It is not uncommon for tales of apparitions to have grown up around the sites of former monestries. In the turbulent years of the Middle Ages, and either side, monks were thought to have had supernatural powers and were associated with mysticism and superstition in people’s minds. It is not surprising therefore that several tales about villainous monks at St Benets Abbey have circulated over these years – and indeed, still flourish. Mostly these tales have been linked to political intrigues and double-crossings which were part and parcel of powerful establishments.
St Benets, or to give it its full name of St Benedict’s-at-Holm (or Hulm) Abbey, has been a Norfolk Broad’s landmark for almost 1000 years. Situated on the banks of the river Bure, the Abbey has long been reduced to just the ruins of the former gatehouse, into which an 18th century farmer built a windmill. This strange ruin, as small as it is, holds many stories and hides more than a few mysteries.
The tales which have survived the test of time include attacks by the Normans then, 300 year’s later, the Peasants Uprising when the Abbey was stormed and its deeds and charters destroyed. There are also those mythical stories and legends relating to images and sometimes terrible things that had once been a part of this once sacred place and have since been periodically returned by what may well be magical means! They include the recurring story of a monk from St Benets who, on quiet evenings, can still be seen rowing between the Abbey and Ranworth in a little boat, accompanied by a dog. It is said that he is quite harmless and concentrates only on his regular task of maintaining the rood screen in Ranworth church. Then there is the Dragon which once terrorised the village of Ludham and ended its life at the Abbey. The Legend of the Seal is another tale dating back to the days of King Henry I when a legacy of ancient carvings depicting the story were built into either side of gatehouse entrance and can still to be seen today – However, let us not be carried away in directions that would take us away this Tale.
This leaves one particular apparition which has its roots firmly at St Benets, it is the one which is today’s subject – Remember! in common with all orthodox ruined abbeys and priories, St Benets and its surviving gatehouse is haunted!
Today’s apparition is often known as ‘The Shrieking Monk‘ and it is believed to be that of Essric, the young bailiff monk who basely betrayed the Abbey in the hope of becoming its Abbot. This spectre has a fearful significance – and it screams! Like many, it has an anniversary date for appearances, but it is just as likely to be seen at other times of the year when ‘conditions are just right’. It is possibly to experience this particular spectre in the late autumn or winter, on dark nights between midnight and early dawn, particularly if the dawn is shrouded in a heavy mist and there is a distinct chill in the air. Even today, few would care to pass the old ruin when such conditions are abroad – particularly when they hear the tale of a certain wherryman who, some years ago, lost his way in such conditions and found himself, and his boat, opposite the ruined gatehouse of St Benets. Apparantly, this boatman moored because he heard screams and stepped on to the bank and a distant forward out of curiosity, only to witness the blurred outline of a monk swinging on the end of a rope above the gatehouse doors. They say that fear overwhelmed him more than he would have thought possible and he turned in panic to seek the safety of his wherry; unfortunately, he slipped in the early morning mud and fell into the Bure to be drowned! However, I digress a little…………now back to this Tale.
The story of the ‘Shrieking Monk’ goes back to those Norman’s and to the time when William the Conqueror was, apparently, experiencing great difficulty with taking St Benet’s Abbey. The story surrounding William’s difficulty is intertwined with that of the monk Essric and has since developed into a mythical tale that still intrigues many; it ends with an execution but always begins with the Abbey, as it was at the time, materialising out of thin air and the present ruinous Mill transforming itself into a stone tower from where the execution took place.
We are told that the Monks of St Benedict’s successfully withstood attacks from King William’s men for months on end and could have held out for much longer had it not been for the act of treachery by Essric, the young bailiff monk. The strong walls of the Abbey had proved impregnable and there was enough food to feed those inside for at least twelve months; some also believed that a trust in God by the Abbot and the rest of the Abbey’s monks also played an important part in staving off the enemy. Unfortunately for all concerned, the young monk held aspirations which did not match his low position in the church. His aspirations, if legend and myth are to be believed, also made him a prime candidate to be bribed.
The Norman army deployed around the Abbey had been on the verge of giving up on their task but the general in charge decided that maybe a different tactic might work, having identified Essric as a possible solution. What was needed was for a messenger to be sent to the Abbey with a letter urging the Abbot to surrender, but at the same time to, surreptitiously, slip a tempting offer to this particular monk. This plan was indeed put into operation and a messenger was despatched on horse back, carrying a white flag to guarantee entry. Once inside and before meeting the Great Abbot to hand over the general’s letter, the messenger managed to hand a separate note to the monk, asking him at the same time to, somehow, return with him to meet with the General; a safe audience was guaranteed.
