The Paranormal

Davington's Murderer in the House

Snowy is still about. The old murderer is still there in the house. He still makes his presence felt. Not every day, of course, but from time to time he lets the people in the house know that he is still there. Not in any powerfully dramatic way for that has never been his style. But just enough for those in the old farmhouse facing Davington church to recall him to mind from time to time.

So he may close or open doors; he may tinker with the lights; he may be heard as he walks across the creaking floorboards but he does little else. And o no one in the household takes it amiss that Snowy is always there, moseying about the place, just as he has done since the Hitchcocks first moved there in 1960, and in fact just as he seems to have done in this old timbered house for the past four hundred years or so.

From their earliest days the Hitchcocks heard noises in the upstairs rooms, more frequently during the day than at night. There were unaccountable draughts of cold air. A knife went missing from the cutlery drawer only to be rediscovered days later. There was the time when he took Mrs Hitchcock's nail varnish from upstairs and restored it some weeks later on the downstairs mantlepiece. But such eccentric occurrences disturbed none of the family. Vincent Hitchcock was a celebrated bullfighter, billed in Spain as 'El Ingles', and such unaccountable happenings made little impression on him, and indeed his wife, a former journalist, had seen too much to be deeply concerned. Even the young Hitchcocks had the same phlegmatic attitude to whatever it was that bumped and moved about the house.

One evening in 1961 the Hitchcocks, who had spoken in the course of the meal about the curious happenings in the house, were urged by their dinner guests to hold a seance at the dinner table. The party, which included the television and drama critic Herbert Kretzmer, cut out the letters of the alphabet and then placing their hands on a tumbler, allowed it to move in various directions across the table. Of course, they all entered into the fun of it though no one appears to have had any expectation of a serious outcome. But ouija boards have powers.

And there on the dining room table, as the tumbler stopped in front of one letter and then another, words were actually spelled out. Though astounded, the once sceptical Hitchcocks wondered if they really could be receiving some kind of spirit message. And the story which slowly took shape, letter by letter, was even more remarkable. Its narrator claimed to have lived in Tudor times, during the reign of Henry VIII. More surprising was his claim to be a hired assassin who had come from London to kill the owner of the house, a man called Wilkinson. But the plan went awry. The intended victim escaped. It was the teller of the tale, the presence which the Hitchcocks came to call Snowy, who died in a fire in the house which he had ever since haunted.

It was during these early days, shortly after the seance, that Vincent Hitchcock, redecorating the sitting room, decided to removed some of the worm-eaten wood panelling. What surprised him was his discovery, once the panelling was taken away, of previously concealed bricks which were burned black. A day or so later, Mrs Hitchcock, who had volunteered to collect for the lifeboat appeal, was visited by a local organiser. He also happened to be a fire inspector. Taken to see the bricks he declared at once that the house had suffered a serious fire in the distant past. In fact, it appeared to have been rebuilt on burnt-out foundations.

Oddly, over the years there were fires in the house and Mrs Hitchcock was to say in 1966 that 'the fire appliances know the road so well that they can find their way by instinct'. On one occasion fire damage revealed what was described as a 'priest's hole' and here some bones were found. Were those Snowy's last remains? Unfortunately, they were never given scientific analysis.

Vincent Hitchcock was not really convinced about the existence of Snowy. Nevertheless, on one occasion when he was in the house alone, he was roused in the early hours by the sound of choking. He went downstairs to investigate what might have been a break-in but his Labrador dog uncharateristically refused to leave the bedroom. There was no intruder; the doors and windows were locked. Yet the deeply sceptical Hitchcock had to admit that he felt there was someone in the house that night.

Twice more the Hitchcocks agreed at the requests of guests to make a ouija board. Both times the cut-out letters and a tumbler were employed. One the first of these occasions Snowy's language was uninhibited and despite the archaic spelling, its sentiment was as clear as its expression coarse. Strangely, too, in the middle of the session the radiogram started up, playing the centre track of a long-playing Spanish record. This was played over and over, the needle declining to move on to the next rack.

In the final seance Snowy made some reference to Spain and asked if he spoke Spanish. His reply was odd. 'Souls have no language' was spelt out on the dining table. But spelling-out is language is language so Snowy's claim seems to be disputable. This time Snowy's massage referred to a family who, he said, bred bulls in a particular region of Spain. Vincent Hitchcock knew of no such family but on his return to Spain he asked people in the area. But no one seemed to have heard of any bull-breeders of that name.Then a very old man remembered hearing of such a family. They had been spoken of in his youth. But they had been long gone, over a hundred years in fact.

Snowy still manifests himself in the old house at Davington, but he seems content not to impinge not too much on his hosts' good nature. They have accepted each other and the Hitchcocks have not tried to contact him in years. They lead their lives; he leads his unseen existence. At one time he used to move things about. But he does not bother with that sort of trick nowadays. He simply keeps himself to himself.

And it is worth recalling that he was a professional murderer. Yet he has never frightened any of the Hitchcock family, except perhaps, the dog!