Ormeau Rd Spooks or Spoofs, 24th August 2013 As part of Household

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A group of around 14 intrepid ghost busters met at the Ormeau Rd library to set out in search of local spooks and other unexplained phenomena on the Ormeau area. We were armed with tales of the unexpected, some that we had been told, some that we had been sent.

The first port of call took in two domestic houses, where Dougal, who contributed the story had formally lived and the Ormeau Bakery.

The Bakery Strangling: Dougal

Dougal McKenzie Lived at 54 Delhi Street and 40 Candahar Street from 1993 to 1998

‘’The strange coincidence of me living at these two separate addresses was that both of these houses had been connected with the infamous Bakery Strangling of 1936.

When I moved into no. 54, the very old man next door at no. 52 told myself and my housemates that no one had managed to stay more than a couple of months in our house. The last long term occupant and owner of the house, Mr Enfield Utterson, had passed away in 1978. No. 54 was then bought by someone who rented it out, but we were told that because of its connection to the strangling there had been countless strange apparitions seen by the tenants over the years.

The Bakery Strangling had been the murder of Jenny Lanyon, who worked at the Ormeau Bakery and lived with her family at no.40 Candahar Street. Her father was one of the managers at the bakery; her other older sister Edith also worked there. Enfield Utterson had also worked at the bakery as a manager, but retired very early after disputes with with the girls' father. It is also said that he had come into a sizeable inheritance, enough for him to live comfortably without having to work.

 Jenny and Edith it is said did not get on, and  both had a secret relationship with Enfield Utterson; unknown to each other he would meet them on separate days for walks in the Ormeau Park, with promises to take them abroad on sight-seeing trips. Utterson was well known in the area because of the stories about his demise at the bakery and the small fortune he had  inherited. Everyone talked about an amazing ring he wore, a thick gold band inlaid with ruby all the way round.

One weekend in the summer of 1936, early in the morning, Jenny was found strangled to death by the side of the bakery. Edith had discovered the truth about hers and Jenny's relationship with Enfield Utterson just the week before, and when all of this became known to the police both Edith and Utterson became suspects.

However, it appeared that Utterson was in Paris on a trip that weekend and so the strongest suspicions fell upon Edith. Both were brought to trial, but the evidence was inconclusive. Edith eventually left Belfast to work in France, but Enfield Utterson remained at no. 54 until his death. It was said that when the house was cleared of his possessions, two different locks of hair and a photograph of an unknown young girl (French it was said) were found on the mantelpiece.

The old man at no. 50 told us another story, of a way to see an apparition of who the murderer was: Edith or Utterson. It is said that if two people, at the same time, look at the front windows of  no. 54 Delhi Street and no. 40 Candahar Street on any weekend day or night, then Jenny can be seen getting strangled. It is difficult to see whether it is a male or female strangling her. I saw the apparition only once, when myself and one of my housemates tried it. Once was enough.

One last thing....if you look up at the top window of 52 Delhi Street, where the old man who told us the story used to live (he died in 1995, just after I had moved into Delhi Street), you will sometimes see a hand moving the curtains. It is wearing a red ring.’’

After I had recounted the tale on Delhi St then all of us bar Mike headed to Candahar to test if looking into the two houses simultaneously would reveal the identity of the killer or if we could catch a glimps of the ruby ring.

All we saw in Candahar was a bloke upstairs wearing what looked like a Liverpool strip.

We moved on across the Ormeau towards the Ormeau Park, collecting more walkers as we go, but accidently took a detour into the Bowling Green where we realised we cant use this entrance to the park. We backtracked and made towards the upper bell in the park to recount a tragic and half remembered incident from Dan

Tree (Don't have too many details) 
Dan

‘’Matthew and i cam across a guy in the park shouting fr help - we were passing through the park on our way home to from College Green party to the ravenhill - late one night. It tuned out the guy and his girlfriend had climbed a tree (near the lower bell) - both on E - she had fallen and was unconscious on the ground. We went and called an ambulance and helped them find and get to the girl in the dark. We took the coupls bikes back to our house where the bikes stayed for months before the guy came to collect them - the girl was alive but things weren't very good it seemed.‘’

Meteroite: Mike

Mike then realled seeing a fireball in the sky one summer evening when he was playing football there. Kevin realized that he had seen the same thing but from Mica Drive in the west of the city.

