76(a) Louis Street was haunted; I have seen the proof and the consequences with my own eyes, so let me set the scene for you.

Our first floor flat had the living room off to the right at the top of the staircase, the bedroom was to the right of that and the kitchen in the corner, further right still; bedroom and kitchen both overlooking Louis Street. To the left at the top of the stairs, next to the bathroom and toilet, was another door. This led to the attic and that’s where, in the box room, I played with my soldiers and my Corgi zoo and cars, and my ‘special friend’. Sadly, I don’t remember any of the details, only the number of times I was asked, ‘Who were you talking to ?’ and the asides to relatives, ‘He’s got a vivid imagination’. Who knows, perhaps I have but I never felt alone nor lonely in that silent room at the top of the house.

Our neighbours below were a friendly couple from London about whom I remember just two things. George was a salesman for Smiths Crisps of the ‘blue salt’ variety, until one day midst great fanfare and excitement we were invited down for the tasting that would both tantalise us and boost his career; the first ever, at the pre-launch, of a ‘Cheese and Onion’ crisp.

Mildred had a pure white cat called Smudge, an acclaimed instinctive and expert mouser. We occasionally had mice and so a marriage in heaven was made. As you will hear, Reg was not blessed with brilliant eyesight nor was he the most coordinated in the ‘sporting’ sense, so after the ‘sweeping brush’ incident another more cunning plan was laid.

The mouse (poor mouse) had found his way into the kitchen. Reg stealthily shut the door behind him as he entered the arena, armed only with the family sweeping brush. The first crash was the vase of daffs that had been on the kitchen table. The second, a close miss apparently as measured by the curse, broke a plate and spilled the bottle of milk that had survived his first thrust, before the almighty collision of brush and wall. The handle broke and the hole in the wall was never repaired, but the poor terrified mouse survived to tell his offspring of his adventure.

And so it was that we three gathered with our neighbours and Smudge, reputation on the line, in our living room late on the following Sunday afternoon. I was wearing my Davy Crockett outfit complete with an imitation racoon on my head. The fire was lit, the standard lamp was on and the living room door was firmly shut. In front of the fireplace was an ‘almost’ white sheepskin rug. Smudge walked behind the faux leather settee; we sat in expectant silence.

There was a sound of scratching (poor settee) before Smudge reappeared and walked slowly towards the fireplace. We held our collective breath. Mildred nodded, and again; she smiled at George and nodded again. Smudge stood on the rug and began kneading the wool. She froze, then slowly, oh so slowly, arched her back and stared intently into the corner behind the gramophone. She peered unmoving before her fur suddenly stiffened on end across her whole body. We were ready, the cat was ready and, as we all stared unbelieving what we were seeing, Smudge passed the most enormous cat motion onto the no longer almost white sheepskin rug.

Mildred leapt into the air as she exclaimed, ‘She’s seen a ghost, she’s seen a ghost ! Cats is very sensitive you know’. I reckon my playmate from the attic was to blame but I kept that to myself whilst Mildred, George and Smudge bid their hasty farewell and my Mum cleared up the mess.