Ever since the founding of the city of Halifax back in the year 1749 there has always existed a form of the Halifax Citadel all the way up at the top of Citadel Hill. It was considered one of the most pivotal defence points of the entire city as not only was it the highest vantage point for the entirety of the city of Halifax but was meant to be used as a pivotal fort for the protection of the city from a land-based attack where you could put a bunch of other fortifications within the small islands that litter Halifax’s harbor closer down to the shoreline to deal with any potential ship combat it may see. While most of this combat was expected to happen by sea, the citadel also played a pivotal role in protecting from the landside to not only make its defence systems as flashy and impressive as possible but also make sure that enemies would see these fortifications and how impenetrable they were and not even try to attack any of them in the first place. In fact, going all the way back from its first iteration in 1749 and past its final or fourth iteration, which finished construction in the year 1856, it had served that purpose. Despite the fact that it never saw any combat along with all of Halifax’s other fortifications in this way it still does serve its purpose of being an impenetrable military fortress.

However, that’s not to say that over the course of Halifax’s lifetime the citadel hasn’t gone without its fair share of fatalities. There are ghost stories going all the way back from the founding of this city’s history all the way up to the fourth version of the citadel, even going up into the modern day and if I were to sit here and talk about every single story that’s ever occurred at the Citadel, I’d be here for more space than what my device would even allow me to record.

Instead, I’ll talk about the story that has, for lack of a better term, haunted (no pun intended) the Citadel for the longest period of time going all the way back from the year 1900 all the way up to this day. Ever since the early 1970s and going all the way up to modern day there have been a group of security guards called the commissionaires who roam around the fort at all hours of the day and make sure there are no miscreants trying to make their way in, no vandalization is happening or any theft, intruders, anything of that sort. The commissionaires tend to be the people who see the most paranormal things happen at the citadel.

There is a set of happenings that occurs mostly on the second floor of the Citadel’s Cavalier Building, a building that was meant as the main form of barracks for rank-and-file infantry at this time. Since the Fort was decommissioned at the end of the Second World War, it has been used as an army museum that would talk about Canadian history going all the way back from independence in 1867 up to even modern day efforts including the peacekeeping efforts that were done in Afghanistan in the early to mid 2000s. It’s at the army museum where these strange set of occurrences happen the most often. They start off with things like flickering lights in the entrance to the army museum; a rocking chair which they sit on during the regular day as they talk to visitors rocks back and forth with seemingly no momentum to keep it forward; maybe walk in to do your rounds late at night and there is a strong overwhelming scent of an old floral perfume that seems to have no source but as soon as you walk through the hallway that leads to the second room it seems to cut off entirely. However, the thing that seems to happen most up there seems to be an apparition of sorts: the figure of a lady in a long dress described in a variety of different colours, whether they be black, white, blue, green, brown; every colour under the sun. Sometimes she appears roaming the hallways and disappears as soon as you shine a light on her; sometimes she exists up in the third floor of the cavalier building above the army museum or you see a light flicker and her figure stands staring down at you from the main level to only have that light flicker and just as fast she seemingly disappears without a trace or maybe she slowly descends one of the staircases as soon as you exit and as soon as you try to follow her she doesn’t leave even a trace of her existence there. In fact, these sets of occurrences, most of which seem to be feminine in some sort of nature, these happened so often that the commissionaires who have been working at the Citadel have given this apparition a nickname; they nicknamed her the Grey Lady.