It was just coming into dusk and both recounted how the fireball lit up Ormeau Park and many city street lights. The both had hread sonic boons which had followed the spectacular light show and agreed that it looked like the end of the world.

This was probably the Bovedy Meteorite of July 5^th 1969. It was seen by possibly thousands of people and both Armagh Observatory and Dunsink Observatory outside Dublin received several eye witness accounts of the event.  The meteroite entered the earth’s atmosphere over the Bristol Channel, made its way rapidly across Wales, the Irish Sea, North Dublin before starting to break up shedding its first load near Sprucefield as a chunk fell through the asbestos roof of an RUC storage building. The remainder travelled on to fall to earth on a farm, Mr. Gilmores field near Bovedy. Co Derry. Hence its name. The recovered magnesium rich fragment is now on display in the Ulster Museum. The magnesium would explain the sparkler like coloured flares that many witnesses to the event saw.

Onwards towards the bus stop at the end of Deramore Ave to visit the site of Gerard’s unsolicited paint bombing.

Paint Bomb: Gerard

Gerard got paint bombed near the bus stop at the end of Deramore Ave in broad daylight by a feral 6 yr old child. He could have been wearing Spiderman pyjamas. The paint was yellow, he never saw the kid coming.

Then down Deramore to Satis House to hook up with Kim to hear about their party ghost. Our numbers continue to grow.

Whitney Houston’s Party Ghost: Eoin and Kim

It was the night of Whitney Houston’s untimely death. The house party at Satis House was winding down, people were starting to get their coats. Eoin felt a presence on the stairs, meanwhile the party started to crank up again. Kim thought it was the ghost of Whitney passing through the house to reignite the revelry.

From time to time Eoins bedroom door opens and closes of its own accord, could it be Whitney checking up to see if they still throw a good party?

Time to head up Sunnyside St to Gipsy St in search of white mice harmonicas and sea faring unicorns from Derville’s story.

The Gipsy Boys: Derville

‘’Burns and Shiels had given everything to Harland and Wolff with their biggest achievement as burners being the launch of the HMS Unicorn in 1939.

As far as these two twenty-somethings were concerned, they deserved a break and after the Easter Blitz of 1942 hit the docks hard, they got one. The plant was closed for three months.

In a bid to buy back their youth which had been siphoned off bit by bolt to the company Brendan Shiels and Wallace Burns met with purpose most evenings on the corner of Gipsy and Sunnyside Streets. They were unmarried and untouchable having so far dodged Tuberculosis, Blackwater fever, the Luftwaffe not to mention their own conscription, but their days were numbered.

They shared Chesterfield cigarettes and traded pictures of a scantily clad Judith Preach. That summer they vowed to stop lamenting those who had lost their lives in Nazi air raids.

They knew how it worked that Harland and Wolff were supplying bomb casings to the enemy whilst building naval ships for the allies. They also heard DeValera in the Republic proclaiming to Hitler that neutrality stretched north and that, "They are our people". That summer they drank to no one but themselves.

On 20th of June 1942 the Military Police Company of the United States Army arrived to Northern Ireland to set up post. As the men hit local Belfast hostelries to taste real Guinness, Burns and Shiels felt the Gipsy Boys, as they called themselves, should extend an arm of hospitality in their direction and give them a guided tour.

It wasn't long before the Gipsy Boys were smoking Lucky Strikes, calling them 'Luckies' and using the word 'swell'. On 14th of July the first black company arrived in Belfast and Private George Bolster was amongst them. He was a wonderful harmonica player who kept a white mouse in his pocket. When he would play the mouse would squeal.

It was Bolster that introduced the Gipsy Boys to the 'Double V' idea. The idea that fighting for victory over the enemy being the first 'V' and combating the enemy within being the second.

"The enemy within?" they inquired.

"That which grabs your throat and kicks your ribs with hate and self-hate from the inside. That which causes a man to hate his neighbour", Bolster replied.

Burns and Shields took all this in as well as stories of highly strung, loose women from Mississippi. They were close friends from the moment they met and were more than disappointed at the news that Bolster was to be stationed on the HMS Unicorn on a reconnaissance mission off the coast of Normandy.

"No animals on board", he shrugged and handed over Mrs. Stephens (his mouse) to Shiels.

"Look after Mrs. Stephens she drinks water, likes potato chips and is one of a kind."

She won't make a peep only when she hears the sound of a harmonica.

