Sunday Times (Sydney, NSW : 1895 - 1930), Sunday 19 February 1928, page 14

National Library of Australia http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article122808199

PHANTOM HORSE CLIMBS THROUGH A WALL

TRAIL OF DISASTER

The road to the Federal city

which stretches from Goulburnto Queanbeyan, is a fine andnoble artery.

Side tracks off this, however, leadto remote and little-known hamlets,which, nestling under the mountains,seem to reck little of modern progress,and are content to bask in the glorious

If you follow one of these little

tracks, along which only one vehicle

may pass comfortably at the came time,

you will come to Crosbie.

Crosbie is rather a pretentious old

etone house built with all the solidity

of the last century and convict labor.

It is after the old English style of

architecture'?- solid, roomy and com

fortable.

John Smithers, the original owner,thought that the spot he had selected

on his arrival in Australia looked so

much like his native Kent that he set

about making it even more so. Tallpoplars make a shady avenue.

Silver birch.es, stately larches, andelms toss their heads at the penitentwillows which mark the course of thecreek not far from the house and hawthorn hedges mark off little pocketbandkerchief paddocks until the illusion of rural England is complete.

John imported some excellent sheepfrom England, and these waxed fat andmultiplied, bringing, if not wealth, at

least a comfortable living to himand his family of six sturdy young Australians.

Something that John brought from

England that he would rather have left

behind, however, was the curse of

Crosbie.In the old English home in the Kent

ish hills, from whence John came, not to

have a family ghost was almost as greata social faux pas as eating peas with

a knife.

The Smithers were a branch of a

wealthy family, who, if not 'county,'were held in high esteem by all.

The curse of Crosbie was an oldstanding superstition that every

second or third generation would bevisited by a scries of violent deaths.

John's grandfather had been killed

John's grandfather had been killed

in the hunting field.

His brother was shot by a

poacher, and several relatives hadfallen under the curse before

Smithers decided to seek his for

tune in Australia.

Arrived here, he took up land_,

and

named his new home Crosbie, after theold.

He worked hard and prospered for

many years until he thought of theCrosbie curse as some old myth whichmade fine talk for grandmothers around

the fire of a wintry night, but that was

nil. So it was forgotten.The return of the long-forgotten oc

curred in a sensational manner.

During the early part of this century,

Smithers, finding he had outgrown his

area, and thinking, of providing for*his

sons and daughters, then growin'g up,

took up further land adjoining his own

under leasehold.

Later he added still further to his

holding, and it was about this time

that a sensational accident occurred.

John went to Goulburn on business

concerning this land. Ho arranged

matters with the Crown land agent

very satisfactorily, and was seen in

Goulburn by friends, who congratulated

him on Ms luck. That was the last

time he was seen alive.

The members of the family at Crosbie

were seated in the big dining-room after

tea. The mother was sewing, one of

the older boys was mending a gun, two

others were lolling about after a hard

day's work.

They were expecting the father ? to

arrive at any moment.

The measured canter of a horse was

heard drumming softly in the distance.

One of the boys went to the door to

welcome his father.

There was a jingle of a bridle, then

the opening and closing of a gate.

The listeners could hear the creak as

the gate swung back on rusty hinges.

The horse was urged into a gentle

canter again. By this time the whole

family had gathered on the wide veran

dah. The moon rose clear and full

dah. The moon rose clear and full

over the tall poplars which bordered

the drive up to the house, and a horse,

coal black and fiery, came swinginground the bend of the drive.

Its accoutrements glistened like

frosted silver in the monolight, but it

was riderless.

The wife caught her breath in

anguish.

There had been an accident, she was

sure.

The youngsters stood by, nonplussed.

The horse came on, still at the

same pace, right up to the steps,

and, neither swerving to right or

left, seemed to rise up and go right

through the house.

Thinking it was a fright-mad- ^

dened animal, the watchers ex

pected to hear a terrific crash, but

the animal made never a sound.

