Haunted Windsor. Ghosts of Windsor Castle. Herne The Hunter.

Dominated by the oldest inhabited castle in Europe, the country towns of Windsor and Eton make an easy excursion from London. Windsor Castle has been the scene of many hauntings but since the majority of these are in areas that are inaccessible to the public, I have covered only those that can be seen from the town itself. Eton is the home to England’s top public school, Eton College. Its High Street is lined with delightful buildings from all ages, and there are numerous dark and sinister alleyways that lead to some extremely spooky back streets. Highlights of the walk include a stroll through Windsor Great Park and Windsor Guildhall, a 15th-century building where there is a gruesome reminder of Eton’s past as well as magnificent views of the castle itself.

This statue, the starting point of our walk, was placed here in 1887 to commemorate the fiftieth anniversary of Victoria’s accession to the throne. It is rumoured that the Queen made frequent attempts to contact the spirit of her dead Consort, Albert, using her loyal servant John Brown as her medium. She dutifully kept detailed records of the seances, and these were found after her death by the Dean of Windsor and destroyed for fear that they might cause a scandal.

This is the main visitor’s entrance to Windsor Castle, but is locked at night. In April 1906 a sentry who was on duty at the top of the pathway became suspicious of a group of men who appeared from nowhere and walked towards him. Thinking them to be intruders, he challenged them, but they continued to advance, paying him no attention whatsoever. When a third challenge went unanswered, he cocked his rifle and fired at the leading figure. The man paused for a moment, but the group continued their approach. The frantic guardsman raised his bayonet and prepared to charge at which moment the entire group abruptly vanished. He quickly reported his experience to his commanding officer, and a full-scale search of the castle and grounds was instigated, but no intruders were found. As punishment the unfortunate sentry was confined to barracks for three days.

This delightful cobblestoned street is lined by buildings of differing ages. A little way along on the left is Nell Gwyn’s House. Dating from 1640, this was reputedly once the home of Charles II’s most famous mistress. Her ghost is sometimes heard, though never seen, moving about the premises.

It was here in 1648 that leading Parliamentarian officers met to resolve that King Charles I ‘should be prosecuted for his life as a criminal person’. A reproduction of the signed death warrant can be seen on the wall of the building.

On its picturesque frontage, is the claim that the building was erected in 1423. This cosy, atmospheric restaurant has in recent years suffered little from the ghost that haunted the premises when it was home to the Engine House Restaurant, in the early 1980s.

It was then that a member of staff told the Windsor and Eton Express about a ghostly figure that had appeared before her wearing ‘a stiff white collar, a hat like a Quaker…he had long flowing hair and a beard’. Without uttering a word the ghost just appeared before her and abruptly vanished. The manageress told the newspaper that staff often heard somebody moving about upstairs. Most disturbing, however, was the large male footprint that would often appear in the bath, although no men were either living in or working on the premises at that time.

Black Horse Yard, named for an old inn that once stood on this site.†Local legend tells of a ghostly coach that, at night, comes galloping from this dismal passageway. Drawn by two huge black horses, it turns abruptly right and speeds off towards the gates of Windsor Park, where it melts slowly into the darkness. It is said to contain the ghost of one of the royal physicians who raced to treat the dying King Charles II. Since then, the apparition is supposed to appear just before the death of a monarch, although its last manifestation was in 1910, just before the last illness of Edward VII.

Here you are afforded a truly majestic view of Windsor Castle’s south facade. At night the section of the Long Walk that leads to it is eerily dark and superbly sinister.

In 1927 a young sentry on guard duty shot himself through the head in the early hours of the morning. Some weeks later, a colleague of his named Sergeant Leake was given the Long Walk as his sentry duty. Towards the end of what had proved an uneventful shift, Leake was glad to hear the approaching footsteps of what he presumed to be his relief. Instead he found himself looking at the sad face of the young suicide. As he stood staring in bewildered astonishment, the genuine relief guardsman marched into view and the apparition immediately vanished. Back at barracks, Leake told his experience to the sentry whom he had relieved and was informed that he, too, had seen the ghost of the young suicide.

Massive trees line your way. Above your head, airplanes begin their descent into Heathrow Airport. This was once the fringe of Windsor Forest, a favoured hunting ground for successive monarchs, and it is to that period of history that Windsor’s most famous haunting belongs

When, in 1597, William Shakespeare set pen to parchment and wrote The Merry Wives of Windsor he had Mistress Page utter the above lines. And despite this being the earliest written reference we have to the legend of Herne the Hunter, it is probable that Shakespeare was drawing on a much older local tradition, the origins of which lay with the Norse god, Odin and of the horned Celtic deity, Cernunnos. The Wild Hunt itself was, according to ancient myth, the force behind the ferocious winter tempests that had devastated Europe for as long as man could remember. Eager to understand nature’s savage moods, primitive man was quick to incarnate that which he couldn’t control. The howling winds, so it was whispered, were nothing less than the baying of ghostly hounds, and the pounding blizzards the sound of horses’ hooves galloping overhead as the Wild Hunt went about its savage business heaping carnage and misfortune on mankind.

