After Supper Ghost Stories 19xx.xx.xx By Jerome K Jerome

Summary

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Harold's Old Time Radio

Episode: After Supper Ghost Stories (by Jerome K Jerome)
Airdate: September 26, 2025
Host: Harold’s Old Time Radio

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Episode Overview

This episode presents a radio adaptation of Jerome K. Jerome's "After Supper Ghost Stories," transporting listeners to a humorous and atmospheric Victorian Christmas Eve gathering. The story unfolds at 47 Laburnum Grove, Tooting, where a cast of merry relatives and tipsy friends regale each other with ghost stories (and tall tales), each more absurd—and comic—than the last. The episode playfully mocks Victorian ghost story conventions, blending warmth, satire, songs, and supernatural shenanigans, culminating in a farcical haunted bedroom encounter.

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Key Discussion Points and Story Breakdown

1. Setting the Scene: A Victorian Christmas Eve

• [00:29] The narrator sets the stage: it is Christmas Eve, a traditional night for ghost stories.
  • “It was Christmas Eve. Though of course it's a mere matter of information. I'm sure I have no need to tell you that it is always Christmas Eve in a ghost story.” — Nephew/Main Storyteller [00:29]
• Description of a hearty supper and flowing liquor; gentle ribbing among family about appetites and pasties.
• The company is jolly—songs are sung, the punch bowl is liberally attended, and Aunt Mariah is soon asleep.

2. Christmas Revelries and Family Banter

• [02:33] The group sings humorous parodies of "The Twelve Days of Christmas" and other festive songs.
• Warm descriptions of friendship, food, and Aunt Mariah being gently “tea-toweled” in an armchair to sleep off the punch.
• Witty asides and gentle mockery flow between Uncle John, Nephew, and Teddy Biffles.

3. Card Tricks and Curate’s Warnings

• [06:25] Mr. Scrubbles, the curate, attempts to teach a moral lesson about the risks of card tricks (“Find the Lady”), but the punch has dulled everyone’s skill and seriousness.
  • “That's just what I was explaining to you. That's the way foolish young fellows are lured on to lose their money.” — Mr. Scrubbles [07:09]
• The family ends up defeating the curate at his own trick, much to everyone’s drunken amusement.

4. Ghost Stories Begin

• [11:14] Teddy Biffles tells the first—"Johnson and Emily, or the Faithful Ghost"—about a lovesick ghost placated with a fake grave:
  • “He lived there quite alone, wandering about the empty rooms, weeping and calling to his Emily to come back to him..." — Teddy Biffles [15:06]
  • Ultimately, the family stages a grave for "Emily" to give Johnson’s ghost solace (and escape his irritating nightly moans).
• The story, both pathetic and comical, is met with applause, and more punch is fetched.

5. The Curate’s Bewildering Tale

• [19:00] Mr. Scrubbles attempts a ghost story, but his plot is hopelessly tangled. None can follow the threads, and he continues muttering under a tea towel.
  • “There seemed to be an enormous amount of plot and a great many varied characters.” — Nephew/Main Storyteller [19:03]
  • “If he killed anyone, we should enjoy hearing about it.” — Joe Parkinson [20:14]

6. Joe Parkinson’s ‘Haunted Mill’

• [21:18] Joe Parkinson narrates the saga of his brother-in-law and a miser’s ghost that nightly leads him to fruitless, destructive treasure hunts. The punchline: the building contractor who profits is the ghost’s descendant!
  • “The ghost had been ensuring the prosperity of his descendants at Joe's expense.” — Joe Parkinson [25:53]

7. Songs, Toasts, and More Merriment

• The company breaks into further musical numbers, lampooning each other, especially Joe, with affectionate ribaldry.

