Has Taunton’s bloody history left a chill in the air, or is it just the sweat cooling on Pete’s neck?
Words & Photography Pete Scullion
“If ghosts do exist, why are they all centuries old? Why are there no ghosts from 2013 moaning about the imminent Scottish independence vote and the rising price of petrol?”
Ask anyone whether they believe in ghosts and you will get a full spectrum of answers from the positive and the negative, with various shades of energy put behind their statements. Ghosts have captivated our imagination since time immemorial and the advent of photography saw a rise in their prevalence, only to drop off as cameras got better. Photoshop then saw another spike with any ‘photo’ of a ghost being met with derision and acceptance in equal measure.
Latest Singletrack Merch
Buying and wearing our sustainable merch is another great way to support Singletrack
Ghosts are, not unsurprisingly, the most commonly believed in paranormal phenomenon. A 2019 Ipsos poll indicated that 46% of Americans believe in ghosts. That’s an awful lot of people. Are we simply using ghosts as a way of explaining to ourselves things that we cannot understand? A door slamming shut, missing items, cold patches in a building… Coincidence, but something we feel the need to explain to ourselves?
Local legends
Why have I travelled almost seven hours south and west to Taunton, you might ask? Well, Taunton has the dubious honour of being one of the most, allegedly, haunted towns in Britain. As usual, the stories that come with these spectres are strongly linked to the historical events that ravaged the south-west. Taunton itself has been around since the Iron Age as a centre of importance and the area saw plenty of clashes from skirmishes to battles between warring factions during England’s multiple succession crises in the Middle Ages, and especially during the sheer chaos that dominated the country during and after the English Civil War. The ghost stories that dominate Taunton are inextricably linked to these events, including the Monmouth Rebellion of 1685, where the then Duke of Monmouth, illegitimate son of King Charles II, declared himself king and raised an army with a view to taking the throne after travelling back from his self-imposed exile in the Dutch Republic.
Joining me for a lap of the Quantocks and a visit to this famous haunted town is local legend Tony Williams, main man at Evolve MTB, and his pal Glen, fresh from his start at Royal Enfield motorcycles. Our outward lap starts at the romantically named ‘Dead Woman’s Ditch’. While there’s no apparition associated with this car park, it is the site of a dumped body and an assailant left hanging in a gibbet. A charcoal maker was forced into marriage and just three weeks after the wedding he slit his wife’s throat, dumping her body in the ditch atop the hill. Who said romance was dead?
Thankfully, the oak plantations of old have taken over the hills here, with signs of the old Iron Age boundary marker still visible, despite the aeons it has been there. Anyone with a good memory may recall me having ridden here some seven years ago for a Classic Ride with local airtime merchant Joel Anderson. Our route would be somewhat different today and, boy, have bikes come a long way since then.
From high on the Quantocks, we can see Swansea across the Bristol Channel, and large, late winter storm heads rolling south on a brisk and frosty northerly wind. For now, the sky and the ground are dry so we’re making good time from the get-go. This part of the world is one of stark contrasts. Above the steep-sided valleys, heather and warped blackthorn trees dominate, with views for miles in all directions. Drop down any one of the ribbons of singletrack off the top and you’re soon enveloped in ancient oak woodland that stands in contrast to the pine plantations we’re used to as mountain bikers in the UK.
After a short blast across bone-dry access tracks, we’re into the first of many descents that wind down around the contours of the hills. Dirt and rock are in the perfect ratio for a very fast time, and I’m already having trouble keeping up. Fast and open into a headwind has never been my speciality, and trying to keep up with proper adults has me gunning hard from the off. Once into the trees the wind drops, but I find myself no better at keeping pace. They’ve got the legs and the speed on me so it looks like playing catch-up is in order, which sets the tone for the rest of the ride. After almost nine hours in the car, my legs were in no fit state to play chase…
Living and breathing
While we’re trying to make our way south, we’re fighting against the valleys that run a mischievous east-west trajectory. This means we’re taking in a solid dollop of winch and plummet through the bright oak woods as the sun starts to make itself felt. The brisk wind of the early morning start would have been very welcome at the bottom of the valleys as the flow of air ceases and the skin begins to leak.
Deep in the woods the sheep have chosen to have the first of their spring lambs in the shelter afforded by the ancient trees, and spring very much feels like it’s springing. The first green shoots are popping on the trees and there’s fresh life being breathed into the hills, despite the chilly wind up top.
Off the Quantock Hills and down to the plains above the River Tone, we leave the Iron Age tumuli, hill forts and boundary ditches behind and dive into the medieval period – the Middle Ages – a time when Christianity had taken hold of the British Isles, even if your chosen denomination could see you revered or hated. Winding along the lanes into northern Taunton, there’s a very real mix of the ancient and the brand new. Buildings centuries old share the same postcode with others that have been up barely a year. Wonky Tudor buildings, warped by time, stand at odds with bright white modern apartment blocks.
