming for me to just leave. To this day I'm not sure if what happened only existed in my imagination, but at that point I could just feel that the house itself wanted us to leave. Sweating, and feeling very shaky, I climbed in through the window. At that point I realised that bringing a torch might have been a good idea. Everything was pitch black. I wanted to get out, but I had to look like I'd spent time in there. I waited for my eyes to grow accustomed to the dark, but as I did I felt something move towards me. I don't know how to explain it, but even though I couldn't see I had a very strong sense of a man - a very tall, middle aged man, quite well dressed man - moving across the room at me - but he didn't quite touch the floor, he sort of floated. He scanned around, as though he were looking for something, and when his eyes fixed on me a shudder ran through me and I nearly wet myself. A just turned and scrambled out the window as quickly as I could, and ran harder than I'd run in my life. When my friends caught up with me and calmed me down they said that they'd heard a voice inside telling me to get out. And that there'd been laughter as I'd practically fallen out of the window. When I got home that night I felt unnaturally cold, as though a draft was blowing around the room I was in. I kept seeing the man's face out of the corner of my eye. I was in on my own, too scared to go to bed, I sat up most of the night with all the lights on and the TV blaring away. I drifted off to sleep, but at abour 3 in the morning I woke up to a smashing sound in the kitchen - a single glass had been dropped in the middle of the room. No cupboard were open, there was no washing up left anywhere. Unnerving as it was, what I've always found really strange is that despite the fact that the Hall had this reputation, I don't recall ever hearing a specific story about it. There didn't seem to be a particular legend or ghost attatched to it, just lots of vague rumours. Would be interesting to hear if anyone else has a story about the place.

Richard Johnstone, Notts

Banging Stairs

My fiance used to live in this house where a little girl was killed years before, and when he and his family first moved in they would here banging down the stairs. They were told by a neighbour that the little girl was suffocated then thrown down the stairs by her stepdad. His parents still live there but theres no more banging.

claire

nottingham,england

Notts Ghost Story

It was the hot summer of 1976 when we moved in to the "new house" as we all called it. It was a four bedroomed detatched, with large garden, and situated just at the back of the Five Ways pub in Sherwood, Nottingham. The house always had an atmosphere to it, which to me at the time seemed to be a just a little bit threatening. Not that I felt anything meant me to do me any harm or anything, it was just a feeling I had that's all, it was like that when I was left by myself in the house , I was not alone if you know what I mean. It always felt as something or someone was close byin another room of the house. A surreal feeling that grew in intensity, until it felt as if my back was freshly sunburnt and was chaffing against a prickly woolen jumper. We'd been in the house about six months as I remember when it happened, when, I was left alone one evening to look after my little brother. Micky was and still is his name.He was one of those kids that couldn't sleep. Constantly you'd hear his restless footsteps padding across the bedroom floor, , until eventually he'd come downstairs, knowing full well that you'd have to carry him all the way back up again and tell him yet another story. I was fourteen at the time, and watching TV, when I heard the Mickey making his way down the stairs, "ahh no," I thought "here we go". I distinctly saw a young child (Mickey) then walk by the mottled glass door which lead into the living room, befor dissapearing from sight as usual, as he walked behind the far side of the armchair . A few seconds passed, Mickey still hadn't walked out from behind the armchair. "Ok" I smiled "come on Mickey, stop messing around bedtime" I then vividly remember walking over to the chair,in my mind I absolutley and utterly expected to find Mickey there, a sleepy grin upon his face, staring up at me, waiting to be carried back up to bed for his story. But, as terrifying a sight as anything I had ever until then seen greeted my eyes...absolutely nothing, no-one(Mickey) was there. But Micky should have been there. A moment or two then passed, all I could do was stare at the empty space, my eyes saying one thing, logic telling me another. Sudden! ly! I unfroze, finding my voice,I shouted upstairs to Mickey, but there came no reply. Half panicking I sprinted into Mickey's room, but one thing was for sure alright, Mickey had definately not moved from his room, he was one hundred percent sound and snuggly asleep. I just could not figure it, I'd definitely seen Mickey come down and walk into the room, but then again I couldn't have, in the end I just didn't know what to think, but that night I listened to each and every creak and sound of that sleeping house, wondering, just wondering. Next morning, I mentioned what had happened to my dad, and to my surprise, he'd also had a similar experience. Earlier in the week he'd also caught sight of what looked like a young child wandering about the garden, but by the time he'd got into the garden to see what was going on, the child had disappeared . Dad then mentioned to me that he'd recently been talking to an old man in the pub, a real local character by all accounts, Alf his name, and a man who'd lived his entire life in the Sherwood area. The local story teller if you like, to who'm everyone told their own tale, with each tale then being passed on again to anyone with half a valid interest. He told or rather explained to my Dad, that the beneath the house where we now lived had once been an old lake, (a fact until then had been totally unbeknown to my dad,). Inside this lake, or so the story goes Alf told dad, that many years ago a young child had drowned, a young child of five years old. Exactly the same age! a! s my little brother at the time.

Steve