Just beyond the grounds of the University of Nottingham
visible from many of its student halls and residences
is the estate of Wollaton Hall
Dating back to the 1580s, its mansion sits among 500 acres of natural parkland
and its paths and shortcuts have long been trodden by generations of students
But as beautiful as the estate appears
there is a darkness lurking here
There are those who wander the grounds, as you or I might
only to vanish in the blink of an eye
There are shadows that hang from the towers at night
figures who watch from the windows
There are sounds and sights that defy explanation
There are stories and this is one of them
Good evening. I'm Alex Bell, and I'm here at Lincoln Hall at the University of Nottingham
to tell you about the Lady of Wollaton Hall
Lady Charlotte Willoughby was an unusual girl
In a time where a woman's place was in parlours and tea parties
young Charlotte was more often found wandering the grounds of her home
at Wollaton Hall with mud up to her knees and her hair loose and tangled
She swore like a sailor, preferred boots and breeches to skirts and slippers
and was friendlier with the stable lads and swineherds
than with any other girl of her own age
As hard as Charlotte's family tried to change her, she refused to be tethered
wanting only to run wild and free. When she was a child
this was somewhat permissible, but as the girl grew into a woman
her antics began to seem less like innocent play
and more like a kind of madness that must be stopped
So it was that her family decided that something must be done
though they loved their daughter
They could see that her wild nature would only bring trouble to the estate
and shame upon their reputation
They announced a coming out party for Charlotte's 16th birthday
where she would officially be brought into the light of civilised society
and take her rightful place as a respectable lady
belonging to a distinguished family
Charlotte would not go along
without a fight. As the decorations for the party went up.
Charlotte tore them down. As her maid laced her corset
Charlotte cut the ribbons. Even as her family all but dragged her down the stairs
She was kicking and screaming and fighting to be free
as she had always longed to be
But there was no getting out of it
under the watchful eyes of her family, as well as every socialite in town
Charlotte had no choice but to dance, drink
and make polite conversation for hours and hours
All the while, though, she longed to be free
Finally, near midnight, she took her chance
A door left open
Her father's back turned. Charlotte hastened from the room
and ran up the stairs as fast as the constricting skirts would allow
On the landing, however, she hesitated
Perhaps her corset was laced too tight
Perhaps her head was spinning from the wine
Whatever the reason, Charlotte, for once in her life paused
she leaned against the bannister
And she fell
It isn't known who found her lying
broken upon the staircase or quite what happened after
We can only imagine the screams, the horror, the agony
Charlotte felt as she lay there, half in death on the stairs
But when she woke several days later in her room
it was to the most dreadful news she could have ever imagined
Her back was broken
and she would never walk again
For the first few years after her fall, Charlotte had entertainment enough
with plenty of books and games
visitors and well-wishers, and the very best medical care
But as time went on and it became clear that Charlotte would never recover
the attention began to wane
The visitors stopped coming, and there in the shadows
Charlotte's anger grew
Her wild life of freedom had been snatched away from her
and that was an injustice she would never forgive
It was a dark fury she carried with her for 20, long
dark, isolated years
until she died alone in the very same bed
But Charlotte's story does not end there
Many centuries after her death, a member of staff at the hall
was cleaning in Charlotte's old room.
She had been feeling strange all morning as though someone
was in there with her, just out of sight
And as she leaned over to unplug her vacuum cleaner
just above the spot where Charlotte would once have lain
a pale hand, came from nowhere and grabbed her around the throat
Choking and screaming
the girl pulled free and fled the room, pausing just long enough
for her colleagues to see the clear imprints of long fingers on the neck
Today, visitors to the hall commonly report horrible
feelings upon the staircase where Charlotte fell
feelings of cold, vengeful fury and desperate frustration
There's a sense of always being watched, of being envied, of being hated
For many say that Charlotte still lingers in that room that became her prison
still pines for the life that was taken from her
Still seethes with the unfairness of it all
Who knows if it's true
All I can warn you is to take heed if you should ever find yourself there
for if Charlotte's spirit still haunts the place
It is by no means at peace