GHOSTour 2016 England
TRIP REPORT OF HAUNTED GHOST TOUR TO ENGLAND, MAY 8-15, 2016
Tour Report by Kelly Jackson with contributions from Ann-Marie Gabor
Group Party Image courtesy of Anne-Marie Gabor
We are all educated people, seasoned travelers and quite rational. At the airport, a TSA official asked if we were ghost hunters. Some of us have seen or heard deceased loved ones, others have experienced unexplained phenomena. We continue to keep an open mind...
England is special for many things: fish & chips, the Thames, colonization, The Beatles, etc. However, England also has a darker side (no, not Simon Cowell). The Thames alone has been the home of many floating bodies. The entire country has seen grisly deaths: from war to the Hangman’s noose. According to Richard Felix, from TV’s “Most Haunted” and author of “What is a Ghost?,” the history of untimely deaths has left echoes from the past. These echoes take the form of noises and visions. These echoes are the things that go bump in the night.
When you’re lying in bed, seconds from a peaceful sleep, and a noise sounds somewhere in the dark… When you’re walking down a street and unseen fingers brush your shoulder or lightly touch your hair… When you see a lost soul walking past, unable to hear you or see you, or when you hear the jangling of keys… Even the smell of your mother's baking in the oven, years after her passing... These are memories of things long gone - spirits unable to rest.
These echoes have long gone unexplained and have enamored humans for centuries. This curiosity is evident in the tales told around campfires on cold dark nights, where one lies awake for hours after jumping at every whisper. When alone in the dark, one begins holding their breath at every scrape of a tree branch or howl of the wind.
One company, known as Tours of Terror, brings group of curious souls on supernatural travel vacations. One such trip takes travelers to England, in search of the thrill of their lives. They have brought these innocent victims into one of the world’s most haunted countries to showcase the seedy underbelly of terror that grips this ancient country. Fortunately or unfortunately, for these lost souls, the first stop is London. The city that was home to Jack the Ripper and fell victim to his sadistic reign of terror. The city that boasted thousands of beheadings, assassinations and criminal enterprises. The city that has seen invasions from Romans, Anglo-Saxons, and Normans. Yet, it still stands. However, it remains rife with silent screams from murders. A bloody path through well over a millennium means the echoes are bound to cross the void.
Before we begin the horror-themed elements of our journey, our group of like-minded travelers boarded our luxury coach for a panoramic, traditional sightseeing tour of London landmarks. Our travelers viewed Westminster Abbey with its magnificent architecture, Big Ben, the London Eye, the Houses of Parliament and we experienced the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace. We pass Harrod’s Department Store our travelers were given the appearance of a happily ever after by the life-size bronze sculpture of Princess Diana and her lover Dodi Fayed.
Our victims’ first stop was Highgate Cemetery. Home to infamous individuals such as Karl Marx, Douglas Adams, George Eliot, inventors, radicals, atheists, activists, and a founder of a secret order. It is also the home of the infamous Highgate vampire... The cemetery itself runs strictly on donations and remains open daily. While walking amongst the tombs pay attention to where you step. Iron chains and cages encase some graves, trapping witches or possessing spirits inside. However, over time some of the tomb coverings have broken, leaving just enough space for a possessed creature to slip a demonic claw out to grab a passerby.
If one strays from the identified paths, they may end up in a forgotten part of the cemetery where tombs rise up from the ground, covered in ivy, like ghouls seeking a master. A voice on the wind may beckon them closer, in hopes of laying claim to their soul. Heed the warnings carved in stone, ignore the rise of your flesh, plug your ears from the siren’s call, and soldier on. However, if you fall victim to the talismans left behind, know that the grave stones throughout the cemetery carry religious markings in hopes of keeping the spirits from possessing your very soul for all of eternity.
After a few narrow misses, our innocent travelers made their way to the haunted and ancient eatery, Spaniard’s Inn, to quench their thirsts and partake in a meal in a room believed to be used by Highwaymen hungry to rob coaches visible from the road. In fact, more than one Highwayman has been hung in the courtyard of the Inn. As a result, Spaniard's Inn is haunted by the ghost of the notorious Highwayman Dick Turpin, inspiration for the Alfred Noyes' romantic poem "The Highwayman.”
