The Ghostly Bridal

As midwinter closes in it seems right (dare I say 'appropriate') to have a ghost story; Northumberland's long and violent history has produced a fair crop; the Ghostly Bridal of Featherstone is something of a classic, worthy of Sheridan Le Fanu or perhaps M.R. James

The de Featherstone-Haughs appear in the thirteenth century, their hall-house stood on the present site; pretty woodland where the Hartley Burn flows into the North Tyne. As the Scottish wars drew long and savage a strong tower was added around 1330.

Featherstone sufficiently impressed Cadwallader Bates for him to enthuse it was the finest in the county and the family themselves were active in tumultous border affairs and affrays. In October 1530 Albany Featherstonehaugh, then County Sheriff, was murdered by the Ridleys. A later scion, Timothy, served his king with distinction, being knighted for his good service before he finally fell in the rout at Worcester.

The legend is set in the thirteenth of fourteenth century when the Baron Featherstone, his family already well-established, sired a comely daughter named Abigail who, as the time approached, was put on the marriage market in the usual way of dynastic arrangements.

Featherstonehaugh was aware his nubile daughter had already attracted the attentions of a number of would-be suitors, none of whom matched his expectations, one indeed provoked considerable alarm, a local ruffian of questionable bloodline. Very soon she found herself marching up the aisle to wed someone altogether more suitable if not necesarily desirable, the priest from Haltwhistle officiating.

It was local custom for the bridal party to tour the bounds of the manor before partaking of the wedding-feast, bride and groom resplendent in silk, bridesmaids, ladies and guests adorned in finery. The party would have been a glittering company, shimmering like a jewelled haze against the green backdrop of the trees.

At a defile known at the Pinkyn Cleugh the jilted suitor with a band of outlaws lurked in ambush, intending to press his suit by force and a massacre ensued, the gadflies shot down by arrows or pierced through by the wolfheads'' swords. The young groom was set upon the the embittered rival and soon fell dead at his feet, a bridesmaid stares disbelieving at the bright red blood staining her gown before she sprawls lifeless on the muddied path.

Apparently triumphant, the outlaw looks for his prize but finds it snatched from him, Abigail herself arched dead over a bough pinned by random arrows.

In the castle the tables groan with choice dishes and the best of the baron's cellar, for hours he waits alone in the deserted hall as shadows lengthen towards darkness. Not until midnight is there any stirring, then in silent procession the shades of the bridal party file through, their spectral shades still clad in ruined finery, their wounds hideous. The baron sees the daughter, upon whom all his hopes rested, move in dread cadence with the rest, a killer's shaft still lodged in her bosom.

The servants find Featherstonehaugh in the hall next morning, his hair gone white and all reason fled with the colour.

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