According to tradition, one dark and stormy night, a coach was being driven on the road between Scawby and Broughton. The coachman, who had been freely partaking of the local ale at the village inn, cracked his whip laughing and shouting as he urged the horses to a frenzied gallop.
“Through the furious night they raced, then suddenly they swung away from the road, dashed across the fields, and, with a resounding splash, coach, horses, and coachman disappeared beneath the water of the pond in the grounds of Scawby Hall.”
And on certain nights, it is said, people passing along that road have heard the sound of spectral hoof-beats, the crack of a whip and the maniacal laughter of the drunken coachman
No comments:
Post a Comment