Family visit with a difference.

"You will have an interesting night, "laughed Aunt Sue, my husband's uncle's wife."We are putting you in the haunted room."

We had gone to visit Uncle Tom and Aunt Sue at their huge ancient house near Taunton. When we arrived we were greeted, or more accurately attacked by 3 huge dogs - Mastiffs - weighing perhaps 500 lbs each and measuring a good 4 feet high. And they not only barked, they slobbered. The children were frightened, and so was I. Philip, my husband, knew that his relatives had always raised mastiffs, and they were more likely to lick you to death than anything else, so he wasn't worried.

Their farm was huge - with milk cows the main source of income. I think they had 100 head of Jersey cows. Tom was now in his 70's but still supervised all the farm routine. The kitchen was huge - and so very dirty. Not only from the saliva of the dogs, but all the farmyard waste was tracked in, and nobody seemed to mind. Wasps and bugs of all sorts swarmed around, unless they were blitzed by the electric machine in which case they would likely land in your pudding.

The house itself was very old - and had belonged in its past to Judge Jeffries - known to those who have an interest in English history as the hanging judge. He held assizes in his main parlour - even now full of huge dark oil paintings  and heavy furniture - and many if not all of his charges finished their lives in his back yard - hanging from a nearby tree.

No one doubted that the house was haunted, but I had a more normal worry.  It certainly had mice and I have a very strong phobia about mice. There was no doubt they were there, as the evidence was all over the place.

Philip was very blasé about the idea of sleeping in the haunted bedroom. The children were both jealous that they weren't given the room, and relieved that they didn't have to put up with whatever was in store for us.

"How does this ghost manifest itself?" I asked. Harriet, the matronly but still single daughter laughed. "If he visits you, you will know it," she smirked, making me both annoyed with her, and rather curious as to what she was meaning.

The bedroom itself was huge - maybe 20 feet square. There were heavy red velvet curtains on the windows and a dark patterned carpet on the floor. Tallboys, wardrobes and dressers from the 17th century if not earlier stood along each of the walls. There were 2 single beds in the room - which looked very uncomfortable, but I was pleased to see that they had electric blankets on. The place was perishing, even though it was June.

We fell asleep quite quickly, not surprising considering Tom's generosity from the wine cellar. It was cold in the room, but in our warm beds - with eiderdowns as well as the electric under blanket, we were very cosy. 

But well into the night, I gradually became aware of something odd. Someone was getting into bed with me. I thought it strange that Philip should be so secretive but then I realised it wasn't him.  He was snoring loudly in his bed nearby. But there definitely was somebody else with me, who was pushing up my nightgown. I was still so sleepy as not to be quite aware of exactly what was happening, but then I felt a very pleasant sensation which I had no difficulty identifying.  What I didn't know was who and how and why it was happening. I couldn't decide if I was frightened or interested - but I certainly didn't say or do anything to curtail the experience.

I thought ghosts were supposed to bring with them a cold feeling - but I didn't feel at all cold.  Why was I so willing to be raped by a ghost? Why didn't I scream and wake Philip up and demand that he protect me? When it was over, I fell back deeply asleep.

Next morning, we woke early with the birds singing. Noises confirmed that breakfast was underway in the kitchen. The cows needed early attention and so did the farm workers.  I felt very relaxed as I woke up, but then realised there was a rather heavy weight on the bottom of my bed. Nora, one of the 500 lb dogs had climbed onto the bottom of my bed and was soundly asleep. "Oh, no," I thought. "Was she the ghost?"

I checked for slobber on the sheets - and sure enough there was some sticky stuff all over the bed - she was a very messy dog. But somehow, I couldn't quite believe that I wouldn't have known the difference between the ghost of a hanged murderer and a friendly dog.