Now if that were all I had on the Grey Lady I wouldn’t be spending the time to talk about it now, but a few years ago (I want to say it was a little over 5 or so), there was a Parks Canada researcher who does a lot of digging through historic archives and finding historic information that we can tell at our site, who was browsing a public birth and death record archive going from the late 1800s all the way up to about the end of the First World War. When he comes upon a record that kind of catches his eye a bit, for a few different reasons. First off, this is the record of a man who (these were all Halifax birth and death records, so they were all guys that were here) unlike the rest of these records which all happen to be civilian this was one of a guy within the artillery, pretty close to the time period of the late 1860s early 1870s that’s represented at the Citadel. On top of that he’s also a quite high-ranking member within the British artillery so that’s another good sign. The thing that seems to catch him the most however, is not only did it state that he had died up at the Halifax Citadel, but it also turns out that the very room that this man had died in was directly underneath the offices of the guy that was digging through these records in the first place. Although this wasn’t really his main objective it ticked too many green boxes to leave unchecked and as a result this took him down a rabbit hole which not only exposed a story which was long forgotten by most members of the public, but had also given a lot of foresight to his story that was considered to be the most popular amongst the Citadel’s ghost tours. Foresight that would not only lead us to believe nowadays that this Grey Lady entity who has been seen at least for the past 50 years if not longer, is not only real but we also have a name and a face that we can put to her. We believe her name to be miss Cassie Allen, but to talk more about the Grey Lady, Miss Allen, we have to talk about the man whose death had sparked the investigation that led to these breakthroughs in the first place, his name being battery Sergeant Major George Edwards.

It was the night of November 13th 1900, where over at the sergeants’ mess, a building that was situated in the back right corner of the Citadel and was just a few dozen feet off to the right side of the main barracks where all these guys had stayed, there was a dinner happening, one that had steak and potatoes and seasonal vegetables and the whole nine yards; wine too, don’t forget about that. One of the regimental sergeant majors of the infantry regiment that was stationed there for the time proceeds to rise from his chair and toast his glass to get people’s attention and he exclaims that Sergeant Major Edwards, who is sitting not three chairs off to his right, was bound to be married the next morning and officially become a husband. Something that you know would arise at the very least a polite form of applause from the people around them if not full-blown congratulations of sorts. But instead of receiving any praise, the guys who are at the table around him they just kind of start pointing and relentlessly laughing at this poor guy; not the kind of reaction you’d expect from a wedding announcement. In fact, it even gets so bad that the guy who’s sitting to Edwards’ right at the table who is also kind of pointing and laughing at him, he’s in for quite the surprise. Edwards who just been quietly sitting there trying to enjoy his food quickly springs up out of his chair, winds up his fist and full force, sucker punches the guy beside him and picks him up by the collar with one hand and starts to absolutely wail on this poor guy for at least a good 10 seconds before they end up getting broken up. Through some miracle after this fight gets broken up, Edwards is not charged with any crime despite the fact that he’s beaten that poor guy black and blue. He didn’t even get any chance to fight back, and the dinner is cancelled and everyone goes back to their quarters. It’s about time to get some rest anyways. Then comes the morning of November 14th, 1900. For this time your wake up for a soldier was at 6:00 in the morning and as soon as they got up they had to tidy up their benches and their tables and their beds, get everything organized, polish all of their leathers, shine all of their brass accoutrements and be spic and span for a 6:30 inspection. It was about 6:15 when there are a bunch of guys on the first floor of the cavalier building who were shining and getting all their stuff ready when, all of a sudden, in one of the rooms above them, it seems like it comes from the top left room, they hear an ear-shattering thud which surprisingly doesn’t really set off a whole lot of people. It’s hard to say whether it’s because they’re used to being in an environment where they’re hearing gunshots and training all the time or, you know maybe, they just assumed it was some guy who was trying to put a table together and had it all collapse on the floor. It’s hard to say but they more or less ignore this loud thud coming from above them and they continue to get ready for their inspection.

At 9:30 in the morning we’re down at a building called Trinity Church which unfortunately no longer exists today but was only about a 12- maybe 15-minute walk away from the Citadel. There was a bride sitting outside the doors, impatiently checking her father’s pocket watch where members of her family had also gathered around, all impatiently stomping their feet as the wedding was supposed to start at 9:00 and the groom is already half an hour late to his own wedding. The bride-to-be, who is miss Cassie Allen, gets so impatient that she sends for her cab driver to head up to the top of Citadel Hill, drag her husband out by force if necessary, and bring him down so they can finally get this wedding started. Of course he does so without any hesitation; it’s already a bit embarrassing that the man who was supposed to ferry you and your husband off to a fantastically executed wedding now has to go out of his way to do this for you. No one is in a particularly good mood and it’s not going to get any better until Sergeant Major Edwards shows up to that altar and they can finally get started. The sentry who is stationed out front of the Halifax Citadel meant to watch for any trespassers making their way in describes seeing a beautiful chariot of white making its way up along the perimeter road of the Citadel with silver and white tinsel lining its outside and two white ribbons streaming along its back. The carriage is being hauled by two beautiful horses with brown manes and brown coats with little white spots sprinkled around here and there. It comes up the hill with blinding speed then comes to a screeching halt. And not with a second to spare, the cab driver hops out, sprints over to that sentry and he goes “Good sir, could you please watch over my horses? I must fetch a man who is dreadfully late to his own wedding.”

