I apologize for my absence the last few days---my daughter had to have surgery, and taking care of her, plus juggling my full time job and a few other projects had me kind of worn out. The worn out where I knew that even if I sat down at the computer, absolutely nothing witty would come to mind. On the best of days I struggle with whether I am being (kind of) witty or just plain silly, and if I'm really tired I certainly don't want to grapple with that question! But sleep (and a recovering daughter) works wonders, so I'm back to finish our visit to Williamsburg with the haunting question....who walks the stairs of the Wythe House with one shoe on and one shoe off?
Located on tree-shaded Gloucester
Street, and on the west side of Palace Green, this mansion was built
during the mid-1700s, around 1755, designed to be a wedding gift for newlyweds George Wythe and his wife. His wife's father generously
footed the bill for this lovely project. George Wythe, a dedicated patriot,
has the distinguished honor of being America's first law professor,
and was the teacher and mentor of Thomas Jefferson. Sir Peyton and Lady
Ann Skipwith would come and stay for extended periods of time, up until
1779, when Ann died in childbirth. After the capitol was moved to Richmond,
in 1780, the Wythes moved there as well. George suffered a painful death
by poisoning in 1806. A greedy relative did the dastardly deed, in hopes
of a large inheritance, but George quickly changed his will before he died.
When the Wythes moved to Richmond
in 1780, Sir Peyton's brother, Henry Skipwith, and his wife, Elizabeth,
moved into the Wythe House.
As a special treat to my daughter when we visited Williamsburg several years ago I arranged for a private candlelight "haunted" tour of colonial Williamsburg with a local history buff. Having grown up in Williamsburg and been a resident for over 70 years, he was intimately acquainted with all the folklore, tales and history of the place. We had an amazing time, although I must say a few of his tales gave me goosebumps. Remember, the colonial portion of the town doesn't have electric lights (if you are living in one of the "modernized" homes in the area you are required to shutter all your windows in the evening) so it was dark out. Really dark. And we had only one small lantern to light our path. If my mother were writing this blog post, she would tell you that on a dull day I have an overactive imagination, so you can imagine how I felt walking in the dark on streets where three hundred year old ghosts were said to walk....!!
One of the first homes we stopped at was the Wythe home, shown above. I planned the ghost walk as my daughter's first introduction to Williamsburg, thinking that then the next day when we toured in daylight she might have her interest piqued about a few of the historic homes. And it worked....she couldn't wait to get inside the homes the next day and hear more ghost stories! Except...none of the tour guides ever mentioned any hauntings...leaving us to wonder what they might have experienced when the doors shut at night....(cue deliciously spooky organ music here....) And I'm not kidding about the spooky organ music, but that is tomorrow's tale!
So the story goes that around midnight in the house many have heard
a peculiar clicking rhythm going up the main staircase. Many think
it is Ann Skipwith, running up the staircase in anger, after having
a spirited fight with her better half at the Governor's palace nearby.
On her way back to the house, she lost one of her dress slippers,
and the strange clicking rhythm sound still heard is the sound she
made with one shoe on and one shoe off.
 | ||
| These pictures were taken by my daughter surreptiously...pictures weren't allowed in the home but we were determined to see if anything showed up on camera! Hence the blurred effect...or is it due to something else?! |
One evening, a custodian saw
a detailed, life-like apparition of a colonial woman in an evening
dress standing on the staircase. Thinking she was a guide, he went
over to speak to her. Imagine his surprise when she melted into thin
air.
The air on the second floor
landing, at the top of the stairs, is an area that often has unexplainable
cold spots, even on a hot day. While walking through this frightfully
cold spot, a hostess suddenly felt a presence try to push her back,
for a few moments.
When the house was empty, a
hostess heard furniture being moved around.
After the house had been closed for the day, a custodian
heard a man and woman discussing something in the parlor. As he walked
down the staircase toward the parlor, to see who was in there, the
voices got louder and louder. When he opened the parlor doors, the
voices were stilled and no one was there.