8. Mr. Coombs’ ‘The Ghost of the Blue Chamber’

• [28:16] Mr. Coombs, the host, declares his own story: the house’s Blue Chamber is haunted by a "sinful man" who killed musicians and carol singers.
  • “One of the bedrooms is haunted...on Christmas Eve. The Blue Chamber is haunted by the ghost of a sinful man. A man who once killed a carol singer with a lump of coke.” — Mr. Coombs [28:46]
• Hilariously monstrous, his ghost is blamed for numerous outlandish deaths.
  • “Not wishing to boast—there were seven, if one includes trombones.” — Ghost of the Sinful Man [38:40]

9. The Nephew Volunteers for the Blue Chamber

• [33:13] Determined to vindicate himself, the Nephew insists on sleeping in the haunted room.
  • “I will sleep in the Blue Chamber this very night.” — Nephew/Main Storyteller [33:13]
• He climbs the stairs, serenaded by Teddy and the others with a ghost-hunting song.

10. The Blue Chamber: Ghostly Encounter & Punch-Drunk Farce

• [37:30] In the haunted room, the Nephew meets the ghost—a genial, pipe-smoking figure.
  • “There, sitting patiently at the end of my bed, was the spectral shape of an elderly male party smoking a pipe.” — Nephew/Main Storyteller [37:30]
• They banter (‘You know, I never imagined a ghost smoking before.’ [38:53]) and discuss the ghosts of past victims, the bureaucratic absurdities of haunting, and the importance of tobacco habits after death.

11. Nighttime Antics and The Trousers Incident

• The Nephew, wandering with the ghost, is found by Mr. Coombs and Joe Parkinson—startling everyone by having forgotten his trousers!
  • “If you take my advice, you'll say goodbye and go back indoors. Perhaps you're not aware, sir, that you're walking about with nothing on but a nightshirt, pair of boots and an opera hat. Where's your trousers?” — Mr. Coombs [42:24]
• Chaos ensues; the Nephew returns home, rescued by his uncle from embarrassment with the police.

12. Wry Reflections and Epilogue

• The Nephew reflects—through tears—on the sight of his lost trousers, and delivers a final note:
  • “But I bear no Ophelia. I will state quite publicly and without rancor or regret that I wish all of those mentioned, even Aunt Maria, the most cordial seasonal felicitations…” [44:16]
  • “Beware, at the first mention of ghosts, turn all the lights on full and earnestly discuss the weather. May your Christmas days be full of good cheer. I recommend whiskey punch and your Christmas night, sweet and untroubled. Good night and a happy New Year.” [44:56]

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Notable Quotes & Memorable Moments

• “It is always Christmas Eve in a ghost story.”
  — Nephew/Main Storyteller [00:29]
  Nods to the genre’s traditions with tongue-in-cheek.

• “You find Emily's grave and put him onto that, and he'll stop there. That's the only thing to do, you mark my words.”
  — Teddy Biffles [16:18]
  On solving hauntings with a touch of kindly deception.

• “There seemed to be an enormous amount of plot and a great many varied characters.”
  — Nephew/Main Storyteller [19:03]
  Dry narration when the curate’s story collapses into nonsense.

• “He'd never round upon a pal unless it filled his kick, but I've known him land a builder on the boat coat with a bricasse.”
  — Uncle John, singing about Joe Parkinson [27:13]
  Song lampooning a friend’s unpredictability.

• “I use the ghost of Best Cut Cavendish as a rule. That being what I had in life, the ghost of all the tobacco that a man smoked in life belongs to him when he is dead.”
  — Ghost of the Sinful Man [38:58]
  Absurdist logic of the supernatural world.

• “Perhaps you're not aware, sir, that you're walking about with nothing on but a nightshirt, pair of boots and an opera hat. Where's your trousers?”
  — Mr. Coombs [42:24]
  Climactic comic embarrassment and callback to the night’s overindulgence.

• “May my tale be a caution to those lucky enough to spend this season in the bosom of the family.”
  — Nephew/Main Storyteller [44:56]
  The story’s wry, affectionate message.