The sentry replies, “you’re not looking for Edwards, are you?”

“Why yes, I am! Does there seem to be a problem with that?”

“I’m sorry to say sir, but I don’t think you’re going to be needed here anymore.”

 “What? Why is that? Can’t you at least give me an explanation?”

 “Well sir, I’m sorry to say that Edwards will not be coming out as he was unfortunately found dead this morning.”

The sentry proceeds to explain to the cab driver that once inspections had started at 6:30 in the morning, in the overflow married quarters which was the top left room of the second floor of the cavalier building, which now is the entrance to the citadel’s army museum, the inspecting party had found the door barricaded from the inside by tables and chairs and benches and beds and after getting through with quite a lot of physical force, they found all the way at the backside of the room just beside the fireplace, Sergeant Major Edwards slumped over with his artillery service carbine still smoking at his side; the smell of gunpowder still fresh in the air, where he had put a bullet straight through his head and his taken his own life, just hours before his wedding was supposed to start.

It’s after learning this unfortunate news that the cab driver understands that he has a responsibility to head back down to Trinity Church and tell the unfortunate wedding party what has become of the supposed-to-be groom. He does it with full force, just as fast as he came up that hill, he goes all the way back down to Trinity Church, not even sparing a second.

To rub salt into this proverbial wound, as soon as the poor cab driver gets down there, what is everyone outside of Trinity Church do but start clapping. I mean, why wouldn’t they? You just saw the cab driver arriving back quickly; the natural assumption is that he’s just arrived with Edwards in tow after dragging him out for being late and they can finally get started with this wedding that they were supposed to do. However, when the cab driver steps out alone, the crowd draws silent. He walks up to miss Allen and she quietly exclaims “Good sir, where is my husband?” At that point the cab driver takes a deep breath and says “I don’t know how to tell you this Miss Allen, but your husband Edwards was found dead in quarters this morning. You are not going to be married and there is no longer going to be any ceremony.” Poor Miss Allen, upon hearing this starts to laugh thinking that this might just be some sort of sick joke being played on her and at any second Edwards is going to step out of that carriage and they can move on with all these shenanigans and finally get married. But nothing happens and it’s less than a few minutes after this realization that Miss Allen, in the deepest reaches of her soul, goes from quiet to sobbing to complete hysterics. In fact by the time it’s over, members of her family have to restrain her by the arms and legs as she’s kicking and screaming and wailing for her husband who is never going to show up at the altar. She’s loaded back into that carriage and driven all the way back to the Allen family estate. The last nail in this coffin comes from her walking through the main entrance and into the dining room where the family maid was working tirelessly all morning to provide a fantastic breakfast for two for the wedding party that unfortunately didn’t get partaken by anyone that day, along with two white roses that sat in a vase in the centre of that table that also eventually wilted away.

And so, the big question comes from something like this: why did Edwards do it? Why did he take his own life especially in the fashion that he did? It’s supposed to be an important landmark in his life so why would he do something like this? After his death there is of course an investigation done into the circumstances surrounding it where quite a few interesting tidbits are found. Naturally they find out about the big dinner fight that happened the previous night, but on top of that they also heard of a recounting from a funeral shop owner down on Lower Water Street who testified that Edwards had walked into his parlor about a week and a half before his death and opened up a coffin of his own volition, lied in it himself and proceeded to turn his head and ask if he looked good in this one. After getting out and then leaving the shop without another word which was quite strange but not something to really mention to the authorities.

