If you have arrived here as a fan of history, folklore and Norfolk, I will surmise that you have heard of, and perhaps even been fortunate enough to visit Raynham Hall. Situated in West Norfolk, the Hall began construction in 1619 under the instruction of Sir Robert Townshend. Further expansion was carried out in the 1800s under Palladian architect William Kent and Charles, the 2nd Viscount Townshend. It remains the seat of the Marquesses Townshend to this day.
Our story begins with perhaps one of the most vivacious and beautiful owners in Raynham’s history. Lady Dorothy Walpole (1686 – 1726) sister of Sir Robert Walpole (generally regarded as Britain’s first Prime Minister) was the Mistress of the Manor during the early eighteenth century.
It was common knowledge that Lady Walpole’s marriage to Charles, 2nd Viscount Townshend was not a happy one. It is uncertain as to the cause of this unhappiness; some say the Viscountess was unfaithful, others that her frivolity and extravagance sparked her husband’s infamous fiery temper. Certainly she had a love of high living and fine clothing. The Marchioness Gwladys Townshend, a twentieth century owner of the Hall in 1936 described her as:
“…a charming and frivolous spendthrift, with a pardonable love for pretty clothes, judging from a lengthy bill for chiffons which is kept amongst our family papers.”
Gwladys Townshend, 1936
Despite her gaiety, Lady Walpole took her role as a mother seriously and doted on her children. Sadly this devotion was to serve as the basis for her disgruntled husband’s vengeance. It is not clear exactly under what circumstances, but following a particular period of marital unrest, it is said that Lady Walpole was not permitted access to her dear children, instead being deprived of any share in their upbringing which was given over completely to the children’s grandmother.
According to folklore, the unfortunate Lady Walpole was locked in her rooms and starved to death. However, Marchioness Gwladys Townshend quite rightly points out that given Lady Walpole’s brother, Sir Robert Walpole was living just a few miles away at Houghton Hall and was a man of great prominence and influence, it is unlikely that such an evil deed would have gone unnoticed:
“In the 17th century, enforced starvation in surroundings like those of Raynham Hall would have been impossible, unless Lady Townshend had staged a hunger strike of such magnitude that she died from it; and, with such an important brother as Sir Robert Walpole living close by, she could not have been “removed” in this manner.”
It is more likely that the folkloric view of her demise developed as a representation of her starvation of love and affection, kept apart as she was from those she held dearest. Her purpose in life was removed, and thus her spirit and soul diminished. Records show that she actually died of smallpox in 1726 – doubtless confined to her rooms as legend suggests, but for practical reasons of preventing contagion rather than any malevolent intent.
And so, perhaps discontent to rest in peace following a tragic and unsettled adulthood, it seems that Lady Dorothy Walpole embarked upon an eventful afterlife. Her appearances after death became so frequent that she gained the moniker of the ‘Family Ghost’, despite Raynham Hall being haunted by various other entities.
Her usual haunts are said to be the corridors and stairways of the Hall – and it is here, on the grand main staircase, that Lady Walpole made her most famous appearance.
The first documented sighting of the Brown Lady – so called because of the notorious brown silk brocade dress that she appears in – was by a visitor to the Hall in 1835. Major Loftus was a family friend, attending a party. In the early hours of the next day, Loftus and a friend decided to retire for some much-needed sleep. To their surprise, they were met by a lady in a brown silk dress on the landing. Thinking the apparition was a creature of flesh and blood, Loftus called out to her – at which point she promptly disappeared.
Loftus was a brave soul, and undeterred by the eerie apparition, decided that he needed to solve the mystery of the elusive Brown Lady. He cleverly stationed himself at a point in the corridor where the phantom would be unable to retreat without being seen. His plan worked, and:
‘He encountered a handsome woman, dressed in brown – but to his horror, two empty eye sockets represented the place where her eyes should have been.’
Consequently, Loftus made a sketch of the spectre to show the family and fellow guests at breakfast the next morning. Upon hearing of the incident, it is said that the entire staff handed in their notice – at which point Lord Charles Townshend admitted to his family and guests that he had seen the Brown Lady several times in his bedroom. Indeed, it is said that children of the family had asked who the Brown Lady was that came into their bedroom frequently.
Their luxurious lifestyle now curtailed by a mass exodus of serving staff, Townshend was none too pleased, and developed a theory that some anonymous prankster had a vendetta against him, and that the whole thing was one enormous practical joke. Being a man of action, Lord Townshend decided to replace his staff with a team of detectives. Gwladys Townshend recounts the family’s tale ending thus:
‘(The detectives) remained at Raynham for months on end without obtaining the smallest clue, either to the ghost or to the instigator of the suspected trickery, the case of the Brown Lady proving as elusive as any modern unsolved police mystery.’
