University of Virginia Library

Creaks And Groans
Of Charlottesville's
Haunting Haunts

By Barbara Hd

Driving down the long, curvy highway between
Keswick and Gordonsville one admires from a distant
highway huge, rolling estates framed by a setting of
trees and hills.

It all looks perfect., almost too perfect.

Every few miles, hanging from a low bough of a
tree swings a signboard with the name of an estate.
The names begin to blur together as one travels down
that endless highway...Castalia, Castle Hill,
Cloverfields...

Even though from the distant road the houses seem
to blend together, each home is most unique. What
differentiates them is not so much their architecture
or the type of tree lining the windy drive leading up
to the house, but their inhabitants.

And these "residents" aren't of the usual sort.

They are invisible. Assorted persons hear them
make strange noises in the midst of night. Making
their presence known at the most unexpected times,
the phantom beings never tire of prankish tricks.

Albemarle County's ghosts come in all shapes, sizes
and ages. Some are friendly, some are not so nice.
Though several of the haunts have been cleared away
as "figments of the imagination," some fabulous
occurrences have been documented, checked and
double-checked, and there is still no plausible
explanation.

Drenched with history, the Charlottesville area
makes the perfect home for Virginia's haunting
haunts. Though almost every old home in the county
can boast at least one ghost, five stories in particular
are so outstanding they are related below.

*****

Making a lovely starting point for our journey into
Charlottesville's ghostly dimension is the old manor
house, Castle Hill. For over 200 years it has been one
of the most beautiful estates in Albemarle County.

Built by Dr. Thomas Walker, a close friend of Mr.
Jefferson, the home is graced with a 600-foot green
lawn, surrounded by tall boxwoods.

Memories of lavish hospitality of past days linger in
the atmosphere; days when in the great hall, 100 feet
in length, the music-loving Mr. Jefferson played his
fiddle and the youthful Madison danced.

It is little wonder that, in the memory of so much
history, some ancestress in satin gown with powder in
her hair should remain in the household. The scent of
her rose perfume is said to linger in the air.

As the story goes, a University professor and a
student of his were invited to spend a weekend at
Castle Hill, which was owned by a noted American
artist. The professor was enjoying himself so much
that he decided to remain over Sunday night and let
the student return to the University alone.

This decision to stay an extra night, though, was
made before the professor had spent Saturday night
in one of the chambers in the more ancient section of
the home.

According to the former owner, "On Sunday
morning I noticed that he (the professor) looked pale
and had very little to say. Later on he explained that
after all he would have to return to the University
that afternoon, instead of staying over Sunday."

The owner was troubled, fearing he might have
done something to offend his guest. It wasn't until a
month later that he found out why the professor had
suddenly changed his mind.

During that Saturday night which he had spent in
the room called "the old chamber", the University
professor had been awakened by a charming looking
woman dressed in the fashion of long ago, carrying a
tiny fan. Supposedly, she had gazed at him steadily
while saying over and over: "You must please go.
You must go away."

This one event might be overlooked but three
other persons have been documented as seeing the
same lovely vision, who smells of rose perfume.

Though Castle Hill now stands locked up, the
owners having recently passed away, the ephemeral
spirit probably still lurks in the shadows, ready to
chase away any unwanted visitors.

*****

Jumping a few estates down the road, the old
manor house Castalia stands majestically against a
background of tall trees.

The home's atmosphere is somber, heavy draperies
hung at the windows. Luxurious oriental carpeting
decks the wood floor; book shelves are full of
priceless manuscripts and first editions.

Lovely Castalia, built in 1850, provides an
exquisite home for its often reappearing ghost, Mrs.
Thomas Lewis.

A former nineteenth century owner of the estate,
Mrs. Lewis is sometimes heard walking around the
third floor about five in the morning.

"She (the ghost) doesn't like the enlargements to
the house," said the present owner, John C. Boocock.

According to Mr. Boocock, the ghost has been
heard walking around one of the new chambers in the
upper level of the house. "My wife, hearing some
noises, would turn around in bed and say 'What's the
matter with you?' I would be sound asleep."

Several years ago, the Boocock's daughter Gwen
had come home from school for a weekend. Her
parents were attending a Friday night dinner party,
leaving Gwen alone in the house with her dog Flossie.

By 9 p.m. the frightened daughter had called her
parents and urged them to "come home."

While alone, Gwen had heard a loud noise upstairs.
So, she told her cocker spaniel "Sic 'em." Flossie
started up the stairs, but quickly came scampering
down as if terrified by some invisible form.

One other time Mrs. Lewis showed her animosity
to the 1908 addition to the house. "A terrible noise
was heard in one of the new rooms, sounding like
someone had grabbed a runner from a table full of
pictures and objects," said the daughter.

"I came bolting down the stairs, but everything
was in place," she continued.

Among the many appearances of Mrs. Lewis
occurred when a maid, coming down to breakfast,
turned around and saw this little old woman wearing
a white cap. So the maid inquired, "Who is the
company?" only to be told that there wasn't any.