It’s very much where the off-road riding comes to an end and we’re making the most of the cycle paths and towpaths of Taunton to wind our way closer to the centre, and specifically, Taunton Castle. Almost all of the ghost stories are centred here and they’re all linked to the Monmouth Rebellion.
Off with their heads
The Monmouth Rebellion of 1865 was an attempt to dethrone King James II, who would end up being the last Catholic monarch of England, Scotland and Ireland. The Duke of Monmouth, one James Scott, was by all accounts the bastard son of James II’s predecessor, Charles II. He, therefore, sought claim to the throne, and as a Protestant, did not like the fact that a Catholic monarch was in power. The English Civil War had left a sour taste in the mouths of many about the idea of monarchs and monarchy so there were still many who wished to raise armies against those who held this divine power. James was known to rule by personal decree and dissolved Parliament to avoid ministers passing laws that would see his line unable to succeed him.
Monmouth had been in exile and after convincing the Duke of Argyll to run a rebellion at the same time, left the Dutch Republic and landed a small force on the south coast at Lyme Regis before attempting to take, among other places, Bristol, which was the second most important English city after London at the time. Facing a professional army, and joined by a motley band of various rebels, he ultimately failed in this attempt, being beaten decisively at the Battle of Sedgemoor that took place on 6 July 1685.
In keeping with the practice of the time, those who rebelled were not treated lightly. James Scott was convicted of treason prior to his capture in a ditch shortly after the battle and, therefore, did not have to stand trial before his execution. Sources argue over the number of axe blows it took to sever his head… Delightful.
The Bloody Assizes, the name given to the trials of the rebels, took place in and around Taunton Castle. Judge George Jeffreys made himself a name during this trial and would be known as the ‘Hanging Judge’ because of his keenness for capital punishment. After being held in the castle dungeon, several hundred would be put to death, with many more sent to the West Indies for a decade of hard labour.
The Great Hall of the castle makes up the majority of the Museum of Somerset. Stories say that staff at the museum refuse to enter what is now known as the Rebellion Room where the damned were held ahead of their executions as tales of cold patches and tramping boots put them off. The room certainly has a mood to it and is blood red by the lighting, but cheery reception staff informed me that nobody currently working there has any issue entering. She pointed to Castle House across the courtyard as another site of a ghostly encounter, but assured me that it was likely nonsense.
De-cap latte?
Outside the castle is the aptly named Castle Hotel, home to an eerie violin sound and the revelry of the Duke and his troops celebrating the triumph that they felt was imminent. All we heard was the din of a modern town centre and a hotel car park awash with expensive Audis and well-dressed humans looking to live the life.
Once we’d refuelled we headed to what is now Caffè Nero. It is said that the ‘shade of Judge Jeffreys’ can be seen outside the building, which sports a 16th century date mark. This is the site where the most notorious rebels were hung, drawn and quartered. There seemed to be nothing much afoot while we were there and the judge didn’t show himself…
There are other spectral oddities in and around Taunton, but one seemed to have vanished. The Sweet Shop that occupied the old Naval and Military Inn has CCTV footage of sweet jars going for a walk out of hours, but hunting failed to find it. Not even the locals knew where it was…
Further afield, Sandhill Park was an old stately home turned psychiatric hospital, that has stories of slamming doors, sounds with no source, whispering voices and lights being turned on and off with no apparent explanation. Then, on the A38, a bedraggled figure can be seen waving down cars. Should you not stop to scoop up this figure, it will launch itself in front of your vehicle. Apparently.
Piecing it together
Beyond the realm of the living and dead, and the entities that dwell in both, the Museum of Somerset holds a 4.3m square mosaic, which is thought to be the oldest piece of narrative art in the country. Found at the Low Ham Farm in the early 20th century, it depicts the story of Aeneas and Dido told in the 1st century BC by the poet Virgil.
The mosaic contains five panels that tell the legendary tale of star-crossed and god/goddess-crossed love between then mortal enemies, a Greek and a Trojan. The first scene in Aeneid Book I depicts Aeneas sailing to Carthage with Achates, with a crown described as a gift for Dido. The second has Aeneas and Dido’s infamous meeting, with his son Ascanius and his mother, the Goddess Venus. There follow scenes of the couple out hunting, of the couple embracing, and either Venus or Dido left alone after Aeneas departed. Another legend that almost seems more plausible in many ways, perhaps without the intervention of Greek gods and goddesses, than the ghostly tales of Taunton’s medieval past.
Whatever you might believe regarding ghosts, we certainly didn’t experience anything in the sites that have made Taunton one of the most haunted places on our shores. The Rebellion Room certainly has a distinct aura about it, but whether or not that’s just the decor and the lighting, it’s hard to tell. Regardless, Taunton is a town steeped in a bloody history that bears all the marks of yet another British attempt at regicide and the turmoil of succession that typified this period of history. The Quantock Hills make for some cracking riding too. I won’t wait seven years before riding there again.