On the day Bolster was due to set sail, Shiels met him as he lined up at the dockside and presented him with a picture of Judith Preach in a bathing costume eating candyfloss.

"Mrs. Stephen's is now four of a kind."

The gates of Harland and Wolff reopened and the Gipsy Boys disbanded as their names were called out one by one to join the army.

Gipsy St. became notorious for it's houses being plagued with white mice.

That summer remains remembered on the redbrick gable wall of the first house on the right as you face Gipsy Street. Brendan Shiels and W. B. carefully etched beside a picture of the HMS Unicorn. Have a look and see if you can spot their marks and bring a harmonica if you dare? ‘’

The brickwork on the end wall sports several exquisitely drawn boats and a range of initials dating from WW2.

We then head out onto the Ormeau again to take in a political ghost the scene of shooting from the 90’s recalled by Dan.

Taxi: Dan

‘’Theo and I came across a taxi driver shooting on our way to the Pavillion one night - it had just happened an the police were cordoning off the area - looked pretty scary. It was the taxi rank just down from the pavillion - near where graffitti is now. maybe the fona cab one. 96 or 97 i guess
’’

Ormeau Embankment Traffic Accident

We walked down the Ormeau towards the bridge. At the embankment we came across the site of a white bike memorial to Michael Caufield, cyclist tragically killed in an accident at rush our on the morning of 15th April 2011.

Bubbles

Further along the bridge we spotted some atmospheric bubbles on the surface of the Lagan, too plentiful and vigerous to be any kind of fish, they transpire to be bubbles from an aeration system in the Lagan. Bubble producing devises have been placed at intervals along the river to encourage fish and other river life back.

On the Lower Ormeau side of the bridge we point out too more sites mentioned by Dan

Car: Dan

‘’ 1996ish
I saw a guy getting bundled into a car near the lower ormeau - he did not want to go but three guys beat him and stuffed him into the car which then raced off.
’’

Hammer: Dan

‘’ Gary (check with him) was hit in the head (with a hammer) and woke up unconscious (also near the hatfeild) - or so the story goes.
not much to go on there I know.....
No ghosts???
’’

By now our numbers have doubled. We head down the embankment, along Curizon St to Agincourt Ave to meert up with Jason at the top of Rughy Road where he delivers our final tale for the day.

You Are My Sunshine: Jason

‘’ It‘s a beautiful spring morning, and I’m in the gloom of the bedroom getting dressed. The rest of the house is flooded with light; the large windows give uninterrupted views of Rugby Road and the Botanic Gardens; fresh budding trees, sparks of yellow Witch Hazel. In the bedroom though, I always keep the curtains closed. Unless it’s a really black winter’s day, enough light seeps in around them for me to be able to see what I’m doing. Today it’s sunny outside, and there’s a beam of sunlight coming through the chink between the curtains; it severs the dimness just in front of me. As I pull a scarf from the drawer, dust particles fly up, illuminated in the radiance. They swirl: red, green, blue, and white; a serene miniature cosmos. It’s entrancing. I give the silk another shake, and more of the tiny fibres rise, hang, and slowly drift in the still air.

I am taken aback when the calm pattern changes, as if stirred up by little invisible fingers.

I didn’t do this. There are no air currents, no flying insects. It’s not natural. My heart beats faster, adrenaline pumps. Then it happens again; and again. It’s surely not possible. Children’s fingers playfully circling, making impish eddies, sweeping. Could it be?

Every day since I fled Chile after Pinochet’s bloody military coup in 1973, I’ve thought of the girls I left behind; my neighbour’s daughters. I remember them running through my house, filling the air with their infectious laughter, squealing when I tickled them. They were family to me.

Yes. It’s the only explanation – it has to be. At last my prayers have been answered and my lost ones have found me. I have missed them so, so much. I overflow with joy at the thought of their return; picture them giggling: gappy smiles, bright innocent eyes. Playing along with them, I touch nothing tangible, there is no sound. We chase each other’s traces in the sunlit motes. Then, all too soon, a cloud passes outside and they are gone. Tears bloom in my eyes, unwanted like nightshade. Sobbing, I curse the capricious Belfast weather de las putas then cry out to the mute air, imploring:

Come back, little ones. Please, stay with me. Tell me I’m forgiven? I didn’t know the secret police would take you too. In limbo, I wait for the sun to return. ‘’

The crowd disperse, many joining Jason for his bi lingual Vernacularisms walk.