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Important Segments & Timestamps

| Segment | Timestamp | |--------------------------------------------|--------------| | Gathering at Laburnum Grove, supper, song | 00:29–05:00 | | Card tricks and the curate’s warning | 06:25–07:52 | | “Johnson and Emily”—ghost story | 11:14–17:51 | | Mr. Scrubbles’ baffling tale | 19:00–20:56 | | Joe Parkinson’s Haunted Mill | 21:18–25:53 | | “Ghost of the Blue Chamber” | 28:16–33:13 | | Nephew volunteers for the haunted room | 33:13–34:36 | | Encounter with the Sinful Ghost | 37:30–41:16 | | The Trousers Incident & Epilogue | 41:51–44:56 |

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Style and Tone

The episode maintains a playful, mock-grandiose tone in keeping with Jerome K. Jerome’s original humor. The guests’ tales oscillate from sentimental to farcical, the family repartee is affectionate but sharp, and the supernatural is always tinged with situational comedy and satire. Victorian ghost story tropes are both celebrated and lampooned.

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Final Thoughts

Listeners are treated to a witty send-up of ghost story traditions, coupled with hilarious Victorian Christmas family dynamics, songs, and melodramatic hijinks. The ensemble brings the house party atmosphere to vibrant life, making for a delightful piece of radio theatre—a merry, slightly boozy, and thoroughly English take on specters and the spirit of the season.

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Transcript

[Narrator / Mr. Scrubbles]

And Doug Limu and I always tell.

[Teddy Biffles]

You to customize your car insurance and.

[Narrator / Mr. Scrubbles]

Save hundreds with Liberty Mutual.

[Teddy Biffles]

But now we want you to feel it.

[Narrator / Mr. Scrubbles]

Cue the Emu music.

[Uncle John]

Limu, save yourself the money today. Increase your wealth. Customize and save, we say.

[Teddy Biffles]

That may have been too much feeling.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Only pay for what you [e-mail] Liberty Liberty.

[Uncle John]

Liberty.

[Teddy Biffles]

Liberty Savings.

[Ghost of the Sinful Man]

Very underwritten by Liberty Mutual Insurance Company and affiliates.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Excludes Massachusetts. Good evening at a very merry Christmas. Christmas to you all. It was Christmas Eve. Though of course it's a mere matter of information. I'm sure I have no need to tell you that it is always Christmas Eve in a ghost story. Why all this haunting should take place on Christmas Eve of all nights in the year, I never could myself understand. At Christmas time everybody has quite enough to put up with in the way of a house full of living relatives without wanting the ghosts of any dead ones mooning about the place. Still, nothing satisfies us but to hear each other tell authentic anecdotes about spectres. It is a genial, festive season and we therefore love to muse upon graves, dead bodies, murder and blood. For ghost stories to be told on any other evening would be impossible in British society as it is presently regulated. This was the case on the evening of December 24, 1891, at 47 Laburnum Grove, Tooting, when I was spending Christmas with my Aunt Maria and Uncle John. To set the scene, we had had a very good supper, a very good supper indeed. Unpleasantness has occurred since rumours have been put about and remarks have been passed which have pained me very much. But although injustice, gross injustice, has been done to myself, that shall not deter me from doing justice to others, even to those who have made unfeeling insinuation. I will do justice to Aunt Maria's hot veal pasties and toasted lobsters, followed by her own special make of cheesecakes, washed down with Uncle John's own particular old ale. I did justice to them all. Aunt Maria herself could not but admit that after supper uncle brewed some whisky punch. I did justice of that also. Uncle John himself said so. He said he was glad to notice that I liked it. We gathered round the piano in the parlour, and after a fortifying draught of a set punch, we were soon in full song.

[Teddy Biffles]

Almighty.

[Uncle John]

And on the 12th day of Christmas I had in front of me 12 pheasants roasted, 11 muffins toasted, 10 apples goddling, nine ducklings waddling, eight boiled gammons, seven pints, seven six bits of ham and five of Aunt Mariah's excellent min. Four bites of stuff, three brown trout, two gatories and a part victory for my kids.

[Narrator / Mr. Scrubbles]

I say, I'm sure it should be teas to rhyme with kedurees, you know.

[Joe Parkinson]

Don't be so pedantic, young man.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Ah, the delights of Christmas Eve and the company of friends and family. The warmth, warm glow of 47 Laburnum Grove Tooting somewhat dimly lit because of the gas strike. But not to worry. Probably just as well, given the state of some of the party. The owner of the braying laugh presently propped up between our curate, Mr. Scrubbles, and Mr. Samuel Coombs, esteemed county council member, is of course my Aunt Mariah. I do not know when I shall care to talk to her again after her comments on my modest appetite.

