Ireland

In the 1880s, during a fine, moonlit night, two constables of the Royal Irish Constabulary were sent to walk with despatches to the next police station, some five miles distant. The air was still and clear, with a touch of frost. It did not take them long to reach their destination, and as they approached it, they saw another policeman appear on the road ahead of them. The police station was on one side of the road, and a whitethorn hedge at the other.

It was as if this third officer had stepped out from the hedge. He looked towards the two others, then stepped towards the station and disappeared into its shadow. The approaching policemen assumed he was on guard duty inside, and had simply come out for a breath of air. Both of them saw him clearly - a stoutly built, bareheaded man, with a pale, round face and mutton-chop whiskers, and his tunic open at the front.

However, when the two constables got to the station door, they found it was locked and bolted against them. It took prolonged knocking to rouse someone inside. When they were finally admitted, there was no sign of the whiskered constable, nor could he have got in and locked the door in the time they took to approach.

They soon found that no one had been posted on guard, and realised that whoever or whatever they had seen, it was not a flesh and blood colleague. Fearing ridicule, they said nothing. It was only some years later that they learned that a policeman had been found dead in the snow, not far from the station.

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