"The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moon / And the highwayman came riding /
Riding – riding / The highwayman came riding, up the old inn-door"
Illustration courtesy Anne-Marie
Weary travelers may even catch a glimpse of a ghastly spectre with a bluster cannon or hear a horse’s hooves striking on the busy thoroughfare outside, frantically trying to edge away from the impending danger.
After a long and fear-filled full day of activities resulted in a weary group, we arrived at our hotel. We slept well, but dreamed of the things we had seen: vampires, religious cults exacting revenge, and even the romanticized Highwayman...
After a quaint and traditional English breakfast, and in order to prepare our travelers for the horrors they were sure to soon face, we began our day with a trip to the infamous London Dungeon, which resides not far from the London Eye. On a clear day, one can see miles around. For our particular travelers, the skies were overcast and tears fell from the sky, as if cleansing our souls in preparation for whatever fate might befall us.
Upon entry, our visitors were greeted with a step back in time. As the jesters read off a list of rules, they quickly hid their "talky boxes" to avoid the executioner's block. After passing through the portal it became clear that this was no mere dungeon, covering 1000 years of London town's murky past. This was a fanciful tale of horrors meticulously wound throughout England's history. It touched upon the Black Plague, Jack the Ripper's Whitechapel desecration, the Great London Fire, and many more. One particularly favorite tale was that of Sweeny Todd and Mrs. Lovett. Not a one of our travelers would dare visit a barber any time soon after that close call.
As we sauntered through the streets of London to our next destination, we weren't really sure how to be prepared for our next event - The Tower Bridge Experience… The warnings of danger fell upon deaf ears as we waited to enter. Music played from the streets themselves. Children scurried past. Cars avoided the tunnel. Lorries waited at the entrance, turned just before, or fled through it as if the hounds of hell were on their tail.
Upon entering the door, it became all too clear why terror emanated from the place… The plague had struck… Zombies, hapless and plague- infected, had invaded! They roamed in the dark, lashing out at our innocent victims. Safety came in numbers. As we wound our way around the corners, it was clear that our travelers were best served by fighting the zombie horde as a group. In order to save others, our victims placed their hands on the shoulders of the person in front of them. This also assured our victims were incapable of lashing out at the zombies, who were simply attempting to have a meal of flesh and brains. Several incidents occurred that way...
Creeping through the fear-filled halls it became evident that the dank and slimy walls had ears. The zombies were learning, anticipating our next moves. If you are claustrophobic then the tunnels are not for you.
The tour ended with a long drop and a sudden stop.
The actual Tower of London was the next stop, deep in history and even deeper in dread. Upon reaching its entrance, one is greeted by the great gates, the eyeless bear, and the caged ravens, who were lunching on the carcasses of rats. These ravens are no ordinary ravens, no ordinary carnivorous bird at all. These ravens are enlisted as "soldiers of the Kingdom," and legend has it that if the ravens are gone... England will fall. As a result, they are highly protected and highly revered. Do not attempt to go near any of these iconic soldiers, for if you do, the only sound you will hear is the sound of the cell door as it closes.
After you walk past the ravens, the view is drastically different than most believe. In fact, it's a castle-dwelling of the highest degree, with side buildings surrounding it. In these buildings one may conduct visits to the Crown Jewels and the multi-floored torture room within the tower, including the rack. If you listen closely, one can still hear the tortured screams that once came from the room, echoing off the faded golden stones.
PhoTowerLondonTortureDungeon “The Rack” Photo by Rachel Sorrento
That would be sufficient scares for one day, but our moments of terror were far from over. For in the evening, we were treated to a Jack the Ripper walking tour. As luck would have it, our travelers were ensconced by a guide who knew more about the case, and the killer, than all of Scotland Yard. He showed us pictures of the "working women" who, in 1889, met their unfortunate ends at the hands of Jack. Their terrorized, maimed, and sadistic last moments echoing throughout time. The case is still open. Murals of Jack and even one of his unsuspecting victims can be seen on the walls in the streets of the East End.
The next day begins with a trip to the infamous Borley Rectory. Our victims have now learned to be prepared for anything that might come their way… or so they thought. With ghost guru Richard Felix at the helm, anything is possible. While the Rectory no longer stands, the Nun's Walk has persevered throughout time... It is believed that the Nun has taken up residence along this concrete fence, to walk amongst the living either as a warning or in order to protect young women from being condemned to death - as she was.
