An Occasion When I Was Very Frightened

I’m getting on in years now, and perhaps my memory isn’t what it was, but there some things you never forget. Such as my experience one night in the military town of Tidworth, near Salisbury in the UK.

At that time I was a senior clergyman in the British Army, and for some reason, I had to stay overnight in an officers’ mess there. The regiment normally occupying that barracks was our maneuvers, and they had left behind a skeleton staff, all of whom had gone home by six o’clock, the time I got there. The only people left were a young duty officer and the barman. His last job was to close the bar and lock up before he went home to his quarter.

We chatted at the bar. I had already dropped my bag in the bedroom assigned to me.

By seven o’clock the young officer had gone home. The barman turned the key behind him and then began his rounds making sure all doors and windows were locked. I went with him.

A bit later he asked permission to close the bar, which I gave. I went with him to the main entrance, said goodnight, and closed the door. He turned the key in the lock from outside, and his footsteps faded into the distance. I was alone, locked in. The barman would be back at six a.m.

Somehow, I felt something was wrong. For one thing, the mess was very cold though it had been a warm sunny day. I shivered and decided to walk around the mess again. There seemed to be someone else in the building, though I knew there wasn’t. So I searched every room and finally satisfied I undressed, got into bed, and picked up a book. Then it began.

There was a heavy knocking on the bedroom door. I have to admit that a cold chill passed through my body. I was very frightened. But perhaps I’d imagined the knock. The mind can play strange tricks. After thirty seconds or so, it came again. ‘Who’s there ?’ I shouted. But there was silence.

Somebody was obviously playing a trick on me. I thought. So I got out of bed and walked across to the door. I put my hand on the doorknob and waited. The heavy knocking came again. I opened the door and looked. There was nothing.

The mess was one of those large, stately Victorian buildings where the corridors were long and spacious. The adjacent bedroom doors were yards away. No joker could possibly have hidden.

So I then got a chair and sat by the bedroom door, and each time the knocking came I snatched the door open, to find nothing.

If you can believe it, this went on until night turned to half-light and six o’clock finally came. The barman was prompt, and I was dressed, packed, and ready to go when I heard his key in the front door lock. I said nothing to him, jumped into the car, and drove off to an all-night cafe I knew for coffee and breakfast.

Some weeks later, I was chatting to an office from that mess and mentioned my experience. ‘Oh yes, he said, ‘you’re not the first person to have that experience. There’s some story about a young officer in Victorian days who locked himself in and took poison — for unrequited love if you can believe it. They tried all night to rouse him. All nonsense, I’ve no doubt’.