On receiving the general’s letter, the Abbot bluntly refused to contemplate his demand and quickly sought a volunteer to convey his decision back to the other side. Unsurprisingly, Essric the highly flattered monk stepped forward and offered his services; he by then being totally intrigued by the general’s attention in him. The monk’s ego and aspirations were further enhanced when on arrival he was told by the general that he, Essric, was obviously destined for a better career than that of a humble bailiff monk. Now, if only Essric would help the general’s soldiers take over the Abbey he, the humble monk, would be elavated to Abbot of St Benedict’s Abbey – for LIFE – a gift that would be far beyond the menial’s wildest dreams! The general added that the young brother had absolutely nothing to lose, for if the Abbey held out, despite impressive defensive walls and generous stocks of provisions, the army would attack in even greater force and inflict a terrible result on the religeous order. But, if this “Abbot Elect” would just open the gatehouse doors that same night, everyone would be spared.
Although clearly naive, Essric was not without a degree of intelligence. Surely, he questioned himself, the other brethren would punish him if he was ever found out; they would certainly not accept him as their Abbot? He was not even an ordained priest – for heaven’s sake! Even here, the general had anticipated such doubts but seemed to have no difficulty in convincing Essric that by using his new elevated rank of ‘conqueror of the Abbey’ the brethren would accept their new Abbot, in pain of losing the present incumbent and anyone else of a rebellious nature. With this assurance, the now traitor returned to St Benet’s in both excitement and with not a little fear. The monk was naturally welcomed back and praised for his bravery in delivering the Abbot’s letter of refusal; whilst Essric held a burdensome secret that only he knew.
The final days of May that year were full of sunshine, bridging the final days of spring to the start of summer; the evenings were however deceptive with one culminating in a sudden dissolved dusk displaced by a very chilly, dark and eerie night. The bell in the Abbey tower rang out eleven times, each ring echoing across the night ladened marches whilst Essric’s heart pounded at an ever increasing pace as he waited for the final chord. This was followed by the sound of three knocks on the gatehouse door; the expected visitors had arrived! The nervous bailiff slowly withdrew the well lubricated bolts and was about to slowly release the door quietly when it was flung open and the monk was brushed aside as soldiers burst through and set about their task. Very quickly the monks realised a betrayal and offered no resistence because shedding blood was abhorrent to their beliefs; any arms were put aside and a truce quickly agreed, followed by an order that all must essemble in the Abbey Church the following morning.
There, on a morning that reflected the prevailing mood of the defeated, the young ‘Abbot Elect’ was paraded in with great ceremony and in front of the assembly was anointed and then dressed in cope and mitre. The Abbot’s crovier was placed in his hand, followed by a pronouncement that the once monk was now the Abbot of St Benedict’s-at-Holm – for LIFE! To complete the ceremony, the new Abbot was escorted the length of the Abbey by Norman horsemen in ceremonial armoured attire and banners flying – but with no applause except for that coming from the Normans; the defeated audience watched in total silence. The new Abbot was, however, full of himself and he ignored a part of the spectacle that was clearly of no importance to him. That changed all too quickly and the Abbot’s face, so flushed with utter pride one moment, turned deathly white as his hands were suddenly thrust behind his back and tied unceremoniously. Still dressed in his glittering robes, this ‘newly annointed abbot’ was dragged off – Norman’s abhor treachery!
Essric, shrouded by a realisation that he had been completely fooled and foolish, cried for mercy but his cries were ignored. His march from the throne to an open window in the bell tower was further ignominious. There, he was hoisted up on to a makeshift gibbet made of a simple stout pole protruding out from the widow that faced a still misty river and marsh beyond. Then, no sooner had the noose been placed around the unfortunate’s head, when he was released to swing in full view of those who had gathered below. Those who were further away and out of sight of this summary execution would have their chance to witness the result on offer to anyone else, now under to authority of Norman rule, who dared to be treacherous for personal and selfish gain. The church authority may also have considered it appropriate that the individual who had fallen from both window sill and grace, was by then in the process of being judged by his Maker. We know now that tradition has decreed that the monk who once erred would, forever, be destined to continuously repeat his death, shrieking over and over again, as a warning to others of like mind.
How many, I wonder, of those today who choose to manouver their boats along the river Bure through early morning mist, or walk the same past the ruined Abbey, ever concern themselves about apparitions – particularly if the morning, from midnight onwards, happens to the 25th May? How many out on that day would quicken their stride or increase water speed – just in case! Maybe all it takes is to be alone in the dark or in an early mist, a mist that was thought to be rising, but drops again suddenly at the same moment as the temperature takes on a deeper chill. One thing is certain; all that is needed beyond these conditions is for a lone lapwing to swoop close by and send forth its pre-emptive cry of what might follow!