It is believed that she fell in love with a priest, breaking her vows, and was condemned for it. While still alive, she was bricked up into a room in the Rectory. Her screams and cries fell on deaf ears. She was left a loaf of bread and some water, to slowly portion out. It is unknown for how long she survived, her body struggling to stay alive. However, if she ran out of oxygen then she may have died of asphyxiation by slowly falling asleep - a much less painful way to go. However, if she was able to get air then she may have lasted for days. Her body leeching nutrients from her bones and teeth until they cracked, snapping and shattering within her body and mouth.
How long did she cry for food and water before she finally succumbed to starvation and dehydration? How long did she scream? How long did she scratch at the bricks that held her in her tomb? Were her fingertips a bloody mess, her fingernails broken in her vain attempt to claw free?
After leaving the Nun's Walk, our travelers came to Liston Church. Liston sits on quiet grounds not far from where the Borley Rectory once stood. While it is currently undergoing renovations one can still walk amongst the tombstones and admire the long-forgotten architecture of the beautiful church. Look up and you will see the gargoylesque statues of the screaming stone creatures shrieking down at you. Some say gargoyles wait for a chance to grab an unsuspecting human - to toss them into another world where there is no escape...
A mist rises mysteriously from the ground around the Church. Graves with the iron cages on them rise from below. Were they to imprison witches, demons, or worse...? We may never know; however, there is one special grave on the hallowed ground. One that has been the subject of much speculation...
Rumors have spread far and wide, that a head was found at Borley Rectory. It is believed to be the head of the infamous Nun. Rumors also run towards the belief that a secret ceremony was conducted by church officials, in which the Nun's head was buried in secret on the church grounds. Then a cover up was conducted. Reports were released saying that the church was just burying an animal's head in an unmarked grave amongst generations of its members. To this day, the entire town participates in extricating themselves from the legend, by purporting the belief that the Nun doesn't exist and that tourists should be discouraged. However, it didn't stop our brave travelers from visiting.
As the coach pulled up to the Mill Hotel, several passengers sighed in relief.
Unfortunately, the serene setting and beautiful pond are only a lure to a false sense of security. If only they knew what awaited them, perhaps they would not be so excited to enter. The Mill Hotel in Sudbury is the site of an infamous mummified cat. It's said to be dangerous, even lethal, to remove the cat from its tomb. Unfortunately, an individual that didn't believe in the legend removed the cat for a time. The Mill Hotel suffered from extreme casualties during this time. In fact, part of the building itself collapsed and had to be repaired. Once the staff came to the realization that the legend was true, they created a special place for the mummified cat's remains. Now, it is easily visible within a special case - or more specifically, a glass tomb - within the floor, allowing patrons of the hotel to gaze upon its milky-colored skeletal remains for as long as the building stands.
Photo by Ann-Marie Gabor
The hotel itself is situated in a unique area. One view has streets and car parks, while the other… The other is peace personified. The hotel is on a nature preserve. Walking out the side door allows one to take in gorgeous views of nature in this tiny town. There are pathways that should be followed; however, if you're brave then feel free to disregard. Just beware of the motherly cows protecting their young, the geese that are prone to chasing humans that stray too close to their nests, and the skin raising voice upon the wind...
As one traipses across the ground, they should try to remain silent. The mist that rolls mysteriously in makes the journey perilous if they don’t. However, if they do, they might hear otherworldly things. For the light wind carries a song. It’s a song of woe and will bring the ones that hear it to tears. The sound of a small child sobbing, the tears tearing at any parent’s soul, can be heard. Turning around in circles, searching futilely for the sound, one comes to the sinking conclusion that they are too far from any house to hear a child within and that there are no children near them. Standing silently with fear rising in the pit of one’s stomach, the hairs on the back of the neck of those that hear it begin to rise.
As the child’s sobbing dies down, the wind carries other sounds. The grass gives a slight crinkling sound as each blade rubs against another blade, reminiscent of fingernails lightly scraping wood. A cackle of an old maid near the bridge is nearly covered up by the sound of a big dog growling. None of these things can be found, yet all exist to one that listens.
