Danny Dowling (1927-2021)

Anyone who ever had the pleasure of meeting Danny Dowling (1927-2021) usually learned that Danny loved ghost stories. Danny stated that when he was a chap ghost stories were told on cold winter evenings when the family and visiting friends were gathered around the fire. Danny said that his brother Pat, of Cappagh, Glenmore, told the best ghost stories. Often young men working for Pat after hearing one of Pat’s ghost stories would admit to being nervous walking home after dark. To celebrate Halloween in 2021 we published “Local Accounts of Body Snatching” and in 2020 we published “The Phantom Coach of Glenmore: Inspiration for a Kitty the Hare Tale?” This year in Danny’s voluminous records we found copies Danny collected of two ghost stories published in 1937 in the New Ross Standard (Fri. 2 April 1937, p. 9).  For our international readers, locally one hundred or more years ago, “begor” was how  “by God” was pronounced and one was pronounced  “wan.” The names of the individuals have been changed from the original publication in 1937 as well as the actual location of the ruins of the haunted cottage.

The Haunted Cottage of Glenmore Village

There was a cottage on the edge of the village of Glenmore belonging to Con Roche. It was certainly haunted. There was a man named Codd that went to the cottage one night when he lost his way as he travelled walking from Waterford to New Ross after the fair. It began to rain very heavily and there was no sign of it clearing at twelve o’clock. After giving Codd his tea Con Roche insisted that Codd stay the night. Con Roche told Codd that there was only one room in the cottage vacant.

“Begor,” says Codd, “wan room is enough. I never use any more than the wan room any night.”

“That is all very well,” says Con Roche, “but this room is haunted.”

“Begor,” says Codd, “that won’t trouble me much, for I don’t believe in the like and never did.”

“Faith,” says Con Roche “You’ll believe it after tonight.”

“Very good,” replies Codd, “but it will be a strange thing if I do, for I never saw anything in my life worse lookin’ than meself.”

Codd took the offered candle and went off to bed. He got into the bed an’ put out the candle an’ lay down to sleep fine an’ comfortable. He was just about dozin’ when he felt himself very cold, an’ he wondered had he left the room door open. So he lit the candle an’ looked over the way the door and saw that it was open. So he went and shut it and got into bed again. He was just going off to sleep again when he felt the cold a second time.

“Begor,” says he to himself, “the door couldn’t have opened of its own accord.” So he went an’ shut the door again. Just after he got into the bed he looked back and saw the door was opened to its full. He waited to see what would the door do. He kept his eyes fixed on the door an’ left the candle lightin’. He saw to his surprise that it was slowly beginnin’ to shut up. It shut up real slow an’ remained shut for about a minute. Then it began gradually to open again, an when it was opened to its full it stayed open for about a minute. It kept on at this for a long time openin’ and shuttin’ real slow, an’ Codd in the bed an’ he lookin’ at it an’ his mouth an’ his eyes wide open.

Codd began to wonder was there such a thing as ghosts an’ gobblins after all. He kept lookin’ at the door an’ wonderin’ what he should do, when all of a suddint the door opened with a bang an’ closed up with another bang. It kept at this then for about half and hour an’ Codd in the bed wondered what the dickens was wrong with the door.

“Maybe,” says he to himself, “it is the wind had to do with it. I’ll put a chair against it an’ see what will happen.” So Codd got a chair from a corner an’ when the door was closed he put it against it, but the moment he laid the chair down the door opened with an awful bang an’ drove it four yards away. It was lucky for Codd he wasn’t in the way.

When the door shut up again, says he to himself, “When it opens again I’ll rush out of the room like billyho.” The door opened real fast an’ out Codd rushed an’ the door closed so quickly that it nearly caught him. He went ahead an’ nothing on him  only his nightshirt, an’ he had to pass through the room where Con Roche was sleeping. Codd went into the room an’ Con Roche was readin’ in his bed. Con Roche nearly fainted when he saw the woe-be-gone lookin’ creature standin’ in front of him an’ nothin’ on him only a long nightshirt an’ it hangin’ on Codd the very same as an ould coat on a scarecrow in the centre of a potato field.

Codd’s two eyes appeared as if they could see right though the earth an’ his mouth was half open, an’ the hair standin’ on top of his head. Along with that, he was tremblin’ all through, an’ he was no more like the man that went into the haunted room that night than chalk is like cheese. Con Roche thought at first that Codd was a ghost an’ the first thing he did was to draw the Sign of the Cross on his forehead. After the space of a few seconds he saw that is was his visitor Codd who boasted he never saw anything in the world worse lookin’ than himself, and he asked Codd what was the matter with him.

Codd soon told Con Roche the whole story, an’ then Con Roche told him that the best thing he could do was to get into the bed with himself. So Codd got into the bed, and after about half a hour he fell asleep an’ never wakened until mornin’. When he awoke Codd found himself in the ruin of an old cottage with no roof and one old door that opened and closed shut in the wind. Confused Codd shook his head to clear his cobwebs. When he left the ruin he saw the bell tower of the Village church. On his way to the church he met a man who was leading a cow. After greeting the man Codd told the man that he was a friend of Con Roche and would like to speak with him. The man eyed Codd up and down and finally said, “Con Roche was murdered in his bed wan stormy night nigh on forty years back by a stranger from Wexford.” The man pointed to the ruin and said, “That is Con Roche’s place.” Codd shook his head again, made the Sign of the Cross, looked at the cottage ruin an’ ran up the hill to St. James’ Church. Codd refused to leave the church until Father Walsh agreed to escort him to New Ross. Until the day of his death Codd was never heard to say again that he didn’t believe in ghosts.

Happy Halloween!

Dr. Kathleen Moore Walsh