[Uncle John]

Oh, I must say. Oh, she's starting again, I must say. How about another song? There he goes again. Always after More aunts Merrima. More ot veal pasties, More toasted lobster. More warm cheesecake.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

No such in eating cold cheesecake you lose half the flavour.

[Uncle John]

Look, my nephew is a gannet. I see I'm not the only one.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

The punch bowl has been emptied again.

[Narrator / Mr. Scrubbles]

And excellent punch it was.

[Uncle John]

How about some more? Oh, excuse me. How rude of me to not just cure it. I mean, I have a commendable recipe which requires the addition of a little brandy. That is if our hostile.

[Mr. Coombs]

Come with me and prepare it. Mr. Holmes.

[Teddy Biffles]

I say, jolly good Christmas party your family throws. Old chapter. What about another song?

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Oh, shut up, Teddy. I say, the silly young man is my fiend. Sorry, friend, Teddy Biffles.

[Uncle John]

Quiet. Quiet everybody. Mr. Scrubbles is going to entertain us.

[Narrator / Mr. Scrubbles]

Yes.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Mark my words, Teddy. Aunt Mariah will be comatose before lunch.

[Uncle John]

Dear lady.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

As I thought, out like a light. Don't worry, Mr. Scrubbles. Always happens on Christmas Eve. Teddy, give the curate some support or you'll strain something. Put her in the corner armchair.

[Uncle John]

Yes, that's him.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Yes.

[Uncle John]

Now lower her gently.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Good.

[Uncle John]

Put the tea towel over her face. Are you sure?

[Narrator / Mr. Scrubbles]

Perhaps we should take our leave.

[Uncle John]

No, not a bit of it.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

And the tea towel is quite the custom for my aunt and uncle who.

[Mr. Coombs]

Say, Mr. Coombes, Brandy Punch. Your aunt's done the usual, has she? And a tea towel.

[Uncle John]

Good.

[Mr. Coombs]

Four more punch for us.

[Uncle John]

Oh, careful, careful.

[Teddy Biffles]

The curate was about to show us some card tricks, sir.

[Mr. Coombs]

Excellent. Better fortify ourselves first.

[Teddy Biffles]

Absolutely.

[Uncle John]

Oh, and I do believe.

[Mr. Coombs]

Yes, Christmas cake and nuts on the table.

[Teddy Biffles]

There now, Mr. Scrubble. Yes, now.

[Narrator / Mr. Scrubbles]

I wonder if you have ever heard of Find the lady or the three card trick. Now it's a very simple trick.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

What a jolly time the curate gave us. He warned that this card trick was an artifice which men of few scruples use to swindle fellows out of their money. He said it was a simple trick to do and that he would show us the imposture that we might be worn against. Let us stray.

[Narrator / Mr. Scrubbles]

Now, I place the card so and ask you to find the lady.

[Mr. Coombs]

It's the middle one.

[Narrator / Mr. Scrubbles]

Ah, you fancy you saw it.

[Joe Parkinson]

I don't fancy anything at all about it. I tell you, it is the middle card.

[Uncle John]

I bet you half a crown it's the middle card. There you are.

[Narrator / Mr. Scrubbles]

That's just what I was explaining to you. That's the way foolish young fellows are lured on to lose their money. They don't grasp the idea that it is the quickness of the hand that deceives the eye.

[Joe Parkinson]

Cards over.

[Narrator / Mr. Scrubbles]

I shall take your half crown, sir, to teach you a useful lesson. I shall give it to the church blanket fund.

[Uncle John]

Oh, don't you worry about that.

[Joe Parkinson]

But don't you take it out of the blanket fund.

[Uncle John]

Very well.

[Ghost of the Sinful Man]

Now.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Aha. Oh dear. Well done, Mr. Coombs.

[Mr. Coombs]

Well spotted, sir.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Jolly good. You can of course see the outcome of this demonstration. I might only comment that an excess of whiskey punch on Christmas Eve might dull the dexterity of the most accomplished card sharper. The next time Mr. Coombs put two half crowns on the card nearest the coal scuttle. Sure enough, it was the queen again. After that Uncle John had a Floren on and he won. Then we all played it and we all won. All except the curate. That even he had a very bad quarter of an hour.