However, they find out an even more interesting detail about Edwards during their investigation. You see, regiments move around for this time period, especially every three to five years, so they’re never in one place for too long. It just so happens that before Edwards’s regiment was stationed in Halifax, it spent about four years down in Bermuda and according to other members of his regiment who spent quite a bit of time with him, they stated that while Edwards was in Bermuda he had already married someone! He had a Bermudan wife who was not able to come along with the regiment due to space constraints when they were leaving and as a result, Edwards’s Bermudan wife had to stay over there as he traveled to Halifax. Less than a year after arriving in the city he received a letter that his Bermudan wife had “been admitted to a mental ward and passed away under mysterious circumstances”. With that the question comes: was it out of guilt maybe for his previous wife? Was it out of shame or fear of his secret being exposed to his new wife by other members of his regiment?

It’s hard to say at this point as we can’t get into Edwards’s head anymore. We’ll never find out exactly what he was thinking in that moment. The only other bits that we do have is that to this day, Edwards is buried over at Fort Massey cemetery, just at the top of the crest of the hill on Queen Street in Halifax, stating specifically his date of death as November 14^th, 1900, from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. Poor Miss Allen proceeded to live a full life after this incident. She passes away several decades later from old age, but she never ends up marrying again.

The last question I’ll leave you with about the Grey Lady is: who do you think the Grey Lady really is? Is it the spirit of Miss Cassie Allen who listlessly wanders the halls of the building where her husband had taken his own life and is unable to move on even centuries later; still wanders despite never being able to see him again, or is the Grey Lady the spirit of Edwards’s Bermudan wife, perhaps filled with anger, betrayal, maybe even hatred at him for what happened with her being left in Bermuda. Who knows, maybe she had some sort of influence to drive Edwards to his own suicide almost like a form of postmortem revenge. What do you think?

Context: This story was told to me by B.E.W, a Military Interpreter at the Halifax Citadel Canadian National Historic Site. It is commonly recounted to visiting tourists during ghost tours at the site. It tells the story of a lady in grey who has been seen on multiple occasions since 1900 at the Citadel’s Cavalier House. She is believed to be either the abandoned first wife of Sergeant Major George Edwards, or the fiancée he left at the altar in 1842 as he died by suicide the evening before his second wedding.

Analysis from storyteller: B.E.W. says that he first learned of these stories around 5 years ago when he began working at the fortress and enjoys them the most because they are “not tall tales; there are multiple varied accounts of them happening and they even have some authentic documentation to back them up”. Also, he says that “these are the stories that the people on my tours are always most intrigued by”.

Analysis from myself: This is an interesting part of the history of the city I was born in and a place that I have visited many times. I assumed there were hauntings but not with such specific documentation of historical accuracy. It brings the past to life and makes me appreciate the history of my hometown. It makes me think about ghosts having unfinished business with the living.

It was a late night in the early fall of 1794 where on the side of Citadel Hill which at the top of it existed the third version of the Halifax Citadel, was a small, poorly put together wooden building, one that was hastily put together in the matter of a few weeks and not meant to last any more than a few years. It was being used as a supplementary barracks within the grounds of the Citadel and at this time this building was being used as an officer’s quarters.

As officers at this moment in history bought their commissions into the army, they didn’t have to work to become officers, rather commissions were something that you could buy and sell almost like stocks nowadays where the commission was dependent on not just the rank but also the regiment that you were with. The higher the standing: the more victories and better reputation a regiment had, the costlier it was to get a commission for that regiment. Even in some of the lowest-ranked-reputation regiments buying a commission to be an officer would have been the equivalent of several hundreds of thousands of dollars nowadays and that’s just for the lowest ranks. You can buy a commission for any rank and have the price increasingly go up or down. On top of that you were also able to sell your commission back to someone else if they wanted to join the army and take your rank as you retired. All this to say that the guys who were officers for this time were either filthy stinking rich themselves or they came from filthy stinking rich families. Most of the time an officer within the army, whenever they entered a new spot, would buy their own house within the dwellings themselves and then just sell it back to the highest bidder when they were going to leave and go to a new spot. However, this wasn’t mandatory; in fact, many officers didn’t end up doing this and the ones that didn’t were given their own form of quarters where they’d get a large room to themselves and a steward that would come and attend to their every need.