Ye Olde trip Photos by Anne-Marie Gabor
Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem is quite a unique place. The oldest pub, dating back to 1189, is also a restaurant, guarded on two fronts. The entrance is guarded by a Crusader. The rear is guarded by Nottingham Castle, erected in the year 1068.
Inside the pub, there are two unique artifacts that attract the attention of ghost seekers. The first is the Cursed Spanish Galleon that is covered in cobwebs and dust, but is now underlit by LEDs.. The lore surrounding it states that those who clean it shall soon succumb to death. This legend has been proven a time or two as well. The second is the chair of fertility. It’s said that any woman who sit upon its cushion shall become pregnant shortly after. Several of our travelers were brave enough to test it. However, none were brave enough to attempt to clean the Spanish Galleon.
Behind the ancient pub, a statue of Robin Hood, priming his arrow, guards the Nottingham Castle wall. Perhaps Richard the Lionheart stopped here on his way to the crusades. Our group posed with the iconic statue.
After dinner at the pub, we traveled to Derby (pronounced “Darby” in the UK) for a late-night event. While touring the area, our travelers were taken upon a special walking tour that’s reserved for only Richard Felix’s most deserving guests. The tour begins in the basement of an abandoned bowling alley, that’s connected to a bustling bar. To begin the tour we wind our way down the rickety stairs, creaks echoing with every step. Breaths come in rasps, as we wind our way around the corner. The only light greeting us flickers, dancing along the damp walls — calling out in pure desperation. A mysterious breeze seems to be wafting about, carrying a sense of danger. Be careful where you step.
After touring the basement, our group walks up to a vacant hotel. Scurrying sounds lead the way to a large room at the top of the stairs. As the group crowds in the room, it’s easy to see why the scurrying noises in the walls stop just before its entryway. Paint and old wallpaper is peeling from the walls, the reddish-pink carpet appears to be from a forgotten time, and there is a single light. The only furniture in the room is a curio cabinet, an unmade bed, and a small dresser. As Richard Felix begins to tell a story, of the last inhabitant, a draft enters the room. The curtains against the only window flutter lightly. The curio cabinet begins to creak. It moves as if something is reaching across the veil of time, struggling to break free of a prison holding it in place. As the door slowly inches open a creature breaks forth, a howl in its throat!
The Derby Gaol (jail) itself was a fantastic end to the evening. The Gaol was the scene of the last hanging, drawing, and quartering in England in 1817. It is curated by Richard Felix, and he makes use of its unique history while giving our sacrifices a tour. While walking throughout the jail you will notice things that might frighten you. Maybe even things that go bump in the night, or is it a ghost of the Derby Gallows that just caressed your hair?
Once the lights are turned on, you can see etchings in the doors that trapped the prisoners in their cells. Names etched into the ancient wood with whatever they had available whether it be tools, loose nails, or even their very own fingernails. Crimes scratched into its harsh golden frame — forever a reminder that taking a loaf of bread to feed your starving family was punishable by death. Pleas of those that would soon walk to the executioner would fall on deaf ears.
The next morning, after breakfast, we boarded our coach, where Richard shared fascinating ghost stories and pieces of history. One tale involved Bonnie Prince Charlie trying to reclaim the throne of England in 1745, where he led his Jacobite army from Scotland to Derby. Victory was in his grasp, but bad advice from his lieutenants led to defeat at Culloden Moor. After the American Revolution, Ben Franklin and his committee offered the Bonnie Prince the position of King of America! Charlie refused, saying sadly, "Gentlemen, what can I offer America?"
In fact, the Bonnie Prince is so ingrained in history that several years ago, our host Richard Felix spearheaded a drive, raising 10,000 pounds toward to erect the only statue in Great Britain of Bonnie Prince Charlie. He sits upon his horse, looking out over the city of Derby.
York is more of a touristy town than those our group had yet to visit; however, it's steeped in tradition - ghastly tradition. The streets themselves are a maze, to the untrained or unfamiliar eye. The town is full of little side streets. Unfortunately, some who wander down these empty alleyways stumble upon things that they would rather have remained unseen. However, should one seek to learn about the Gunpowder Treason and Plot, then they should seek the home of Guy Fawkes
The York Minster looms large in the city, a cathedral and landmark seeped in history and haunted echoes. An impromptu foot-race up the steps of Clifford’s Tower between our tour-host Charles and tour-member Ralph was won by the latter. The tower is all that remains of York Castle.
