Tom Slemen's Haunted Wirral: Devil in the Copperfield Pub

This week, an encounter with 'Old Nick'.

THE three of them sat in the Copperfield Pub (on the corner of Market Street and Hamilton Street) in January 2008 as the snowflakes fluttered down past the windows of the Birkenhead watering hole.

The trio were Steve, Barry and Tim, all in their sixties, and somehow the topic of conversation turned from sport to the supernatural.

"The fellah who used to run this pub - his name was Ray," recalled Steve, "took over around 1976 if memory serves me," and Tim jogged Steve's memory, adding: "Yeah, and his wife was named Eunice, nice couple."

"Well I remember – and this was in the local papers at the time," continued Steve, getting a bit annoyed by Barry’s smirk, "there was a real bad haunting in here."

"Rubbish," interjected Barry, "there are no such things as ghosts." And he knocked back the last of the bitter.

"Well I remember it, Barry, and I know what I saw," he insisted, leaning into Barry’s grinning face, "glasses flew off the counter, and the landlord’s dog used to bark when all this activity went on, as if it could see the ghost."

"Don't talk rubbish," said Barry, "think of all the millions – no billions – of people who have lived and died over the thousands of years, and not one of them – not one – has ever come back to let us know there’s some world beyond this one!"

"You're a heathen, Barry," said Steve, with a look of disgust, "you’ll go to Purgatory if you’re lucky mate. Jesus came back, didn’t he?"

Barry waved his hand into Steve’s face and said: "I’m an atheist mate, don’t go there! Don’t go there!"

An old man of about 75, sitting in the corner in a cloth cap said in a musical Irish lilt, "Hey! Will you two Kilkenny Cats mind keeping the noise down? I came in here to relax, not to hear a rowdy philosophical debate about theology."

"I'm sorry mate," said Steve, and he calmed himself down and asked the old man what he was drinking.

"A double scotch," said the man, who told them his name was Desmond.

Steve bought him a drink and Desmond said; ‘I used to live on Paterson Street, over by the park, and as true as we’re all sitting here I remember a haunting in that street, and the Church got involved and the media, and I tell you what, up till that point I never believed in ghosts.

"It was that bad, they brought in a priest from St Saviour’s Church. It was November 1976, and a woman called Josie – I think she was a barmaid – lived next door but one to me; a very level-headed lady she was – and she had twins – two girls.

"These girls – they were quite young – toddlers they were – they started going on about “the man on the stairs”. And they described him as a tall man who was hanging from the banister of the stairs. Anyway, it was a real ghost – it was seen by many, including me – and the priest didn’t have a clue. He tried the bell, book and candle ritual – exorcism – but the ghost just laughed."

"And you saw this ghost?" asked a sceptical Barry.

"Didn’t I just say I did?" replied the old Irishman, fixing his intense blue eyes on Barry. "Get your ears syringed and start listening," added Desmond.

"Ignore him, Desmond," said Steve, "what happened?"

"The newspapers got wind of the ghost, and the TV people, and the family were moved out of the house.

"The Housing and Environmental Health officer moved the family to another house, and the place was boarded up.

"Some journalist then started looking into the haunting and he discovered that many years before, a man had hanged himself at the house on Paterson Street and he'd been dangling there for four days before they found him."

"I've just got a cold tingle down my spine," said Tim, and swigged his Guinness from the glass.

"We've only got your word for it though, haven’t we?" said Barry to the Irishman, and Desmond pointed his index finger at him and said: "You know what happens to Doubting Thomases like you? They get haunted!"

"Barry, why on earth would he make it up?" Steve asked his cynical friend, "What would he gain from it? And I’m sure I’ve heard of that case on Paterson Street from me mum."

"I suppose you don’t believe in Old Nick either eh?" Desmond asked Barry.

"Who's Old Nick when he’s out?" laughed Barry.

"Him below – I'm not stupid enough to mention his name," said Desmond, and he looked at his empty glass. Steve got him another double scotch.

"Oh – you mean the fellah with the horns and the forked tail?" said Barry, grinning as he looked out the window at the snow falling on Market Street.

"Well, if you don't believe in him, you won't be too bothered if he takes your soul," said Desmond, folding his arms.

Barry gave an exaggerated puzzled look and said: "I don't give two hoots, because he doesn’t exist; the Church invented him so they had someone to blame for man’s evil."

Desmond tapped his index finger hard on the tabletop and said: "So if you don’t believe in him, then, he can have your soul can’t he?"

"As I said, it's a stupid question because – " Barry began, but Desmond stood up and ranted: ‘Look! You’re like a bloody politician! Can Old Nick have your soul then, seeing as you don’t believe in him?’

"Yes," replied Barry, "and so can the Tooth Fairy and Jack Frost!". 

He got up in a huff and went to the toilet. He was gone for quite some time, so Tim went to see if he was okay.

Tim and Barry entered the bar shortly afterwards, and Barry’s face looked pale, and his eyes were bulging.

Tim said to Steve and the Irishman: "He saw him – he was in the toilet."

Steve grinned, thinking his two mates were messing about, and asked: "Who was in the toilet?"

Barry tried to get his words out, but sounded confused and muddled, so Tim replied on his behalf.

"The Devil," he said, and guided Barry, who seemed unsteady on his feet, to the table.

"Not funny," said Steve, still thinking it was a joke.

Desmond made the sign of the cross and said to Barry: "Repent! Tell him you didn't mean it!"

Barry said "Old Nick" had looked like an ordinary man in a black suit, but he’d had a red glint in his eyes.

He had smiled at Barry before walking away - through a wall.

The next morning, Barry's wife found him dead in his bed.

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