But, by Shakespeare’s day, it is evident this ancient myth had become established in Windsor Forest, and the ghastly entourage had found a local leader in the spectral form of Herne the Hunter. The living Herne, according to legend, was a huntsman during the reign of Richard 11 (1377 –1399) who saved the King from being mauled by a stag by throwing himself into the beast’s path. It almost cost him his life. But, as he lay fatally wounded on the ground an old man, came strolling from the depths of Windsor Forest claiming that, if Richard willed it, he could save Herne’s life by magical means. The King ordered the stranger to do what he could and promised that, should Herne recover, he would make him head huntsman. The hunting party then watched as the old man bound a pair of stags’ antlers onto their injured friends head and carried him off into the depths of the forest.

But the prospect of Herne’s promotion so rankled with his fellow huntsmen that they rode into Windsor Forest and, having found the old man’s abode, threatened to kill him should their comrade survive. He told them there was nothing he could do to halt the magic, but promised that although his patient would get well and become head huntsman, he would not hold the position for long. But as they mounted their horses to ride away, the old man stepped in front of them and warned them that, in wishing ill on Herne they would bring his curse upon themselves.

In time Herne made a full recovery, and just as the King had promised, he was made head huntsman. But he had lost all his skill and proved so bad at locating good sport for his royal master that he was soon dismissed from service and, in despair, hanged himself from the branch of an oak tree in Windsor Forest. His fellow huntsmen fared little better as, one by one, they too met with mysterious and violent deaths.

But on certain storm tossed nights, the spectral band of hunters, led by Herne himself, are said to gallop through Windsor Great Park, preceded by a pack of baying hounds, where their appearance is said to always presage a national misfortune or calamity. And Herne himself, was said to appear hanging from the branches of his oak, until that is, it was cut down during the reign of George 111.

Before you do so, however, pause and look around. On more than one occasion those who have found themselves walking this way late at night have suddenly become aware of a man wearing a black cape and tall hat who stands watching them. He stares unblinkingly, fixing them with a steely, sinister gaze before turning and fading slowly into the darkness.

Hadleigh House. Dating from the late 18th century, this is one of Windsor’s finest Georgian buildings. Footsteps are often heard pacing up and down the staircase, loud, violent knocking noises sound from behind the walls all over the house, and one room is said to have a very unfriendly atmosphere.

A former owner came down one morning to find that she couldn’t get into the living-room. A carpenter was called; he managed to gain access and found that, during the night, someone had locked the living-room door from the inside.

The Guildhall, built by Sir Christopher Wren in 1687. His initial plans included only a set of outer pillars, which he was convinced would be sufficient to support the upper floors. The town council, however, were not convinced, and insisted he include the central pillars. Wren concurred but, as you can see, left a small gap between the columns and the roof so that they would never bear any load!

On the other side of the Guildhall is this delightful old building, now a pleasant tea room, which leans at what appears to be an extremely precarious angle. It is freestanding (Windsor’s only freestanding wooden structure), and the lack of neighbouring buildings to act as support has resulted in this eye-catching slant.

Inside, near to the fireplace, there is a cold spot that customers often notice. In December 1997 a medium told the owners that she could see a little old lady with grey hair stooping over the fireplace at the exact spot where the coldness occurs.

Immediately after Market Cross House is Queen Charlotte Street, which, at 51 feet 10 inches (15.8m) long. is reputed to be the shortest street in Britain.

Although there is no evidence that the great architect designed or ever lived in the building, it certainly is appropriately old. It was owned for much of the 18th century by a local family called Cheshire, whose tenure here was marked by a run of extreme bad luck. Members of the household would fall seriously ill of ailments indigenous to foreign lands that they had never actually visited. A daughter of the house had an illegitimate child who died in infancy, causing her to suffer a nervous breakdown. Her father nearly died from a serious bout of food poisoning that town gossip maintained was caused by a dose of poison administered by his mad daughter. His fortunes took a turn for the worse and he was forced to sell the building.

The moment the family moved out its bad luck ended. But anyone who came to live here suffered similar unlucky episodes, and the house soon gained the reputation of being cursed. As a result it remained empty for much of the 19th century and on into the 20th century, when it was bought by two elderly sisters who turned it into a hotel. Although they suffered no ill effects, one female guest woke up in the early hours of one morning to see a tall figure standing in the darkened room by a chest of drawers. She watched as the figure crossed the room towards the bathroom and abruptly vanished. She maintained that there was nothing in the least bit frightening about the figure. Today the hotel sits neatly set back from Thames Street and curses and hauntings seem to be a thing of the dim and distant past.

Waterman’s Arms. Windsor suffered terribly from the Great Plague of 1665 and the cellar of the Waterman’s Arms was commandeered as a local mortuary. The pub suffers from frequent knocking noises from behind the walls and a small boy with long hair has appeared in one of the bedrooms to sit on the end of the bed.

This picturesque 15th-century construction nestles among many other delightful old buildings and was once the setting for the barbaric sport of cock fighting. The original cockpit still exists behind the building, and is one of the few remaining in England. The building is haunted by a little old lady who flits between the tables of the restaurant, as though looking for some lost article. Her manner is unobtrusive, even apologetic, and successive owners have left her to her own devices.