Though Mrs. Lewis has "thrown things around" in
the house occasionally, she is usually most
considerate.

"I think Mrs. Lewis likes me," says the thankful
Mrs. Boocock.

*****

A much sadder story must be told about the estate
Tallwood, named for the height of the trees
surrounding the house. From Tallwood, which is
about 15 miles away from the University, the dome
of the Rotunda can be seen on a clear day.

According to Mrs. Betty Langhorne, a descendant
of the Coles family who built the manor house, the
home was originally built for a Tucker Coles. When
he and his wife passed away the estate fell to a great
nephew – Peyton Skipwith Coles and his sister Selina.

Peyton and Selina led a very quiet and serene
existence, running the large estate by themselves.
When cleaning the house on Nov. 7, 1879, the maid
came to get Miss Selina, saying, "I'm scared to go into
Mr. Coles' room to clean." Apparently, the maid
didn't want to dust around the guns hanging over the
mantelpiece.

Leaving Selina in her brother's chamber with the
dust cloth, the maid departed. Only a few minutes
later, she heard a loud shot and rushed into the
bedroom, only to find Selina dead. Evidently, she had
accidentally shot herself.

"The story goes that once a year, on the
anniversary of her death, the bedroom window opens
and a breeze blows in," explained Mrs. Langhorne.

"My father, grandfather... have both told me
about it," she said, "but I've never seen it myself."

Though many laugh off the story of the window
opening as false, I was unable to recruit any
volunteers to witness it on November 7.

*****

Sitting on the porch of his lovely Charlottesville
home, Midmont, Bernard P. Chamberlain told about
Betsy Maury – a ghost who has haunted his residence
since the eighteenth century.

A local lawyer and historian, Mr. Chamberlain
related the following story:

Before the Revolutionary War, John Lewis (for
whom Lewis Mountain is named) built Midmont.
After the war, Thomas Maury, an intimate friend of
Mr. Jefferson, bought the estate, sharing it with his
sister Betsy.

CD/Tom Saunders

Lurking In Shadows Of erle Castalia, Nestled In Blue Ridge Foothills, Is Ghostly Mrs. Lewis

CD/Bob

James Monroe Rocks To And Fro At Ash Lawn.

When Betsy became engaged, she went to Paris to
buy her trousseau. Quite sadly, upon her return, she
discovered that her fiance had backed out of their
marriage.

Full of despair, Betsy took long walks near the
University, wearing a sunbonnet to shade her face
from the sun. As she walked, students would hide and
jump out at her. Pining away for her lost love, Betsy
became "peculiar." Thinking that she had nothing to
live for, Betsy died at an early age.

"Her ghost still inhabits the place," says Mr.
Chamberlain.

"Her favorite pastime was cracking walnuts... and
we still hear her doing it about 12 times a year." he
continued. When queried about his belief in the
ghost, Mr. Chamberlain replied, "Well, the house is
too old for it to be settling. If the noise isn't Miss
Betsy, I don't know what it could be."

Sad though it might be, Miss Betsy probably is still
pining away for her lost love, cracking walnuts to pass
the endless hours.

*****

Guessing that Mr. Jefferson might come back to
haunt his dear Monticello, a call to the caretaker was
necessitated. Though the kind gentleman dispelled all
question of a ghostly Mr. Jefferson, he had heard of a
mysterious story concerning James Monroe's home,
Ash Lawn.

At the desire of Mr. Jefferson in the eighteenth
century, Mr. Monroe, the fifth president of the
United States, bought a tract of land only a few miles
from Monticello. A lovely home was built, where Mr.
Monroe spent his retirement, often entertaining the
most prominent persons in the nation at his serene
estate.

Quite mysteriously, a large rocking chair in an
upper bedroom, which used to be Mr. Monroe's own
chamber, has been observed frequently rocking
violently to and fro.

The late Joseph Massey whose family used to live
at Ash Lawn was recorded as telling the following
story:

"I will tell anybody, and have no objection to its
being known – I have seen, not once, but time and
time again – the rocking chair in my bedroom rocking
exactly as though someone were in it.

"I have awakened my brother to watch it rocking.
We both have taken pains to observe and make sure
there is no draft closing the bedroom door and
windows.

"So long as we did not touch the chair it continued
to rock violently. If we touched it, it stopped!"

Although Mr. Monroe passed away almost 150
years ago, he still seems to enjoy the contentment of
rocking away in his favorite chair.

*****

This brings us to the end of our story of
Albemarle County's haunting haunts. Coming in all
sizes, shapes and forms, the ghostly beings never cease
to frighten and delight both young and old
throughout the countryside.

Some of the local stories are difficult to disprove
while others quite obviously are born of the
imagination. Their validity, however, is really of little
significance.

Whether or not the ghosts are mean, gentle, or
prankish, they have helped to remind us all of the
rich, historical past embedded in the foothills of the
Blue Ridge.