The Haunting of Nun's Bridge

This is the story of the haunting of Nun's Bridge in Thetford, Norfolk - the nearest town to my childhood home.  In the 17th century, at the height of Matthew Hopkins' reign of terror, the bridge was the site of the town's ducking stool ... yet this tale concerns neither nuns nor witches.

Once upon a time - or, more properly, in 1561 - Elizabeth, wife of Thomas, 4th Baron Dacre of Gilsland & 8th Baron Greystoke, was delivered of a son & heir.  Named George, he proved to be their only male child & thus he succeeded to the title upon his father's death on 1 July 1566 when he was barely five years old.  Mere months later, Elizabeth wed the Duke of Norfolk but herself died in childbirth in September 1567, leaving young George & three daughters.  The boy was soon sent to live under the guardianship of Sir Richard Fulmerston at St George's Nunnery in Thetford.  It was here that poor little George Dacre met his grisly end.

Escaping the tedium of the "dyning hall" one day, he set off to explore the further reaches of the Nunnery all alone - imagine his excitement when he happened upon a glorious wooden rocking horse, & his frustration when he realised that it was just too tall for him to be able to reach the saddle.  Not to be denied a ride upon the magnificent beast, the boy set about looking for a way to climb aboard, but in his haste knocked out one of the pegs supporting a back leg.  The entire oaken creature collapsed at once atop poor George, crushing his little skull into an oozing red puddle seeping across the nursery floor.

Now the coroner recorded an accidental death, that he was "slain casually at Thetford by the fall of a vawtynge hors upon him".  The coroner who owed his lucrative position, of course, to the Duke of Norfolk - the very same Duke who had conveniently seen all three of George's sisters wed to his own sons so that the Dacres' extensive lands were now under his control.

Tragic accident or horrid murder?  Perhaps young George himself is trying to tell us.

Legend has it that the child's bloodstains could not be scrubbed from the nursery floor for a hundred years, while his spirit fled the site of his untimely demise & can to this very day be encountered on particularly dark nights, endlessly weeping as he gallops across the bridge upon his headless rocking horse.