Ireland's ghoulish tourist industry

Vitali Vitaliev is traumatised by ghosts, ghost tours and phones that go ring in the night.

What better time to talk about ghosts, zombies, banshees, clairvoyants, poltergeists and other paranormal phenomena than New Year's Eve?

Moreover, due to the over-abundance of both "imagination and insecurity" (these are the "never-failing sources of drama", according to Daithí Ó hOgáin in Irish Superstitions), Ireland seems to be resplendent with all of the above...

From the time of one memorable and totally inexplicable episode, I have had my own personal reasons to perceive this country as rather "haunted".

Move closer to your fireplace (if any) and listen carefully.

It happened last January. I came to Dublin from the UK, where I was then based, to visit my son and to mark my 50th birthday with him.

On the eve of my first jubilee, we sat over a Russian meal of borscht, pickles and meat dumplings late into the night.

When the clock was striking twelve, my son raised his glass to wish me a happy birthday. It was right at that moment that the old telephone on the mantelpiece gave out two short, piercing rings.

Now, the very fact of a telephone ringing at midnight wouldn't have been much of a story, had it not been for one simple fact: THERE WAS NO TELEPHONE LINE in my son's house, who relied solely on his mobile.

The disconnected, antediluvian apparatus itself was, therefore, a useless piece of furniture – a leftover from some previous tenants. There was no cable, no number, no nothing.

And yet it did ring, precisely at the moment when I turned 50!

My son dropped his glass and grabbed the receiver. Of course, there was nothing but silence there. The phone was dead.

The next day we called a telephone exchange (from my son's mobile) and were assured that there was no cable connection at my son's address and, therefore, the phone could not ring.

The problem was that it did!

"You were contacted by the other world", some of my metaphysics-prone friends suggested, thoughtfully, on hearing the story.

Whatever it was, I still get the creeps each time I recount it.

Not that I hadn't been confronted with inexplicable happenings before.

As a little boy I remember how a large and thoroughly secured Christmas tree (or "New Year tree", as we were supposed to call it in the atheistic USSR), bought and delivered by my ailing grandad, mysteriously collapsed onto the floor in my room the very moment he died at a hospital many miles away.

Or how – much, much later in my life – a dodgy-looking Blackpool "gypsy" told me everything about my past and (as it transpired later) future by simply staring at my palm.

But that midnight phone call from nowhere was by far the spookiest thing I had experienced so far. And it happened in Ireland!

"In Ireland, they seem to seriously believe in the paranormal", said my old friend Kevin Dawson, a BBC Radio 4 producer, with whom I had dinner during one of my recent visits to London.

Kevin and his crew had just returned from Co Offaly, where they recorded a programme in the weekly travel series, Excess Baggage, from "the most haunted building in Europe" – Leap Castle, a former stronghold of the O'Carrolls.

They spoke with the castle's current owner, musician Sean Ryan, and with photographer Simon Marsden, both of whom confirmed the strong presence of "the elemental" on its grounds.

To balance the programme up, they also interviewed Patricia Lysaght, Professor of Irish Folklore at UCD, who explained that in Ireland there existed "an alternate reality", nurtured by Irish folk tales and accepted by almost everyone as fact.

Everything went according to plan. The laser disks, with voices and sounds recorded on them, were brought back to London ready for editing.

It was then that the incomprehensible happened. While putting the programme together in the studio, Kevin heard a blood-chilling inhuman voice whispering "Hello" (it sounded more like "H-oo-ou-lou-oo") on one of the disks.

None of his crew had the slightest idea of how it ended up there. The disks were all properly stored and safely guarded...

Let me tell you straight away that, having travelled the world with Kevin, I know that he is simply incapable of telling a lie.

To highlight his own bewilderment, Kevin put the intrusive voice of the "ghostly something" on the programme's website.

Yes, you can listen to it any time by following the link below:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio4/excessbaggage/index_20040228.shtml

My advice, however, is not to do so before going to bed.

Coincidentally, on my flight back to Dublin, I found an article on Ireland's haunted castles and houses in Cara - the Aer Lingus in-flight magazine.

Written by Nikki Walsh and aptly titled "Jeepers Creepers!", it offered a detailed, if somewhat tongue-in-cheek, description of the ghosts to be found in the five weirdest Irish dwellings (excluding Leap Castle, for some reason).

They ranged from a man with "lifeless eyes" watching the news on TV at Glin Castle, Co Limerick (don't we all have rather "lifeless eyes" when watching TV?) to a headless (and topless!) woman, harassing guests at Wicklow Head Lighthouse, and a self-moving linen chest in Renvyle House, Co Galway.

The latter brought back associations with someone else's black rubbish bags, mysteriously appearing in front of my Dublin house overnight. Could they be self-moving, too? A mystifying case of a litter poltergeist?

Still under the impression of Kevin's truthful story, I was nevertheless inclined to take Nikki Walsh's lively article, clearly targeting potential visitors to Ireland, with a large grain of salt.

In her own words, it was all about "a giddy sort of eccentricity that drew guests like a magnet".

There is no denying the fact: "Haunted Ireland" has become a lucrative trademark to attract tourists, and ghosts themselves (if any) have evolved into a big commercial venture.

