A Very Personal Ghost Story

~ beetleypete

I posted this in 2014, and reblog it most years around the time of Halloween. I don’t celebrate the festival myself, but I know almost everyone else does. This is a true story, and I have reposted it again for the benefit of the new followers who will not have seen it previously.

I have never really believed in the supernatural. Ghosts, apparitions, reincarnation, life after death, and all things associated with these. Not that I wouldn’t have liked to, it just didn’t seem plausible. Psychics can often appear to be very accurate. They claim to know things about you, even to be communicating with a family member, long since dead. Unfortunately, their ‘gifts’ are very easily debunked, and like most of these things, it has to come down to simple belief. And I don’t believe it.

My paternal grandmother was a great character. She had a very dark complexion, black hair, and a gravelly voice. Mother to three sons and two daughters, she had to fend for herself for much of her adult life, as my grandfather deserted the family home when I was a small child. When she was still a young mother, before the second world war, she was run over and seriously injured. Trapped under the vehicle, her leg had to be amputated at the scene. I remember being somewhat fascinated by her false leg when I was a child. It often stood in a corner of a room, as she was able to get around surprisingly well without it. Once she was going out, she would always wear this prosthesis, and other than a stiffness to her gait, you would be unaware that she had only one leg. She was a houseproud lady, and her home was usually neat and tidy. The step outside her front door was dark red, and she would clean this with a red polish, called ‘Cardinal’. This had a very distinctive smell, and on occasion, it would stain her fingers red, as she did not wear rubber gloves. We would often visit her on a Sunday, and she would accompany us on family holidays to the seaside, where we would go in a large group. On one of these holidays, she once showed me the stump of her thigh, and I remember feeling most uncomfortable having to look at it.

Much later on, after my Mum and Dad split up in the 1970s, I lost touch with my grandmother. Family differences made it very hard to keep in contact, and visiting her had to be arranged in advance, so as not to bump into my Dad, with his new ‘lady friend’. We made the trip a couple of times, and I was pleased to see that she hadn’t changed a bit, though she was no longer in good health. She was always happy to see us, and we tried as much as possible not to waste time discussing the problems we faced, as a result of the unexpected separation. By the late 1980s, other than exchanging Christmas and birthday cards, I hadn’t seen her for a long time. I was living in a small house in Surrey Docks, with my then girlfriend. I got a telephone call from my uncle, my Dad’s youngest brother. He informed me that my grandmother was in hospital. She had serious liver problems, and was not expected to live. I told my Mum, and we arranged to make the trip almost into Kent to see her. We checked that it would not clash with a visit from my Dad, to avoid any nastiness. On the agreed date, we struggled through the rush-hour traffic to the suburbs on the border with Kent. Caught up in delays, we arrived after the official end of visiting time. When we explained the situation to the nurse in charge, she was more than happy to allow us to spend some time.

It was a sad visit. We tried to look upbeat and casual, as we gazed down on this frail lady, yellow with jaundice, trying for her part to be cheerful, and obviously delighted to see us. We talked over old times, and about other members of our extended family, never once mentioning the advanced state of her illness, or her gloomy prognosis. After a while, she finally raised the subject of my Dad leaving us, and told my Mum how much she had missed seeing us both. She asked after my wife too, and I decided not to mention that we had split up, and that I had since met someone else. I wanted her to die thinking that all was well in my world. We said our final farewells, avoiding comments such as ‘see you again soon.’ We all knew that this was the last time we would see her.

I dropped my Mum off on the way home, and went back to tell my girlfriend, who had never met her, about the last visit to my beloved Nan. There were no tears, just fond memories; and frustration about the years lost, due to petty squabbles. We went to bed quite late, and I went straight off to sleep. In the early hours before dawn, I was awakened by an unusual noise. It seemed to be coming up the staircase from the room downstairs, as if someone was dragging something up, one step at a time. As my eyes opened, I was overwhelmed by an all-pervading smell. I recognised it immediately, it was Cardinal polish. Still sitting up in bed, I watched as my Nan’s head appeared at the top of the stairs, level with the bedroom door. She looked at me and smiled, continuing the difficult process of walking upstairs with a heavy false leg. She was dressed as I remembered her, and wearing an apron over her clothes. She walked into the bedroom, and sat down heavily on the bed, right next to me. Street lighting outside was enough to provide sufficient illumination, so I could see her clearly. She reached for my hand, and held it in both of hers, high up, near her shoulder. I could feel the roughness of her palms. She said one thing, ‘It will be alright’, and she was gone.