It was in this officer’s quarters where two men had lived: two men by the names of General George Wynyard and Colonel Sherbrooke. Both men were very high ranked officers within the British Army but had also spent quite a few years together within the regiment and as a result had quite a bit of a camaraderie. These are guys that were normally shut-ins that didn’t like to attend any sort of social events or gatherings; they liked to spend as much time with themselves as possible, but because of their development side by side within the army they did make an exception to spend a bit of time with each other.

It was on this particular night when General Wynyard wasn’t feeling too well and Colonel Sherbrooke had offered to spend the night with him instead, rather than being in the officer’s mess where they could relax, have a few bottles of wine and chat and share stories amongst each other. This was quite easy to do as an officer would get two bottles of wine every single day on top of their normal rations. Trust me, they had plenty! It wasn’t just the rank-and-file guys who were going down to the bars and partying their hearts out. The officers, even though they had a lot more composure to keep were doing just as much if not more drinking than the guys beneath them.

But that aside, this particular night leads into a set of strange, borderline unexplainable circumstances which if you were to tell it to anyone nowadays, they’d look at you and consider you crazy and not believe anything you say whatsoever. Due to the circumstances that surround both the events of this night and the events that happen after, this seemingly unbelievable story not only gains a substantial amount of credibility, but seemingly overnight in just a span of a few weeks, skyrockets in popularity and at one point even becomes the most popular ghost story within the entirety of the British Empire.

This story is called the Wynyard Story named after one of our two titular characters that it happens to take place with. It was on this night when Sherbrooke and Wynyard were talking with each other, having a good time, sharing laughs when suddenly at around 10:45 maybe 10:50 at night or so (some of the details are a little conflicting), but suddenly there was a small knock that comes at Wynyard’s door. Just as naturally as he breathes, without even taking a pause in his conversation, he walks up and proceeds to open the door as this is something Wynyard has had to deal quite a bit with. To provide a bit of context for the building that they’re situated in, this officer’s quarters has a front door that faces out towards the street in front of them but it’s also a two-storey building, one that’s got rooms on the first floor and second floor where, if you walk through the main door, you have a room in front of you and a long hallway that spans to both your left and your right in front of that room that will connect all of the rooms on one floor together. And then on either side of that hallway is a staircase that will lead you up to the porch of the second floor of this officer’s quarters. It just so happens that poor General Wynyard gets the room that is directly in front of the main entrance to the officer’s quarters and as a result, anytime that someone comes up and knocks with business for the officers, he must be the one to get up, go answer the door and guide them properly. Just as naturally as the dozens or at this point maybe even hundreds of times that he’s done it, he walks over and opens the door and what does he find? That there is no one outside. The sky is practically pitch black with the exceptions of a few small lanterns hanging a few feet above him dangling over the street providing small bits of illumination onto the streets below. He angrily shuts the door and grumbles to himself as he walks back over to sit back in his chair. Poor Wynyard has just been Ding Dong Ditched! This is not the first time this has happened to him and it’s not going to be the last. In fact he’s so ticked off about this that Colonel Sherbrooke who’s sitting on the other side of the room hears him muttering under his breath not quite clearly but it sounds something like “So help me God, if one more man were to get up and go knock on that blasted door I refuse to get up and go answer it.” Which I’m sure is a promise he meant to keep, but little did he know in not that long it would become practically impossible as about 40 maybe 45 minutes later there is a very small almost indistinguishable knock that comes at that front door. Does Wynyard ignore it on purpose or does he not hear it; it’s hard to say. What we do know is that Wynyard continues with his conversation. Instead of the knocking ceasing it not only slowly grows in speed but it also starts to grow in volume in fact at one point it gets so loud and so irritating that it becomes practically impossible to ignore and in a fury Wynyard springs up out of his chair, runs over to that door and he practically tears the thing off its hinges opening it. From the other side of the room where Sherbrooke has a side profile of Wynyard, he sees him getting ready to tear into whoever’s on the other side of that door. All of a sudden his body drops, everything relaxes and he’s standing there for what might have only been 10 maybe 15 seconds but to both of these men it must have felt like an eternity, when all of a sudden Wynyard quickly steps off to the side of the door as a man proceeds to walk in through the front. One described by Colonel Sherbrooke as a man between 5 foot 10 or 5 foot 11 with extremely white clammy skin. He was extremely frail and looked like he couldn’t be more than 100 lbs soaking wet. Which funny to mention, is that this man that walks through the door is actually soaking wet! He’s got short black scraggly hair that’s completely soaking wet; he’s got unkempt facial hair that looks like several weeks maybe even month’s-worth of it that’s also dripping water down onto the floor below him. You can see the sheen of the water reflecting off his wool tunic and pants, and the water tarnish that’s been done to the brass buttons on front of him. This man also has eyes sunken so far into the back of his head they look like they will pop out of his skull at any moment. He had bags under bags under bags underneath his eyes and looks like he hasn’t slept a wink in months. His pupils were so expanded that Colonel Sherbrooke couldn’t tell what colour his eyes were as they looked like empty black masses in the back of his eye sockets. He looks over at each of these men, gives a small nod and then proceeds to walk all the way into the back of Wynyard’s living area where there exists a small doorway without an actual door on it that leads to general Wynyard’s bedroom. He’s got a bed and nightstand tucked into the back right side of the room and over on the back left corner he’s got a small walk-in closet that contains all his civilian clothing and uniform supplies that he needs to operate throughout his business. This man proceeds to walk into the bedroom, takes a sharp left and disappears around the corner seemingly just as fast as he had walked into the room in the first place, leaving a small water trail almost perfectly tracing the footsteps he had walked. After witnessing this, for lack of a better term, both men are completely stunned by what they see. Sherbrooke is the first one to snap out of that confused daze and looks back over at the door, realizes it’s still open and doesn’t want to let in too much cold air and so of course goes to close it. He looks over at Wynyard who’s got this 1000-yard death stare that looks like it could not only bore a hole through the wall of his room but go through all the others and maybe even out the other side of the quarters itself. Sherbrooke walks over to Wynyard, grabs him by the shoulders starts to give him a light shake and exclaims something to the likes of “snap out of it! Good God man, what is wrong with you? This miscreant has just walked into your quarters uninvited, makes his way into your bedroom, and is likely trying to steal your uniform as we speak! Why won’t you do anything about this?” All Wynyard can say, his gaze still unbreaking, in fact it’s hard to even call it saying anything as he’s more or less grumbling under his breath as he keeps repeating to himself “oh God, oh God, oh God!” Sherbrooke goes “ “oh God” what are you talking about “oh God”?” At that moment Wynyard stares back at Sherbrooke and softly under his breath he says, “I think that man was my brother.”