It was fun watching her excitement as we toured the house, remembering the stories our guide had related the night before. As we left I captured one last picture of the house...
Funny thing is....there wasn't a tour guide on the second floor. It was closed for remodeling......
Haunted Houses
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
All houses wherein men have lived and died
Are haunted houses. Through the open doors
The harmless phantoms on their errands glide,
With feet that make no sound upon the floors.
We meet them at the door-way, on the stair,
Along the passages they come and go,
Impalpable impressions on the air,
A sense of something moving to and fro.
There are more guests at table than the hosts
Invited; the illuminated hall
Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts,
As silent as the pictures on the wall.
The stranger at my fireside cannot see
The forms I see, nor hear the sounds I hear;
He but perceives what is; while unto me
All that has been is visible and clear. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19993#sthash.oIifXXFe.dpuf
All houses wherein men have lived and died
Are haunted houses. Through the open doors
The harmless phantoms on their errands glide,
With feet that make no sound upon the floors.
We meet them at the doorway, on the stair,
Along the passages they come and go,
Impalpable impressions on the air,
A sense of something moving to and fro.
There are more guests at table, than the hosts
Invited; the illuminated hall
Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts,
As silent as the pictures on the wall.
The stranger at my fireside cannot see
The forms I see, nor hear the sounds I hear;
He but perceives what is; while unto me
All that has been is visible and clear.
Are haunted houses. Through the open doors
The harmless phantoms on their errands glide,
With feet that make no sound upon the floors.
We meet them at the doorway, on the stair,
Along the passages they come and go,
Impalpable impressions on the air,
A sense of something moving to and fro.
There are more guests at table, than the hosts
Invited; the illuminated hall
Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts,
As silent as the pictures on the wall.
The stranger at my fireside cannot see
The forms I see, nor hear the sounds I hear;
He but perceives what is; while unto me
All that has been is visible and clear.
The spirit-world around this world of sense
Floats like an atmosphere, and everywhere
Wafts through these earthly mists and vapors dense
A vital breath of more ethereal air.
Floats like an atmosphere, and everywhere
Wafts through these earthly mists and vapors dense
A vital breath of more ethereal air.
Haunted Houses
by Henry Wadsworth LongfellowAll houses wherein men have lived and died Are haunted houses. Through the open doors The harmless phantoms on their errands glide, With feet that make no sound upon the floors. We meet them at the door-way, on the stair, Along the passages they come and go, Impalpable impressions on the air, A sense of something moving to and fro. There are more guests at table than the hosts Invited; the illuminated hall Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts, As silent as the pictures on the wall. The stranger at my fireside cannot see The forms I see, nor hear the sounds I hear; He but perceives what is; while unto me All that has been is visible and clear.- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19993#sthash.sS70JnBo.dpuf
Haunted Houses
by Henry Wadsworth LongfellowAll houses wherein men have lived and died Are haunted houses. Through the open doors The harmless phantoms on their errands glide, With feet that make no sound upon the floors. We meet them at the door-way, on the stair, Along the passages they come and go, Impalpable impressions on the air, A sense of something moving to and fro. There are more guests at table than the hosts Invited; the illuminated hall Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts, As silent as the pictures on the wall. The stranger at my fireside cannot see The forms I see, nor hear the sounds I hear; He but perceives what is; while unto me All that has been is visible and clear.- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19993#sthash.sS70JnBo.dpuf
Haunted Houses
by Henry Wadsworth LongfellowAll houses wherein men have lived and died Are haunted houses. Through the open doors The harmless phantoms on their errands glide, With feet that make no sound upon the floors. We meet them at the door-way, on the stair, Along the passages they come and go, Impalpable impressions on the air, A sense of something moving to and fro. There are more guests at table than the hosts Invited; the illuminated hall Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts, As silent as the pictures on the wall. The stranger at my fireside cannot see The forms I see, nor hear the sounds I hear; He but perceives what is; while unto me All that has been is visible and clear.- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19993#sthash.sS70JnBo.dpuf
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