Guy Fawkes Inn in York Photo by Anne-Marie Gabor
We "shambled" over to the York Shambles Market and had a drink at the Guy Fawkes Inn (remember "V for Vendetta?"). On the site of the Inn, the notorious plotter who attempted to blow up Parliament was born. Today, every November 5th is celebrated with bonfires, libations and fireworks.
“Remember remember the fifth of November / Gunpowder, treason and plot…
Dinner was at the very haunted Golden Fleece, named after one of Odysseus’ many labors, surrounded by shops and taverns. The staff comes from all over the world and provides an at-home atmosphere, with a flare of horrific surprise. At the top of the Golden Fleece, there’s a hotel suite that has its own interesting story. You feel the air of dread with each ascending stair.
We began our York Ghost Walk innocently enough. Along the way we somehow managed to pick up a straggler. A portly man with a cockney accent, began tailing our travelers and whispering not-so-sweet nothings in their ears. Some say he didn’t exist. Others say he’s well known to stalk ghost hunters amongst the way. Is he real or imaginary? Or is he simply an echo of a memory from the past?
During the night we also traveled along the cobblestone road near York Abbey. The clanking of metal was a wisp on the night air. Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. It echoed off the stones. It echoed off the trees. It echoed all around us.
Richard Felix began relaying a story from long ago of an ancient battle-weary Roman Legion on the long road home. Where we stood had once been the long road through ancient Britain, leading back to Rome. The Legion was an echo from the past, bleeding onto the present. The road was at the Treasurer’s House, where in 1953 an 18-year-old apprentice heating engineer by the name of Harry Martindale, witnessed a ghostly legion of these Roma soldiers marching through the massive wall in the cellar. Their knees cut off by the road that had since been laid on top of the archaic road where they had once marched.
Our next day's travels led us to Whitby, a seaside town, about a three-hour drive from Edinburgh, Scotland, is known for many things. However, it's most prominently known for being Bram Stoker's inspiration for Dracula. In the novel, a Russian schooner named Demeter, carrying Count Dracula from Romania, lands in Whitby.
Upon first arriving in the town it seems ordinary, almost even touristy. When the sun begins to dip in the horizon, however, that view begins to change. An eerie fog begins to roll in, the wind picks up, and danger lurks around every corner.
Dracula Experience Façade Photo by Anne-Marie Gabor
The Dracula Experience interactive attraction is a highlight for our vampire aficionados, with Christopher Lee’s cape encased on display, and kitsch trappings adorning every corner. Ralph from our group particularly loved the experience and wished it was longer and larger.
Taking a small trek along the numerous shops that line Whitby’s streets — most of which sport lovely souvenirs and delights for goth collectors — our travelers can also refresh themselves. A quick nip a pub was one option, or a peek into one particular store can reveal prized tea lights, another could reveal a cache of ancient spells. It’s a potpourri of hidden treasures behind every store front. One specializes in weird flavored theme candies (“psycho mice jellies, anyone?) and another is an erotic fashion boutique named Stoker’s Closet.
All of these avenues lead to our next location: the Whitby Abbey. To call it picturesque would be the understatement of the eons.
The Abbey ruins rests atop one hundred and ninety-nine steps. One must pass the cemetery atop the stairs to enter the grounds of the Abbey. It sits in splendid glory aside a backdrop of the Black Sea. Ironically, near the entrance, there are some horses. They appear as mythical creatures that seem to follow directions. Do not follow their call to the water’s edge though. For if you do, then you may fall victim to a kelpie hidden amongst them. Once the kelpie latches onto you, there’s no coming back. A watery grave is your only path. A small loch even resides near the Abbey ruins, and runs much deeper than one would believe. Birds seem to hover just above, their wings carrying them upon the wind. As the sun dips low in the horizon, one can feel the echoes of those long past. The ghosts of ancient monks walk the grounds — spirits forever frozen in a single instance in time.
The Royal Hotel is situated high on the bluff of Whitby’s east bank, directly across from Whitby Abbey. If one desires a stay or a meal, be sure to plan well in advance in order to be served at this lovely little locale. It’s rumored to be the place where Bram Stoker stayed upon being banished from his room around the corner in order for the maid to clean it. While waiting at the Royal Hotel, he wrote the infamous story Dracula. Originally designed to be a play Bram Stoker was crushed at its lack of reception by the actor that he intended for the lead. Ironically it was this devastating moment that allowed Dracula to become the story that has become ingrained in the minds of horror fans and literature mavens for centuries to come.