“What do you mean that’s your brother? What are you talking about?” And it’s at this point that Wynyard proceeds to explain there’s a bit of an urban legend within the Wynyard family; one that seems to get passed down from generation to generation and has over the past several hundred years. One that says that someone that’s close to you whether it’s a family member like a brother, sister, mom, dad, whoever they may be, or maybe a very close friend who’s played a pivotal role in your life, and maybe you’re out going about your business and maybe you see them in a spot where you know for a fact that they shouldn’t be, or you know that they’ve never be in the first place. Maybe they’re wearing something that you know they don’t have, or maybe you pass them in a hallway, or crossing the street and they look at you with a look on their face that you didn’t even know that they were capable of making. If any of this happens to you, then there is a chance that it might not be that person that you’re looking at in the first place, at least not in the physical sense as it could very well be the last vestiges of this person who has oh so recently just passed on and with the last moments they have in the living realm, are going around to all of the people that were important to them in their mortal life and saying their last goodbyes before they move on to whatever comes next.

And frankly, as ridiculous as that sounds, at the very least, gets both men into motion for very different reasons. Sherbrooke is more concerned about stopping and detaining this man who just walked in, and Wynyard is more concerned with trying to meet up with this spectre and finding out if it really is his brother or maybe it is just some sort of random intruder. So now both men walk through that doorless doorway into Wynyard’s bedroom, look around, and they don’t see him there of course. However, they do see a small water trail on the floor that goes almost perfectly to the walk-in closet tucked in that back left corner. They walk over, open it up and they find absolutely nothing there; all of the head dresses are still neatly organized on the top shelf as with all of his shoes and boots and socks that are neatly organized and lined up on the bottom section, and hanging up on a pole are all of his tunics and under shirts and trousers still neatly organized by uniform whether they be military or civilian. It looks like not even a small wind has passed through. In fact, upon further inspection, when they leave this closet and look back down at the entrance, that water trail that had led them to the closet in the first place seems to completely cut off as soon as it hits that door. At this point, a lot of the other officers who are in the quarters are hearing this commotion and guys from both the first floor and 2nd floor then come down to see what’s going on. But it is far too late: any signs of this spectre that had disturbed Wynyard and Sherbrooke’s night have completely vanished.