[Mr. Coombs]

Cheer up, Scrubbles. Have some more punch.

[Uncle John]

And our friend here can accompany me in a song right here. A Champagne Charlie, my boy. I've seen a deal of gaiety throughout this evening. Great. The best of my accomplishments is beating the curate. The thing I most excel in is the find the lady game. It's fun to play and with the pay I'll buy you all champagne. Champagne Charlie is my name Champagne drinking is my game Good for any game of night, my boys. I'm good for any game at night, my boys.

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[Uncle John]

Champagne drinking is my game Good for any game. At night my boys will come and join me in a spree.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Oh, we did have such fun. The next recollection I have is that we were telling ghost stories to each other. Oh yes, that was after uncle had made such a funny mistake and left out the whiskey. In the next bowl of punch we did laugh at him and we made him put in double quantity afterwards as a forfeit. Teddy Bittles told us the first ghost story.

[Teddy Biffles]

I say this punch has a kick. Punch, kick. Ought to be telling a story about fighting. A bit of atmosphere if you please, Professor. This story is called Johnson and Emily, or the Faithful Ghost. And it began on a Christmas Eve much like this one, when I was little more than a lad. I had been allowed to sit up very late because it was a special night, but at last I was tired and made my way up the dark stairs to my room. As I opened the door to go in, I found myself face to face with Johnson, who was coming out. He passed right through me and uttered a long low wail of misery as he floated out of the staircase window. I was startled for a moment. I was only a schoolboy at the time and had never seen a ghost before, and a little nervous about going to bed. Then I remembered that it was only sinful people that spirits could do any harm to, and so tucked myself up and went to sleep. In the morning I told the pater what I had seen. Oh yes, that was old Johnson, he answered. Don't be frightened of that. He lives here. And then he told me the poor thing's history. It seems that Johnson had, in early life loved the daughter of a former lessee of our house, a very beautiful girl whose name was Emily. Father did not Know her other name. Johnson was too poor to marry the girl, so he kissed her goodbye, told her he would soon be back, and went off to Australia to make his fortune. Australia was not then what it is now. Travelers through the bush were few and far between. And even when Johnson caught one, the portable property found upon the body was often hardly of sufficient negotiable value to pay the funeral expenses necessary so that it took Johnson nearly 20 years to make his fortune. The self imposed task accomplished at last. Having successfully eluded the police, he returned to England full of hope and joy to claim his bride. He reached the house to find it silent and deserted. All that the neighbors could tell him was that soon after his own departure, the family had disappeared one foggy night, never to be seen again. Although the landlord and most of the local tradesmen had made searching inquiries. Poor Johnson, frenzied with grief, sought his love all over the world, but to no avail. After years of fruitless efforts, he returned to end his lonely life in the very house where, in happy bygone days, he and his beloved Emily had passed so many blissful hours. He lived there quite alone, wandering about the empty rooms, weeping and calling to his Emily to come back to him. When he died, his ghost still kept the business on. He was there when my father took the house and the agent knocked 10 pounds a year off the rent in consequence. After that, we were continually meeting Johnson about the place. At all times of the night we used to walk round him and stand aside to let him pass at first, but as we grew more used to it, we walked straight through. He was a gentle, harmless old ghost, and we all felt very sorry for him. The women folk indeed made quite a pet of him for a while. But as time went on, it grew to be a bit of a bore. You felt sorry for him, but he irritated you. He would sit on the stairs and cry for hours at a stretch. Whenever we woke up in the night, we were sure to hear him pottering about the passages, moaning and sighing and generally making it impossible to go to sleep again. When we had a party on, he would sit outside the drawing room door, sobbing all the time. I'm getting sick of the old fool, said the pater one evening. The dad can be very blunt when he's put out. And Johnson had been spoiling a perfectly good game of whist by sitting up the chimney and moaning till nobody knew what the trumps or even what suit had been led. We shall have to get rid of him. Well, said the mater. That was the mater. You'll never see the last of him until he's found Emily's grave.