Awestruck and dumbfounded,

they listened, when sharp and clear

on the still night air came the

measured beat of a canterinc horse

on the other side of the building.

HE HAD GONE RIGHT

THROUGH THE HOUSE.

The boy who had been cleaning and

reloading his rifle was the first to re

gain his senses.

He rushed to the back of the house

and fired at the black bulk of a retreat

ing horse which was cantering

measuredly into the distance.

They watched it spellbound, and saw

it disappear into the night.

Next morning' the dead body of

John Smithers was found five miles

along the road.

He bad evidently been thrown

heavily from his horse, but there was

no sign of his horse or anything that

would cause an accident of the soit.

The corner's verdict was death by

misadventure but Mrs. Smithers, who

went back to Crosbie, thought dif

ferently.

The tale of what they had seen madesuch improbable telling in the daytime that the family members even be

gan to think that they must have beendeluded themselves so they spoke vciy

little of it to anyone. ©The months lengthened into years,

and the episode was almost forgottenwhen it was brought back into memory

again with startling suddenness.

One night the eldest boy was expectedto return home. It was about eighto'clock and a bright moonlight night.

As they sat waiting softly in the dis

As they sat waiting softly in the dis

tance came the drumming of hoofsalong the dusty road.

There was the sound of a gate being opened, and the noise of it swinging back on rusty hinges.

A little later came the sounds of

the horse cantering up the drive.

The mother sprang to her feet in

terror — Eric the boy rode a motor bike

In fact since his father's death he

could not be persuaded to go near a

horse.

The mother sprang to her feet and

with a scream, ordered. the big oak doorto be fastened.

One of the boys hurriedly shot

home the bolts and drew back hor

ror-stricken. The long black form'

of a horse stretched out in an at

titude of speed as if cantering was

silhouetted against the wall, and

passed just as quickly. There

was an awful silence for a second

or two, and then the steady drumof hoof beats receding into the distance.

The family was stupefied, and were

only aroused from this lethargy by thesound of a heavy fall. Their mother

had fainted..

Nobody slept that night.

The morning found them waitingfor the news they felt was bound to

come.

It came at breakfast time. ~The

eldest boy had met with an accident

whilst shearing at a neighboring sta

tion, and had died during the night.

The time of his death synchronised

with the appearance of the riderless

black horse.

The same thing happened again six

months later.

jl 1110 Liiixu liiu uyjyf nuu -uuu uuiicu

the door against the ghostly horse was

the victim. Mrs. Smithers was sitting in the kitchen at dusk.

Her daughter was sent into the din

ing room to bring out a recipe book

that she wanted to examine when a

piercing shriek rent the air.

She almost fell into the kitchen 'The

black horse. I have seen it,' she

screamed and . fainted away.

The- drumming of steady hoof beatsverified her words as her mother peeredterrified through the dusk at an ani

mal's figure rapidly dissolving in the

distance.

That night Gordon did not come

home.

A week of frantic searching found

him dead in a gully, where he hadfallen from a tree in endeavoring to

get a young native bear for his

youngest sister. A pet she had long

desired.

If you turn off at a narrow little

If you turn off at a narrow little

bridle path that meets the Goulburn

Queanbeyan road you will, if you fol

low the narrow wheel-tracked path ar

rive at Crosbie falling swiftly to de-.

cay. The rabbits are living in the

hawthorn hedges, which have grown

almost impenetrable, and the stately

poplars still sigh in the wind as they

did on the nights of the ghostly visi

tations.

But the Smithers family are living

in another state.

The old lady is dead, and only the

elder ones still talk of Crosbie and the

riderless horse, coal black and fiery,

that came at the gallop when death

and desolation came into a once happyhome.

She: 'After all, as recards my wardrobe, it's only a matter of initial

outlay.''

?

?

?

He: 'Oh. I'll admit that the upkeep is negligible.' L-:'JibJitijii iij