The rectory at Barnack had a ghost, and everybody in the house knew his habits.
He lived in the big north room. He crossed the floor in loose slippers that flopped as he walked. He turned the pages of books, over and over, looking for a missing deed, because in life he had been a rector of Barnack and he had cheated an orphan and a widow out of what was theirs. Now he could not stop looking for the paper that would put it right.
The novelist Charles Kingsley grew up in that rectory and wrote about him with real affection. Anybody who wanted to hear Button Cap could hear him. Nobody ever saw him. All the same, everyone knew exactly what he looked like, down to the flowered dressing gown and the cap with a button on the top that gave him his name.
When he was in a bad mood he turned poltergeist and rolled the barrels around the cellar, making a tremendous racket. He seems to have been embarrassed about it afterwards, because he always put them back in their places before morning.
The last word belongs to the soldiers billeted at the rectory during the Second World War. When they left, somebody found what they had written on the wall for him: you old fool, you’re wasting your time, we have found the papers.
Where: Barnack, north of the village centre.