The next thing I was aware of was my girlfriend talking to me. She seemed confused. ‘Who were you talking to?’ She asked me. ‘Why are you holding your arm up, does it hurt?’ She continued. Then finally, ‘And what is that smell?’ The following day, my uncle rang me, to tell me that my grandmother had died during the night. ‘I know’, I replied.

I still don’t believe in ghosts. I suspect that it was a vivid dream, having just had the emotional experience of going to see my Nan, and knowing that she was dying. I can rationalise most of it to my satisfaction, but one thing has always been a mystery, and remains unexplained to this day. Why did my girlfriend smell the polish?

70 thoughts on “A Very Personal Ghost Story”

  2. This is a great experience. Of course you will question it and try to rationalise it. That’s part of the process. I think ghost is a term which probably doesn’t always fit these experiences. It sounds like your Grandmother was not sticking around for long, she was off on her next adventure. After all your Grandmother took the time to say goodbye and you are never going to forget that night! Your girlfriend smelling the polish is just the icing on the cake! After all it’s harder to ignore an experience like this when it’s more than you involved! I love that your Grandmother has made sure she let you know she loved you so much she said goodbye…And cheeky enough to know every year around the anniversary of her death you will remember this event and talk about it and question it and always have that memory of her that nobody else will. You are very lucky and your Grandmother most definetley is amazing! I enjoyed reading about your experience very much, thankyou for sharing it.

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    1. Thanks very much for reading and commenting, also for following my blog. My wife is a confirmed believer in all things spiritual, though I am not. That said, I have never been able to explain this event.
      Best wishes, Pete.

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  3. It was a really great story, pete! And the cliff-hanging ending made it 100 times better! Good-job, although i can’t even imagine experiencing it in real!

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      1. Seeing and smelling is believing, especially if someone else smelled it, too. You were lucky that your grandmother visited you when she died. Milly the quilter visited me as I was driving like a crazy woman to see her before she died. I arrived five minutes too late, and she visited me as I was driving, five minutes before I arrived. I will never forget that. Best to you, Pete.

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  13. I had a similar experience with the sense of smell you experienced after my mother passed away. After she died I decided to take a blue rocking type chair that she would often sit in at her home. I placed it in a sitting room just off my bedroom. About two months after her death my daughter and I were in the sitting room talking about my mom when all of a sudden we both smelled a strong yet familiar pleasant scent that was always present in her home. We both looked at each other with wide eyes. I somehow believe this was her spirit letting us know she was okay.

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      1. Very tired but not because of the chemo – the cat didn’t come in last night and it was really stormy here so I didn’t sleep. Eventually – five in the morning – discovered she’d sneaked into the storeroom of the shop below our flat. Wouldn’t come out so locked her again until later in the morning.

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  16. Both my daughter and I have the experience of smelling strong coffee and cigarettes as a sign of my father’s presence. We don’t question but just smile and feel pleased. My father told of a visit from my mom after she died. It was a similar on the edge of the bed and conversation story.

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  20. We haven’t a clue what really happens Pete
    I once had a much loved working dog walk through our yard two years after she died. She came to get her ears scratched then trotted past me, out through the gate and off across the field as if she knew where she was going. That’s my only ‘ghost’ experience

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  21. Well this was just a great read Pete! Thanks for sharing it. I think there will always be things in this world that can’t be explained, as I said earlier this week in one my own posts. While I certainly don’t believe in ghosts myself either, I do think that there sometimes things that are for lack of a better term a bit supernatural. Some things can be rationalised, and some things just simply can’t😅😅

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