The Ingrid Pitt Column: ghost hunting!

A couple of weeks ago I was asked to host a raiding party of twenty or so (I won't say odd) American ghost hunters. They had been doing the ghost tour of well known hauntings through the length and breadth of England and wanted a memorable last night before jumping a jet home.

Their intrepid but absent leader, Charles Rosenay, had wanted something spooky to remember the trip by and had thought of me. I suggested that the dinner should be in the Ostrich Inn in Colnbrook just up the road from their port of departure at Heathrow the following day.

The Ostrich claims to be the third oldest pub in England. There has been an Inn on the spot since the 12th century. It is even rumoured that King John, on his way to sign the Magna Carta in nearby Runneymede, dropped off there for a noggin or two. It also has more than a little to do with generating one of entertainment's most bloodstained icons. Forget Dracula, forget Frankenstein. Sweeney Todd is the ghoul I mean.

The jovial landlord at the Ostrich was called Jarman. The pub, situated on one of the roads westward out of London, was just perfect for anyone heading out of town to spend the night before pushing on. Jarman was the perfect host. A suitable source of protein was identified, given the best room in the hotel at a knockdown price, liberally supplied with a flagon or two of ale, topped up with a couple of jars of Rum and bowed all the way to the bedroom door. Jarman waited until the snores reached a high level of decibels then slipped into the room, slit the unfortunate guest's throat, pulled the concealed lever behind the headboard and the bloody body slid silently into the conveniently place cauldron of boiling water in the basement. The 'pork' pies were very popular with the other travellers and provided a nice little earner.

It all came to a nasty end for the Jarmans when Thomas Cole was given the treatment. His horse was found wandering around the village and a search was made of the nearby countryside. The Jarmans got wind of what was going on and hastily dumped the body in the stream behind the pub.

Panic was their undoing. When the body was found the trail led directly back to Mine host and his culinary goddess in the kitchen. The Jarmans went to the gallows still expecting to receive five gold stars. Thomas, the innocent causa mecanica of their downfall, at least got a fitting memorial. It is claimed that the name of the village is based on 'Cole in brook'.

And ghosts? Staff and guests have sworn they have seen wraithlike figures flitting around the low, dark corridors of the Inn on a regular basis.

Just the sort of place that veteran ghost hunters would be looking for, one would have thought. But space and budgetary constraints put The Ostrich out of the reach of the Americans. So they made do with a close-by modern hostelry, The Quality Hotel. No ghosts yet but those about to be departing had a good time. To mark the occasion they were all in fancy dress although I'm not sure that the costumes had a lot to do with their Albion Odyssey.

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