Ghost of the west

I’m about to join a ghost tour and a black cat has just crossed my path. Should I be worried?
“Now my loves,” says our guide Pauline in a broad Somerset accent, “up there is where a famous opera singer of the 1850s shot himself after losing his voice.”
Dressed in a long black shirt and shawl, lustrous dark hair in ringlets and carrying a wicker basket, Pauline is the epitome of 1800s barrow-girl chic and you can almost hear the clip-clop of horse’s hooves as she speaks.
All of a sudden though, she’s become the daughter of an Irish potato farmer with a perfect sing-song lilt as she uses her voice talents to explain the mix of races that made up the early years of the area.
Melissa and I have tagged along with a group of accountants on an end-of-financial-year piss up for a spooky Lantern Ghost Tour around Williamstown.
And even if you’re a sceptic like me you’ll find this whimsical walk fascinating… and not just for the secret alleys and hidden-away pubs that you’ll discover!
We start at the Steampacket Hotel and as we move on down the street Pauline paints a colourful image of Williamstown’s past, starting with the little backstreet that runs along a ley line. Best described as the lines between ancient sites where paranormal activity is often witnessed, the muddy alley seems an unlikely spot for ghosts to be hanging out, but Pauline assures us photographers usually pick up orbs — or balls of energy believed to be spirits — on their pictures.
Pretty soon though, after exploring the narrow back streets we find ourselves on the main restaurant strip of Williamstown blinking at the suddenly bright lights, looking at the turrets of a “love castle” above a Greek eatery.
“One man was so in love with his wife that he built her a castle; they had a death pact that they would die in each other’s arms,” says Pauline. “Tragically, she broke her neck when horse riding, but she’s often still seen framed in the upstairs window looking sadly out to the street.”
Eagerly, Melissa and I snap away as we pass more allegedly haunted properties, including one whose past occupants were involved in the occult, before trekking through a large boat shed to a real-life pirate’s lair.
This tucked-away pub on the Williamstown Pier is packed with yachty-type revellers enjoying a funky little two-man band — drinks are ordered and any chills up the spine are forgotten as we rest our legs.
But Pauline still has creepy up her sleeve; our next stop is ye olde Williamstown Morgue, a small but imposing bluestone structure where the ghosts of women and children in particular are said to dwell.
“Is anyone brave enough to knock on the door my loves?” Pauline shouts to the chattering group. “Remember that whoever is in there sometimes knocks back.”
I have to admit to a sense of foreboding as one of the brave accountants — egged on by his brave-sounding, but nervously giggling, colleagues — walks forward and boldly thumps
three times.
We wait with baited breath… but nothing happens. Still I’m keen to get out of there.
Our final stop is the lovely old Stags Head Hotel where the ghosts of a former publican, his wife and son are said to stomp across the floor above the dining room.
Having jumped to their deaths after financial ruin many years ago, the ethereal trio still like to play with the living enjoying a drink or two in the bar.
And while this sceptic didn’t have her mind changed about the presence of paranormal activity, I thoroughly enjoyed our very civilised and intriguing tour.
http://www.theauzone.com.au/personal/features/536-ghost-of-the-west.html