All they can do is take accounts of what happened from both men, which seemed to line up perfectly, detail for detail. They are encouraged to write their experience down in as much detail as they possibly can, not only to help verify their story but because it might be interesting for anyone that’s willing to lend an ear.

Nothing else happens over the rest of the night. However, over the course of the next several weeks, these men, who were quite introverted, suddenly become some of the most social people you’ve ever seen in your life. These men, whether alone or together are going to every single ball or gala, fancy dinner event parade, meetings with socialites and aristocrats or whatever they may be. Everywhere they go, anyone that’s willing to lend an ear, they tell as many people as possible about the strange occurrence that had happened to them. It’s after that few weeks where there’s hardly an ear within the city of Halifax that doesn’t know about the tale of the Wynyard story. It doesn’t break any international boundaries and stays contained within the city.

About three and a half months after the incident occurs it’s getting into the later winter months. The ice has broken in Halifax harbour and it’s a lot easier for ships to cross the ocean. The first packet of mail from overseas has finally made its way into the city of Halifax and of course, not only is there mail for citizens of the city from the empire, but there are also letters for the guys that are stationed within it. Wynyard happens to be no exception, and he receives a letter addressed to him from his mother that is dated the morning after the incident had occurred. Wynyard opens it up and it exclaims that due to some very unfortunate circumstances his brother Jack Wynyard had passed away at the family apartments over in Kensington Palace. Jack Wynyard was also a very high-ranking officer within the British Army and passed away from a very severe case of tuberculosis. It just so happens that his time of death was recorded to be the very hour that this vestige visits Wynyard and Sherbrooke.

With this seemingly newfound evidence, the small bits of skepticism that had surrounded the Wynyard story among the locals had vanished preserving the high reputation that these very high-ranking officers had with both social standing and in the army. This story now breaks out of Halifax and eventually makes its way back to London, spreading throughout the rest of the territories like wildfire.

The Wynyard story was the most popular ghost story of all time but eventually the story dies down, and less people are hearing about it.

Several decades later there is a very famous author that comes to visit the city of Halifax; one who happens, not even a year after his visit to Halifax and hearing about the Wynyard story from some of the locals, proceeds to write his own ghost story. That happens to be called A Christmas Carol and in fact, it’s Charles Dickens that makes his visit over to Halifax in 1842.

While we’re still looking for evidence to suggest that the Wynyard story could be a main inspiration for A Christmas Carol itself, we’re always still looking and if it does happen to be the case then that is how, through two seemingly unrelated stories, one set of events would not only become the most popular ghost story of its time but now many would consider to be the most popular ghost story of all time.

Context: This story was told to me by B.E.W, a Military Interpreter at the Halifax Citadel Canadian National Historic Site. It is commonly recounted to visiting tourists during ghost tours at the site. It tells the story of a military man who is visited at his barracks on Citadel Hill in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada by a man who turns out to be the ghost of his recently deceased brother. This story became famous internationally and may even have inspired Charles Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol”.  

Analysis from storyteller: B.E.W. says that he first learned of these stories around 5 years ago when he began working at the fortress and enjoys them the most because they are “not tall tales; there are multiple varied accounts of them happening and they even have some authentic documentation to back them up”. Also, he says that “these are the stories that the people on my tours are always most intrigued by”.

Analysis from myself: This is an interesting part of the history of the city I was born in and a place that I have visited many times. I assumed there were hauntings but not with such specific documentation of historical accuracy. It brings the past to life and makes me appreciate the history of my hometown. It makes me think about ghosts having unfinished business with the living.