In an open coffin situated on the grounds of Whitby Abbey, some of the travelers climbed in to the stone graves to see if they would fit inside. Richard Felix was a perfect fit.
Around the corner from the regal Royal House is the flat (apartment) where Bram Stoker lived. Across the street from the hotel a green bench sits. This green bench is said to be Bram Stoker’s bench. Incidentally, this bench features a local horror story. It seems a local girl was so enamored by the Dracula tale that she took a bloke she was dating to the bench. She reached up and kissed his cheek. Then kissed his chin. Then kissed his neck. Then ripped a hole in it with her teeth.
Our love affair with Whitby has a very satisfying climax, as we take “haunted” Harry’s Dracula/Ghost Walk through the streets and alleyways, and hear all the legends and lores and legacies of Whitby, of Stoker, of Dracula.
We board our coach and spend the night in Hell - ooops- Hull, just a sleeping spot on the way to enchanted Warwick.
After breakfast, we visit the enchanting but very haunted Warwick Castle for a unique touristy experience. Warwick Castle is like Disney though the eyes of Edgar Allan Poe. It, too, has torture room, prison tower, and a fear-filled and fun-filled dungeon of horrors attraction where visitors are cautioned not to use “flashy or talky boxes” (translation: cameras or cell-phones). Food carts abound, and jousting is around the corner. Inside the tower prison there is carved the name of Edward Disney, an ancestor of Walt Disney, with the date 1642. If he had not been ransomed and executed, we might have had Mickey, Donald, Snow White and Peter Pan here instead of the bloody dungeon and then the courthouse we visited next, Shire Hall. Here, we learned about the judicial system during medieval times, when the accused were forbidden to speak in their defense. It was an amazing locale for us: haunted courtroom, jail and dungeon chamber all in one.
Bidding farewell to our phenomenal paranormal “Ghost Host” Richard Felix, we returned by coach back to London.
Richard Felix, Britain’s #1 Ghostbuster Photo by Ann-Marie Gabor
Arriving back in London, our revitalized group of travelers (now a family more like the Addams Family) began preparations for one last ghoulish gala celebration – our farewell dinner / masquerade ball / dance party for the ages.
The glorious Gabor Sisters and Tour-Host Cryptmaster Chucky
We reveled and revered in each other’s creative costumes and make-up mastery. With a background of appropriate music, the group enjoyed their dinner and drinks. After the meal, three twisted sisters (yes, actual sisters with the last name “Gabor”) presented a demented presentation as Charles Dickens’ “The Three Ghosts of Christmas.” They recited original limericks for “Christmas Past” (Ann-Marie aka “Magda”), “Christmas Present” (Monica aka “Zsa Zsa”) and “Christmas Yet to Come” (Angelica aka “Eva”). They closed their prepared skit with a semi-improvised “The Eight Days of England the Ghost Tour Gave To Me.” The group loved it.
We played party games, pranced and danced (even did the “Time Warp”), and the costume winners were announced:
~Best make-up was Tom as a Zombie,
~Sexiest was Paula as Queen Ravenna from "Snow White and the Huntsman"
~Funniest were Ralph & Rachel as cartoon’s favorite ghost-hunters, Shaggy’s friends Fred & Daphne from Scooby-Doo
~Best overall were The "Glorious" Gabor Sisters as “The Three Ghosts of Christmas”
It was an incredible close to an amazing travel adventure with great travelers.
We slept soundly before returning to the airport to begin the trek back to everyone’s normal, mundane lives. However, it’s never really known whether their/our lives will ever be normal again. A few were lost in alleyways, separated from the group for a short while. It’s possible that a few are sporting bites from either a demonic dog or maybe even Dracula himself. It’s up to their loved ones to keep an eye out for unusual behavior such as: barking at night, foul smells of rotten flesh, sensitivity to daylight, or even a full transformation…
We bide our time until the voices call out to us for our next haunted vacation. And we ponder…
So, dear reader, what do YOU think? Do ghosts exist? We shall conclude the report by quoting Shakespeare’s “Hamlet”:
"There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of..."
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