Andrew Kay: Ghost story

Haunting memories, deadly deeds and scary tales

I’m back, quite literally, from the very edge of not being back at all. As readers will have seen in last week’s column I have been in the wars. Falling ill in a place where everyone is so British but is, in fact, not British at all, is scary when you are lying on a trolley, feeling pretty ill, with someone trying to penetrate your fevered haze with the words, “Do you have insurance?”.

As it happened, I did, and I am delighted to say that it all fell into place over the following 24 hours. The Guernsey trip seems so far away now, but as I started to feel better I also started to remember things. Being sedated at the time, I was not really aware of what was going on. The medical team were incredibly kind, but for the most part they could have been saying anything. I managed to let them know about existing medical conditions and allergies thank heavens, but the rest is a blur.
I do, though, now remember a few phrases. Things like “organs shutting down” and “legs have gone blue”. A few weeks on, they seem more terrifying than they did in my drug addled haze.
It was a sad way to revisit the place where I
had my first full time job, and earlier that day I had revisited Hotel Les Douvres for the first time in 40 years. It was an incredibly emotional experience, and although the place has been given a face lift and is now rather stylish, much was the same.

“I was thrown back in time to being a rather naive 18 year old in black trousers, white drip dry shirt and black dickie bow …”

The garden sheds that were our staff quarters have been replaced by a brick block now, much smarter I am sure, and the dining room has been extended and now overlooks a swimming pool. Other than that, it is pretty much the same, and I was thrown back in time to being a rather naive 18 year old in black trousers, white drip dry shirt and black dickie bow, pretending that I could do silver service waiting and in the process launching hot food onto the chests and cleavages of many innocent guests.

During the German occupation of the island in WWII, the hotel had been used as a base for German officers; a bleak part of the island’s history. The grounds of the hotel were bordered by a stone wall, and at one point there was an arched stone gateway with an iron gate. Whilst I was there it was always kept padlocked, and there was a tale that it had been kept that way since the German army had left a curse.

Now the grounds are much brighter and lighter, the iron gate has gone, and the stone arch is rather pretty. I could not resist walking through before heading inside to start filming.

Once inside, waves of memories came flooding back … especially in the kitchen, hardly changed since my time there. I took a look around and decided that it would look good on screen if we filmed me walking in through the staff entrance at the rear of the hotel, but with me appearing, ghost like. Telly technology can do that sort of thing pretty easily I thought, and Andy-Cam grudgingly agreed. We shot the scene a couple of times, for insurance, and then I talked to camera about my time there and how emotional it was to be back.

The current manager and his staff were kind, and allowed us full access. An hour later we left. I had walked through the cursed gate, been filmed like a ghost and secretly shed a few tears – hard not to when you return to a place that marked a very important point in my transition for boy to man.

Less than twelve hours later, I was in a near death situation – twice, as it has since been revealed to me. Thankfully I have made a return to health, and vow that I will not be walking through any more cursed gates or pretending to be my own ghost. And raw milk is still off the list!

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