Old Monastery Pool
Posted: Wed Jan 27, 2016 10:21 am
Living in an old pub (the Burrell Arms) at the centre of a village in rural Nottinghamshire, I’ve heard plenty of eerie tales. For me, one stands out. It’s the story of someone I only ever hear referred to as ‘Young Charlie’ and a local pond known as ‘Old Monastery Pool’.
During the Second World War, Young Charlie could often be found inside the Burrell Arms trading the trout and eels he’d plucked from local streams for extra ration stamps. Understanding he was a keen fisherman, one of the patrons told Young Charlie about Old Monastery Pool. Now, most of the ponds around where I live are inhabited by mirror carp, and, apparently, they’re all descended from carp a group of monks used to rear in their monastery pond for food hundreds of years ago. The monastery is long gone, replaced by thick woodland, but the pond remains. The patron told Young Charlie all of this and, naturally, he was desperate to fish Old Monastery Pool to find out what, if anything, had survived there.
However, the landowner was strangely reluctant to give him permission. It took Young Charlie almost a year of begging before he finally relented. As soon as he had his permission, Young Charlie made the long trek up to the woodland surrounding Old Monastery Pool. What he found in the dying light disappointed him. The pool was in the exact place the patron had said, but it was half silted up, clogged with pond weed and full of dead branches. Only a few patches of clear water remained and Young Charlie thought he could see through them right to the bottom. It seemed that the water was only a few inches deep, hardly the sort of place that might harbour a monster.
Not being one to accept defeat easily, Young Charlie chucked out a stick float and worm, hoping that there might still be a few minnows around, maybe even an eel or two. Almost as soon as his float stood straight in the water, it was swept under with all the ferocity of a colossal pike strike. Young Charlie’s line snapped instantly but he didn’t care, there was obviously something huge lurking in the pond! Maybe there was deeper water below the weed after all, the perfect hiding place for a giant fish that would have the pub talking for years!
Young Charlie wound in his loose line, sank back against a tree, reached into his basket and began switching to his most robust tackle. But, in his eagerness, he couldn’t resist a glance up at the pond. Standing on the other side of the bank amongst the trees, staring at him intently through the gloom, the murky shape of an old man dressed in tattered robes. Terrified, Young Charlie shot up from where he was sitting and slammed his head straight into a low branch, knocking himself out. When he finally came round it was pitch black and his rod, tackle and basket were all smashed to pieces …
According to local legend, the monastery the pond belonged to was burned down when a cruel abbot refused fish to hungry villagers after a failed harvest. In doing so he bought death and a terrible curse upon himself. Now he’s doomed to patrol Old Monastery Pool day and night, making sure no villagers try to take his precious fish. It’s said Young Charlie found himself on the wrong side of the abbot’s wrathful apparition!
I have visited Old Monastery Pool myself (in the daytime!) and I can confirm that it is a weedy, stagnant mess. But I never saw a ghostly monk. Maybe it’s just baseless local folklore? Saying that, I haven’t yet plucked up the courage to throw in a line!
Bit of a postscript! I’ve pieced this story together from several local sources, gluing their occasionally contradicting accounts together with a splash of dramatic embellishment (hey, I’m an author by trade, what do you expect?!), but I think the gist is there. Tight Lines!
Jack Croxall
During the Second World War, Young Charlie could often be found inside the Burrell Arms trading the trout and eels he’d plucked from local streams for extra ration stamps. Understanding he was a keen fisherman, one of the patrons told Young Charlie about Old Monastery Pool. Now, most of the ponds around where I live are inhabited by mirror carp, and, apparently, they’re all descended from carp a group of monks used to rear in their monastery pond for food hundreds of years ago. The monastery is long gone, replaced by thick woodland, but the pond remains. The patron told Young Charlie all of this and, naturally, he was desperate to fish Old Monastery Pool to find out what, if anything, had survived there.
However, the landowner was strangely reluctant to give him permission. It took Young Charlie almost a year of begging before he finally relented. As soon as he had his permission, Young Charlie made the long trek up to the woodland surrounding Old Monastery Pool. What he found in the dying light disappointed him. The pool was in the exact place the patron had said, but it was half silted up, clogged with pond weed and full of dead branches. Only a few patches of clear water remained and Young Charlie thought he could see through them right to the bottom. It seemed that the water was only a few inches deep, hardly the sort of place that might harbour a monster.
Not being one to accept defeat easily, Young Charlie chucked out a stick float and worm, hoping that there might still be a few minnows around, maybe even an eel or two. Almost as soon as his float stood straight in the water, it was swept under with all the ferocity of a colossal pike strike. Young Charlie’s line snapped instantly but he didn’t care, there was obviously something huge lurking in the pond! Maybe there was deeper water below the weed after all, the perfect hiding place for a giant fish that would have the pub talking for years!
Young Charlie wound in his loose line, sank back against a tree, reached into his basket and began switching to his most robust tackle. But, in his eagerness, he couldn’t resist a glance up at the pond. Standing on the other side of the bank amongst the trees, staring at him intently through the gloom, the murky shape of an old man dressed in tattered robes. Terrified, Young Charlie shot up from where he was sitting and slammed his head straight into a low branch, knocking himself out. When he finally came round it was pitch black and his rod, tackle and basket were all smashed to pieces …
According to local legend, the monastery the pond belonged to was burned down when a cruel abbot refused fish to hungry villagers after a failed harvest. In doing so he bought death and a terrible curse upon himself. Now he’s doomed to patrol Old Monastery Pool day and night, making sure no villagers try to take his precious fish. It’s said Young Charlie found himself on the wrong side of the abbot’s wrathful apparition!
I have visited Old Monastery Pool myself (in the daytime!) and I can confirm that it is a weedy, stagnant mess. But I never saw a ghostly monk. Maybe it’s just baseless local folklore? Saying that, I haven’t yet plucked up the courage to throw in a line!
Bit of a postscript! I’ve pieced this story together from several local sources, gluing their occasionally contradicting accounts together with a splash of dramatic embellishment (hey, I’m an author by trade, what do you expect?!), but I think the gist is there. Tight Lines!
Jack Croxall
Nice one Jack, I love a good spooky tale.