[Uncle John]

That's what his eyes.

[Teddy Biffles]

You find Emily's grave and put him onto that, and he'll stop there. That's the only thing to do, you mark my words. Well, the idea seemed reasonable, but none of us knew where the grave might be. The governor suggested palming off some other Emily's grave on the poor old thing. But there didn't seem to have been an Emily of any sort buried anywhere for miles around. I never came across a neighborhood so utterly destitute of dead Emily. We hit upon faking something up for the old chap. We got the workman in and fixed up a little mound at the bottom of the orchard with a tombstone over it reading, sacred to the memory of Emily. Her last words were, tell Johnson I love him. And it worked a treat. We lured him down there that very night and, well, it was one of the most perfect, pathetic things I've ever seen. The way Johnson sprang upon that tombstone and wept. Dad. And old Squibbins the gardener, they cried like children when they saw it. Johnson hasn't troubled us in the house since then. He spends every night sobbing on the grave now and seems quite happy there to this day. In fact, I'll take you fellows down and show you next time you come to our place. 10pm to 4am are his general hours. 10 to 2 on Saturdays.

[Mr. Coombs]

Well done, young Biffles.

[Uncle John]

Thank you. The most affecting of jolly.

[Mr. Coombs]

Good shout.

[Uncle John]

No punch. Sensible suggestion.

[Mr. Coombs]

I'll brew another bowl.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Excellent.

[Uncle John]

Ah, splendid. There is a school of jolly dogs I've lately come across Any mortal thing from cards to pitch and pot and they always seem so jolly oh, jolly, oh, jolly, oh and they always seem so jolly oh, whatever they may be they dance, they sing, they dance Ha ha. They laugh. Aha. They dance, they sing. What jolly dogs are we what jolly dogs are we?

[Narrator / Mr. Scrubbles]

I. I have a story, actually.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Most interesting story at this point, Mr. Scrubbles told us a story about the ghost of one of his parishioners. I cannot give you this story. I wish I could, but we none of us could make head nor tail of it. There seemed to be an enormous amount of plot and a great many varied characters. Simply, it was.

[Narrator / Mr. Scrubbles]

Well, then my uncle went into the garden and got his gun, but of course, it wasn't there. And Scroggins said he didn't believe it.

[Teddy Biffles]

Didn't believe what? Who's Scroggins?

[Narrator / Mr. Scrubbles]

Scroggins. He was the other man, you know. It was his Wife?

[Joe Parkinson]

What was his wife? What she got to do with it?

[Narrator / Mr. Scrubbles]

That's what I'm telling you. It was she that found the hat. She'd come up with her cousin to London, her cousin with my sister in law. And the other niece had married a man named Evans. And Evans, after it was all over, had taken the box round to Mr. Jacobs because Jacob's father had seen the.

[Uncle John]

Man when he was alive.

[Joe Parkinson]

Never you mind Evans in the box. What's become of your uncle and the guy?

[Mr. Coombs]

Yes, yes.

[Narrator / Mr. Scrubbles]

Gun. What gun?

[Uncle John]

Gun he kept in the garden. What did he do with it?

[Joe Parkinson]

If he killed anyone, we should enjoy hearing about.

[Ghost of the Sinful Man]

Oh, no.

[Uncle John]

Oh no, no, no, no, no, no.

[Narrator / Mr. Scrubbles]

How could he? He had been bricked up alive in.

[Uncle John]

The wall, you know.

[Narrator / Mr. Scrubbles]

And when Edward IV spoke to the Abbot about it, my sister said that in her state of health she could not and would, would not, as it was endangering the child's life ever even.

[Mr. Coombs]

Do you know what you're talking about?

[Uncle John]

No. Dear nephew, for the sake of us all, ask me the tea towel. I do know that every word I say is true, because I. Mr. Scrubbles.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Continued his story under the tea towel for some time whilst we imbibed another glass. No one paid him much attention, though before he went to sleep, we caught a muttered reference to somebody discovering something or other. This put Mr. Coombs in mind of a very curious affair, which he proceeded to tell us about before anyone could stop him.

