By John Elliot

Guising, turnip or maybe pumpkin lanterns and Halloween – this weekend our thoughts turn to the unexplained and supernatural.

Although I have been in many creepy places and lived for 46 years in a house in which a previous occupant had seen a grey lady wandering about upstairs, I have never seen a ghost – but my father did!

When a teenager, he was being driven by his uncle Tom on one of the remotest roads in Sutherland. Many roads in the 1920s, even important ones, had a strip of grass up the middle or were of gravel. Motor vehicles were few and far between, particularly at night as headlights then had little penetration.

As they chugged on as darkness was falling, uncle Tom said: “Did you see a man with a motor bike beside the road back there.” My father replied that he had.

“We’d better go back to see if he has broken down,” so they reversed a few hundred yards to where they had seen the man. There was no trace of him or his bike or sound of him driving away.

Both uncle Tom and my father fought with distinction and saw unimaginable horrors in the First and Second World Wars, respectively. They never forgot the phantom motor cyclist.

On the various farms I have looked after in various capacities, several grisly deeds took place. An attempt at mass murder, fratricide and three suicides we know of – maybe there were other acts of violence that we don’t.

One place above all others had a dark reputation. Even as recently as 30 years ago shepherds made sure they were off that part of their hirsel before night fell. A red sandstone pillar, ‘Neale’s Stane’, stands about half-a-mile south of the road from Duns to Westruther.

It marks the spot where the body of Henry Neale was found. He died in mysterious circumstances at a place known as The Foul Ford.

John Neale, the blacksmith at Longformacus, a surly man and fond of a drink, walked to Greenlaw to the funeral of his sister. After the funeral, he went to the local inn, where he remained until evening, before setting off for home.

Around midnight, his wife heard someone scrambling at the door, followed by a dull thud. She found her husband lying unconscious on the road with a wild look of terror on his face. The local doctor was summoned but found nothing wrong.

Some time later, the parish minister was sent for. As he engaged in prayer, Neale sat up and ordered all but he to leave the room. When they returned, Neale told his family that, whatever happened, they must never, ever pass The Foul Ford after dark. Immediately afterwards he died.

Many years later, Neale’s son, Henry, had succeeded to the business. Unlike his father, he was a man of good character.

One day, after attending to business in Kelso, he set out for home. He called on his friend, James Richardson, the church officer and gravedigger in Greenlaw. After tea, Richardson accompanied him for a mile or so out of the town.

Soon after, he met John Micken, the shepherd at Spottiswood. As darkness was now falling and mindful of his father’s last words, he begged Micken to accompany him. He refused as it would have taken him miles out of his way. He was the last man to see Neale alive.

The next morning his body was found by Adam Redpath, who worked at nearby Kettleshiel. The body showed no trace of violence but the face had a look of extreme terror. He appeared to have run for his life as his hat, coat and waistcoat were strewn along the track.

The death caused a sensation locally. The aged minister now felt justified in revealing the conversation he had had with Neale’s father on his deathbed.

The story goes that on John Neale’s way home from his sister’s funeral, as he approached The Foul Ford he heard the drumming of horses’ hooves coming towards him down the moorland track.

As they approached he saw a large company riding two abreast. Riding one of the first horses was his dead sister. On the others he recognised friends and relatives long since dead.

One of the last pair of horses was ridden by a dark man who he had never seen before. He was leading the other horse which, although saddled and bridled, was riderless. The whole company grabbed Neale and attempted to get him up on the horse. He struggled violently and only got away by promising that the next of his family to cross The Foul Ford at night should take his place.

Many years after, the Reverend Walker, minister of The Free Church, in Gavinton, decided with a friend to visit The Foul Ford at midnight to see if there was anything to the story. They returned severely shaken but never told what they had seen.

The Reverend Walker had another terrifying experience. This time there was a rational explanation.

When going down to his church one night he saw something white floating through the darkness towards him. A local shepherd was carrying the body of his daughter who had died in infancy. She had died before she was baptised, so couldn’t be buried in consecrated ground.

The man was going in secrecy to inter the little bundle just outside the wall of the grave yard in the hope that the gates of heaven would be more welcoming than those of mankind.