I recently boarded "the world's only ghost bus" for the famous Dublin Ghost Tour, intrigued by the tour's own webpage promising to "put you at your unease... and introduce you to the dark romance of a city of gaslight, ghosts and chilling legends".

The interior of the double-decker was made to look like the inside of an oversized coffin, and the passengers, including myself, giggled nervously when frightened, over and over again, by Brent Hearney, a talented actor turned scare-mongering ghost-tour guide.

On one of many "Ghostly Ireland" websites, I found a "Buy a Ghost" link to eBay.co.uk , where you could acquire a "Ghost dress" and a "Ghost Voice Message Recorder" (the fateful BBC laser disk?).

And while there's nothing seriously wrong with marketing this country as a haunted land, one has to be careful not to overdo it, as they did in Romania. Or in Transylvania, to be more exact.

Shortly after the collapse of Ceausescu's regime, Romanian tourist authorities decided to capitalise on the dark fame of their countryman Count Dracula, created by Irish writer Bram Stoker, who, incidentally had never been to Romania himself.

They began promoting Transylvania as "Dracula Land" to attract much-needed foreign visitors. The Transylvanian Society of Dracula, allegedly a "non-political and non-profit" organisation, was formed.

The "non-profit" character of the Society caused some doubt, however, since half of the articles of the organisation's "Statute" dealt with membership fees and control over Dracula paraphernalia. The merchandise included statuettes of Dracula, with his lips covered either in blood or in raspberry jam; Dracula Vodka, which was red of course; Dracula goblets; Draculina soft drinks, and so on.

Under the auspices of the Society, Dracula Tours of three different grades were drafted.

They promised "fearful initiation rites, live witch hunts, visits to haunted cemeteries, goblins, trolls and pixies roaming the domain".

• Hope nothing;

• Trust your guide (not that we see another choice);

• Take an umbrella.

In the end, each visitor was guaranteed a "Dracula Certificate" saying: "This is to certify that brave (so-and-so) has followed a Grade (such-and-such) Twilight Zone Dracula Tour and survived."

This over-the-top PR campaign ended in a spectacular failure. It succeeded only in frightening the few potential tourists away before they had a chance to visit "Dracula Land".

A lesson for "Haunted Ireland" to learn.

Apart from ghosts of all shapes and sizes, Ireland seems to be obsessed with superstitions, some of which (like fear of Mondays and black cats, say) are similar to the Russian ones: in Ireland like in Russia, there has never been a shortage of either imagination or insecurity.

I was rather amazed, however, by such archetypal Irish beliefs as unlimited faith in all sorts of healers (particularly, in the healing powers of "the seventh son of the seventh son") that can be explained by total lack of trust in (and more recently, inaffordability of) official medicine. Also the church-inspired stigma that used to be attached to left-handed people, regarded as "sinister" and hence devil-possessed. A woman from a Co Clare village told me how her left-handed son was routinely punched by his schoolteacher every time he tried to grab a pen with the "wrong" hand...

Irish superstitions, just like those in Russia – a country with similarly tragic history – strike me as being mostly negative and bad-omen-type.

But how about Irish luck? Is it just an oxymoron – like "Jewish luck"? And does it really exist?

Luckily, while in Cobh, Co Cork, I stumbled upon a real-life story that combined ghosts with an extraordinary stroke of good fortune.

Ireland's main emigration point, Cobh was also the last port of call of Titanic before it sank. And the Cunard liner Lusitania was torpedoed just 25 miles off its coast in 1915.

A real "fatal shore"...

It was only logical for ghosts to be swarming all over the town. And they were – as testified by a "Ghost Walk of Cobh" flier that I picked up at the town's Visitors Centre:

"Explore the sinister side of Cobh at night in the darkened streets of the town. Tales told of Haunted buildings. Ghosts and Apparitions. Booking essential."

Six of those "ghosts and apparitions" (aren't they synonyms?) were Margaret Rice and her five children, who sailed together onboard Titanic. They were discovered (and "confirmed" by a clairvoyant!) by Vincent Keaney, a successful local restaurateur, inside the former Scotts Building that was a one-time point of departure for Titanic passengers. It is now housing Vincent's own Titanic bar and restaurant.

A native of Cobh, Vincent left Ireland in 1971 in search of better luck overseas, not realising that luck had been waiting for him back at home. His expedition proved a complete disaster, apart from the fact that he acquired a family on the road.

Returning to Cobh with three young children in tow years later, Vincent was penniless and had to go on the dole.

On a Saturday (mind you: not Monday or Friday!) in 1995 he spent his very last pound on a Lotto ticket, won the jackpot and became a millionaire.

Having bought the Scotts building, he renovated it and turned it into Titanic bar. It was while restoring the building that he found a booking form for Mrs Margaret Rice and her five children in the attic...

Inspired by Vincent's example, I started purchasing tickets for the Irish Lottery.

Despite occasional ethereal voices and dead phones ringing at midnight, I somehow know that Ireland will prove a lucky country for me.

For what is luck? It is but another superstition, or even a ghost, if you wish – only a positively charged and a smiley one.

Believe it or not, but I have already guessed two numbers right. Twice.