I’ve visited clairvoyant fairs. I’ve seen Sally Morgan live. Heck, I’ve even had a go on a Ouija board. But the closest I’d ever come to spirits had been on a Saturday night in the town centre.

So when an opportunity to spend an evening conducting a paranormal investigation at Valence House arose, I jumped at the chance – for what better way to see if there is life after death than at a supposedly haunted mansion?

The only surviving manor in Dagenham, parts of Valence House date back as far as medieval times. It’s had various uses over the years, having acted as a family home, town hall, library headquarters, and in recent times, a museum.

There have been numerous reports of ghostly goings on. Sightings have included former resident Agnes de Valence – she was said to have been murdered in the grounds (1309), with the weapon, a dagger, discarded in the surrounding moat – although I must stress, there is no evidence for the theory that Agnes was murdered.

The most well-attested ghost sighting is of a tiny elderly lady dressed in black – Eliza Luxmore, who died at Valence House in 1913. Indeed, on the night I visited, staff attributed a number of past ghoulishy occurrences to Eliza – whispering at closing time, room temperature drops and even sightings in the office.

I can’t say I saw either of these ghosts. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t experience something while I was there.

Divided into groups of ten, the first strange encounter happened in the first room. Deadly silent at first, until someone asked if anyone was there. Then came the sound of scratching. Was it the fella beside me experiencing a bout of indigestion? I couldn’t be sure. But when I vocalised what I’d heard, suddenly everyone admitted hearing the same. The power of suggestion? Or had we all heard the same thing? Who knows? But my companion said the room made her feel strangely oppressed.

Next, one of the cellars. It wasn’t on the itinerary, but our guide seemed keen to show us around. Why? Because on a previous occasion, a clairvoyant had sensed something. What wasn’t initially made clear, that is until the line of questioning progressed from ‘is anyone there’ to ‘are you disfigured’? Apparently the medium had picked up on the spirit of an imprisoned Spanish teenager, regularly scalded with boiling hot water. No-one saw or heard anything – perhaps there was a language barrier, but there was an icy drop in temperature.

Another cellar, said to have imprisoned fisherman involved in the gunpowder plot, was unnerving, only because I was trying to work out just how many ghosts this property was housing.

In truth, the scariest moment happened on the second floor. We met with a medium, Steve, just outside the room, who said he could see a man hanging above the staircase. When someone questioned how this was possible, as the staircase isn’t an original feature of the house, he changed tak, saying he could see two children, the older of which, a boy, was pushing a young girl to her death down the stairs. The hanging man wasn’t mentioned again, that was until I questioned Steve later and he asserted the man was a relation of the children.

As for the children, creepy toys had been left on the steps by staff, with a video camera set up to capture any strange events. You could argue that the power of suggestion was already there – we’d seen the toys as we moved from room to room, so we’d willingly accept Steve’s explanation.

But back to the room in question. Even now, thinking about it makes me feel genuinely uneasy. As soon as I walked in I felt anxious. It wasn’t Steve’s erratic movements, a reaction to the spirits, he said, or the darkness we found ourselves in. It was this overwhelming feeling of being watched (note sceptics, I didn’t clock any CCTV). I wanted to leave immediately, but was persuaded by my colleague to stay. Sitting in a circle, holding hands, we asked if anyone was present and immediately my left side went cold. Then something touched my hair. Repeatedly. There was no breeze, no open window. Was I imaging it? It was late, but I wasn’t tired. And the EVP machine, which had remained dormant, suddenly went ballistic. Then came the knocking. Not the usual creaks you hear in an old house. But distinct, crisp, knocking. I surveyed everyone in that room. I could see no tricks. No-one was missing, and unless another person was hiding in the wings, I can’t explain it. I certainly can’t explain who was ruffling my hair.

Progressing through to the nearby office, where staff had reported numerous incidents, I could’ve sworn I saw a teenage boy looking through the door way. There wasn’t a teen in our group. Or any other group. A trick of the light, perhaps, because a light was on. And then suddenly it switched off. By itself.

The final part of the investigation was conducted in the attic, where we held a séance, with the obligatory glass on the table. Of course it moved. Was it one of the group inadvertently pushing it or was it moving of its own accord? I’m unsure. But what I can say is that Steve had told me a few things he had experienced in the house that the group wasn’t privy to. Interestingly, the movement of the glass always gave the exact opposite answer to what I’d been told.

The cynic in me struggles to explain what I experienced that night. Perhaps it was the intense atmosphere, the power of suggestion, spending an evening surrounded by people who most believe in the supernatural. But I can’t help but wonder if there’s more to Valence House than meets the eye...

 

 

4/5