Gwladys Townshend, 1936
The Brown Lady was not to remain hidden for long. The next witness to be terrorised was Captain Frederick Marryat, a friend of the family. Staying at the house in 1836, he is supposed to have asked to sleep in the most haunted bedroom at Raynham Hall, in order to prove that the ‘haunting’ was merely a group of local smugglers playing tricks on the Townshend family.
Happily for us, his daughter Florence Marryat recorded his experience in 1891:
Florence Marryat, 1891“ (Captain Marryat) took possession of the room in which the portrait of the apparition hung, and in which she had been often seen, and slept each night with a loaded revolver under his pillow. On the third night, nephews of the baronet knocked at his door and asked him to step over to their room. As they were leaving the room, he caught up his revolver, “in case you meet the Brown Lady,” he said, laughing.
The corridor was long and dark, for the lights had been extinguished, but as they reached the middle of it, they saw the glimmer of a lamp coming towards them from the other end. “One of the ladies going to visit the nurseries,” whispered the young Townshends. My father was in shirt and trousers only, and his native modesty made him feel uncomfortable, so he slipped within one of the outer doors in order to conceal himself until the lady should have passed by.
He watched her approaching nearer and nearer until, as she was close enough for him to distinguish the colours and style of her costume, he recognised the figure as the facsimile of the portrait of “The Brown Lady”.
He had his finger on the trigger of his revolver and was about to demand it to stop and give the reason for its presence there, when the figure halted of its own accord and holding the lighted lamp she carried to her features, grinned in a malicious and diabolical manner at him.
This act so infuriated my father that he discharged the revolver right in her face. The figure instantly disappeared – and the bullet passed through the door lodged in the panel of the door opposite. My father never attempted again to interfere with “The Brown Lady of Raynham”.
By the end of the 19th century, Raynham Hall had fallen on hard times. In 1905, Gwladys Sutherst married John Townshend, the 6th Marquess Townshend in an attempt to alleviate the Hall’s financial problems. Marchioness Townshend took on the restoration of the house, as well as an interest in its history, which led to her writing the book ‘True Ghost Stories’. Country Life magazine described the era as;
‘…an age in which a pall of loss and decay hung over many formerly splendid residences and, for struggling owners, a haunted history was one way to stay connected to an illustrious past.’
It was common for aristocratic ladies to document the hauntings of their grand houses in the late 19th and early 20th centuries; a literary result of the vogue for spiritualism that the contemporary middle and upper classes – particularly women – were enamoured with.
The Marchioness’s book was published in 1936 and was relatively successful. Perhaps coincidentally – perhaps not – it was also in 1936 that the Brown Lady made her most famous appearance. On 19th September of that year, two photographers from Country Life magazine were despatched to Raynham Hall to document its illustrious and unique architecture. Captain Hubart Provand was a well-known photographer of the time, and along with his assistant Indre Shira, had been entrusted with capturing professional images of the Hall using some of the most up to date photographic equipment.
Of course, no photographic record of Raynham Hall would be complete without an image of the grand staircase. The story goes that as Provand prepared to take his photo, with his head under the black cloth, Shira suddenly saw:
‘A vapoury form gradually assuming the appearance of a woman.’
Shira shouted the command to quickly take the photo, and seconds later the image that we see today was captured.
The cynical among us may say that it was no coincidence that the resulting photograph was published in Country Life on 26th December 1936 – the same year that ‘True Ghost Stories’ was written, with the Brown Lady of Raynham Hall as its principle story. Those who doubt the authenticity of the photograph have termed it:
‘An unorthodox, yet successful publicity stunt, the story coupled with the Country Life photograph helped put the house back on the cultural map.’
Country Life Magazine, 2008
The photograph quickly became the subject of controversy. It came to the attention of the Society for Psychical Research and its lead paranormal investigator, Harry Price. As a connoisseur of photographic trickery, Price was keen to examine the photograph of the Brown Lady of Raynham Hall. His ultimate conclusion was that the photograph had not been tampered with:
“I will say at once I was impressed. I was told a perfectly simple story: Mr. Indra Shira saw the apparition descending the stairs at the precise moment when Captain Provand’s head was under the black cloth. A shout – and the cap was off and the flash bulb fired, with the results which we now see. I could not shake their story, and I had no right to disbelieve them. Only collusion between the two men would account for the ghost if it is a fake. The negative is entirely innocent of any faking.”
The photograph has been investigated more recently, in 2006 by current leading SPR paranormal investigator Alan Murdie, who stumbled across a file in the Manuscript Department at Cambridge University Library. The document contained a previously unpublished exhaustive investigation conducted by the SPR in 1937. It concludes:
“There is almost certainly a mundane explanation of the ‘spectral’ image in the photo.”
It goes on to suggest that the camera may have leaked light onto the photographic plate, or the result of the camera being shaken during its lengthy six second exposure.
For those of us that are sceptics, this will be proof enough. For those of us who are hopeful believers in the afterlife, this will serve as a merely a possible explanation. I humbly invite you to reach your own conclusion.
Spirited Lucy 
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