I Like Birds: A Tour to the Unexpected

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Ghosts are very much like the Loch Ness Monster, God and talented X-Factor winners, in that there is no scientific evidence to confirm their existence. But equally, there is no evidence to prove that they don’t exist either. As our trip to Kielder Observatory a few months earlier showed us, there are things going on in the universe that defy the rules, because we don’t know all of the rules yet. The world is discovering something new and amazing every few seconds, and the idea that something doesn’t exist just because we can’t explain it is such a 15th century concept that it is incredible that atheism is on the rise in the 21st century. With that in mind, I hold an open mind about ghosts, hoping rather than fearing that one might appear in front of me, just because it would be nice to know.

Despite it being more or less the longest day of the year, our trip to the seaside, haggis pit-stop and change of hotels meant that, after dropping our bags off and making good use of the teabags for 20 minutes, the light was beginning to fade as we wandered back into Edinburgh city centre. This wasn’t a problem though, for we were taking on Edinburgh’s ‘Double Dead’ tour, a combination ghost walk that would take us into Edinburgh’s forgotten underworld and the mausoleums of Greyfriars Graveyard. Clearly doing this kind of thing in the light wouldn’t really have the same edge, and for those who haven’t noticed, there is an ongoing theme of darkness on our trips, be it the pure darkness of Kielder Forest, the caves of the peak district or the underworld of Edinburgh.

We arrived on the Royal Mile slightly too early for the tour, and popped into a whiskey bar for a quick pint. Not a pint of whiskey of course, not being connoisseurs of the scot malt we opted for a safer option. Once a spare 20 minutes was nicely filled out, we headed up to St Giles’ Cathedral, outside of which we met a small crowd of people and Ariadne, our suitably gothic looking, leather clad tour guide. Within seconds, Ariadne had put her degree in drama (as she later admitted, if she walked away from the tour guide business, she would follow the set course for graduates of drama and get a job in Burger King) to good effect and grabbed everyone’s attention, before disappearing down a set of steps that we would otherwise have assumed led into one of the grand buildings in the square, but in fact took us straight to a street heading down. This was the beginning of the underworld, not on the outskirts of the city, but right here, underneath the main tourist area. One of the wonderful joys of these kind of tours is not the ghost hunting itself, but the history and geography lessons that we need to take to understand how to get there. We knew that Edinburgh was surrounded by hills, but the enclosed buildings of the old town almost completely hide just how hilly the centre is. A succession of hills have been bridged over and buildings built over them to give this impression, and the fact that Edinburgh was closed in from the occasionally invading peoples from England meant that the city grew up instead of out like most cities, leading to those lovely Georgian skyscrapers of yesteryear. What Edinburgh didn’t have was a particularly good sewage system, and so the poor people that lived under the bridge were, quite literally, dumped on by the upper classes above. These distinctly unpleasant underworld houses quickly became plague ridden and a no-go area for anyone with a serious desire to live more than a few months, which included the police, so the place became a haven for murderers, prostitutes and disease. On top of that, a great fire swept through and took out the poor souls that had survived, before the city council decided to seal the whole area off, charred bodies and all. Clearly this was a place for unhappy souls to rise, and as luck would have it, the buildings under the bridge had been excavated in the past few years, giving our guide the key to let us take a look around.

The striking thing in these vaults was how people managed to live here. They are dark, damp and have little air passing through them, giving a real feel of desperation that these people lived under. Certain chambers, known for being haunted, had been given no lighting for the purpose of helping us build on the atmosphere and connect with the dead. The tales of past visitors and the slightly colder air here might have really spooked us out, but one of the group had a camera and accompanying flash that they wielded like a crazed man with a machine gun, spoiling the ambience somewhat.

After the underworld came a further trip around the city as we made our way to Greyfriars Kirkyard. As we went around, Ariadne made a particularly good job of introducing the famous Mackenzie poltergeist, named after a rather brutal man who ordered the execution of hundreds of covenanters, giving a whole heap more lost souls to the place. The covenanters’ prison was in a locked area of the graveyard, and, once again, Ariadne had the key. As we headed into one of the mausoleums, where reputedly the poltergeist had left visitors covered in burns, scratches and bruises, we had been warned what to look out for; if we suddenly felt cold, we were probably being attacked. If we started to feel a bit nauseous, we were probably being seriously attacked and should probably push ourselves further into the group. As has felt natural to me since my days at school, I was keen to stand at the back of the crowd, out of the focus of attention, and as we stood there listening to the ghost stories, I felt a cold sensation, first in my elbows, then down my arms. My logical mind dismissed it, after all, there was a very good chance that the old bricks of the mausoleum had draughts blowing right through them, but nevertheless, the feeling was there. I should probably have taken the advice and stepped into the group, but I had no intention of doing so. Deep down, I was almost willing the cold spot to move up the body, for something to punch me in the back even though everyone else was in front of me, or for me to get burnt, scratched or clipped around the ear. It wasn’t to be though, cold elbows was as far as it went. Lyndsey had the same feeling, which probably give more conclusive grounds that it was likely to be a draught, as she had been stood next to me and in the same vicinity of a random air hole. Or, indeed, a poltergeist stood between us.

Though it seemed over in a flash, the tour had lasted for the best part of two hours and it was nearly midnight as we left the graveyard. Though I could see tiredness in everyone’s eyes, we agreed that one more drink was in order if we could find somewhere open. Sadly, it wasn’t to be; Deacon Brodies was just closing up for the night as we got there, and the whiskey bar appeared to be open for the locals who were slumped over the bar only: we were politely told to get lost as they were closed but a bunch of locals were able to buy another couple of shots as we walked out. It was after midnight on a Sunday, so would have been very lucky to find anywhere (barring the haggis pizza-selling kebab house) open, and even luckier to find a bus service back to the hotel. As it happened, we had only just missed the last bus, but we had indeed missed it. Instead, we flagged down a taxi and made sure he didn’t take us the long way this time, slashing the cost in the process.

Despite the hour, we weren’t particularly tired, so I made use of the remaining reserves of teabags. As I stirred the tea, I noticed a single scratch on my right hand, and then a distinctive burn on the left. I couldn’t explain either; while with the scratch I could have possibly caught it somewhere throughout the course of the day, there was absolutely nothing I had done that could have burned my hand in the place it did. This scared Lyndsey a bit, especially as she convinced herself that it looked rather like a rope burn. As we looked through the pictures of the day, one from the covenanters’ prison caught our eye. Lyndsey had broken away from the group at the time and taken some pictures before we entered that part of the kirk. The picture had turned out slightly odd though; the left hand side definitely looked as we remembered it in the darkness of the evening, but as you looked further to the right hand side the picture lightened up, and on the edge of the picture there appeared to be a bit of a mist with, using a bit of imagination, an imprint of a face. Maybe it was a ghost, maybe not. We probably wouldn’t have noticed it had we not been looking for ghosts, which possibly says a lot.

After drinking our tea and watching television for a while, I decided it was time for bed. Lyndsey still looked a bit spooked at this point and asked if we could sleep with the lights on. For want of a better word, I said ‘No’, and the darkness enveloped us once more.

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