Well holy God, as a certain well-known Wicklow figure is wont to say. But it looks as if Nelly the ghost may have saved the Wicklow house she has haunted since she was murdered there on a date unknown in a year unknown but believed to be in the latter decades of the last century.
The publicity following Nelly's "commending to rest" last Monday alerted An Taisce to the existence of Coolmoney House, which they knew nothing about. After an inspection on Thursday they decided the house was very important and a preservation order may be sought. It was to be demolished next week.
Everyone knows about Nelly around Blessington and no one, but no one, from that fair locale would be seen dead (apart from Nelly) around the house at night. Local people, most of whom prefer not to be named lest they be thought eejits, say that "as kids" they were terrified to go near the place.
And, as with all people who feel vaguely foolish about something, they like to spread the feeling around. Some have even suggested they were not the only ones afraid. Oh no. What about them big Army fellas? Sure you couldn't get one of them to do sentry duty at the house for love or money, they say. The slur has been denied by the Defence Forces. There never was a sentry at the house because there was never a need for one, they say. Which may be just as well as it would be difficult to assess damages for trauma caused by the appearance of a ghost.
Nelly had loads of room in magnificent Coolmoney. Ceilings are 16 foot high with great arches, expansive rooms have great windows - one on the stairwell is about 15 feet high - and granite steps lead up to "that" room. Now, the floors and stairs are strewn with the remains of the ceiling and broken slates.
In the basement there are damp reminders of a melancholy world best forgotten. They say the servants were treated very badly there, including Nelly. "A real upstairs, downstairs place," remarked Father Declan Foley.
HE IS chaplain to the Army at the Curragh and came to Coolmoney House at the request of Comdt Kevin Croke, who wanted Nelly put to rest, or whatever. A just-in-case type situation. He introduced Father Declan as "a broken-down Wicklow footballer", a reference to the priest's glory days in times past.
Father Foley is familiar with Nelly-type situations. While a hospital chaplain in London for five years he was called out a number of times to pray in houses where there might have been "something". He is a man who likes the conditional mood. The words "might", "could" and "may", feature regularly in his vocabulary.
Nor is Yvonne Croke anything of a believing Thomasina. She is Comdt Croke's daughter and a down-to-earth 22-year-old whose great passion is horses. A riding instructor by occupation, it was while looking after her grey mare Phillipa that she first saw Nelly, two weeks ago tomorrow. Not living in the area she had never heard the stories about the house before.
She saw Nelly again last Wednesday week, and twice on Monday, before Father Foley's service and in the drawing room during it. Indeed Phillipa made her own contribution to that service, snorting as though in punctuation outside the window as Father Foley said the prayers.
Yvonne's previous psychic experiences included holding conversations as a child with her dead grandfather. She had not known him, who he was, or that he was dead. Her mother identified him from Yvonne's descriptions.
Years later she felt someone jump on her upstairs in a friend's house, when there was no one else there. "Get off," she roared, thinking it was her friend's brother messing. But he was downstairs.
She is very convincing and no one could doubt that she experienced these things. She is also as casual about her psychic sensitivity as she is about riding a horse.
A local man saw Nelly 20 years ago but is too shy to talk to reporters about it. There have been reports of other sightings down all the generations. Another man, a local carpenter, replaced the floorboards in "that" room only for "it" to appear on the new boards as well. He is shy, too.
The room is 21(a). There are no other (a) rooms in the house and, even when Army officers stayed there up to 1990, very few (if any) stayed in room 21a. That's the room where it is said Nelly was murdered, to hide her pregnancy and kill a scandal. It was blocked up for years. There's a big black stain on the floor there for all to see. Nelly's blood, perhaps? Attempts to remove it have all failed, they say.
The Army has owned the house since 1922. The British army bought it in 1912 and passed it on to the new State when they left. It is now an empty shell of former glory with a great "No Entry" sign on its door. Even Nelly seems to have left now, too. Certainly no one has seen her there since Monday.