[Joe Parkinson]

He called it the Haunted Mill. Now, I'm sure you all know my brother in law, Joe Parkinson.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

We didn't know his brother in law, but we said we did so as to save time.

[Joe Parkinson]

He once took the lease of an old mill in Surrey and it seems that years before the place had been occupied by a wicked old miser who died there, leaving, it was rumored, all his money hidden somewhere on the property. Naturally enough, everyone who lived in the mill afterwards had tried to find the treasure, but without success. The local wiseacre said that nobody ever would, unless the ghost of the miserly miller should one day take a fancy to one of the tenants and disclose the hiding place. Now, Joe didn't detect much importance importance to the story. He didn't see how a miller could.

[Uncle John]

Very well have saved anything, even if.

[Joe Parkinson]

He was a miser. He made no attempt to seek out the booty and all proceeded normally in his new home. Until one night he went to bed. Well, there was nothing very extraordinary about that.

[Uncle John]

He often did go to bed at night.

[Joe Parkinson]

What was remarkable, however, was that exactly as the clock of the village church chimed the last stroke of 12. He woke up with a start. He fell a presence. And there at the foot of the bed was a figure wrapped in shadow. It moved into the moonlight and Joe saw it was a wizened old man in knee breeches and a pigtail.

[Uncle John]

It's the miser come to show me.

[Joe Parkinson]

Where his treasures is, thought Joe. And he resolved that he would not spend it all upon himself, but he would devote a modest percentage to good works. The apparition moved towards the door. My brother in law put on his trousers and he followed it downstairs into the kitchen where it stood in front of the hearth, sighed and vanished. Next morning Joe had a couple of bricklayers in to haul out the stove and pull down the chimney, While he stood behind with a potato sack in which to put the gold well they knocked down off the wall. I never found so much as a fourpenny bit. The next night the ghost appeared again and again led the way into the kitchen. This time, however, instead of going to the fireplace, it stood more in the middle of the room and side there. Oh, I see what he means now, said Joe. It's under the floor, the old idiot. Go and stand against the stove so as to make me think it was up the chimney. They spent the next day taking up the kitchen floor, but the only thing they found was a three pronged fork and the handle of that was broken. On the third night the ghost reappeared, quite unabashed and this time made for the kitchen ceiling. Joe was the one to sigh this time. But next morning down came the ceiling and the boards in the room above. Now treasure to be found. Night after night, night he followed the spectral old fraud about the house. Each night a different place would be indicated and the next day Joe would break up another bit of milk. After three weeks there wasn't a room left fit to live in. Every wall had been pulled down, every floor taken up. Every ceiling had a hole in it. As suddenly as they begun, the ghost visits ceased and Joe was left in peace to rebuild the place at his leisure. What could have induced the old image to play such a silly trick upon.

[Uncle John]

A family man and a ratepayer?

[Joe Parkinson]

See if you can guess, for there is an answer.

[Mr. Coombs]

A trick got up by local residents. Not a ghost at all.

[Uncle John]

A close.

[Mr. Coombs]

But it was a ghost.

[Uncle John]

Yes.

[Joe Parkinson]

The horrible truth was not apparent to Joe until he came to engage contractors to rebuild his devastated property. On meeting the proprietor of the principal local building firm, he detected a certain familiar wizened look about him. Further investigation Revealed that this man would be saved from bankruptcy by my brother in law's substantial building contract. And furthermore, he was the grandson of.

[Uncle John]

The wretched old miser.

[Joe Parkinson]

The ghost had been ensuring the prosperity of his descendants at Joe's expense. That's how Joe came to get bound over. To keep the peace. After using a chunk of masonry as an offensive weapon.

[Uncle John]

Joe Parkinson is a party you don't.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Meet with every day.

[Uncle John]

Yeah, he's always Aylin Hearty, Free and easy in his way. Quite so. You wouldn't call him handsome but that isn't his disgrace. He looks as though a regiment had marched across his face. He's alright when you know him but he's hasty when he's faced with. He'll black your eye one minute and he'll stand you a pint the next. He wouldn't hurt a baby he's of the palace you can trust he's all right when you know him but you've got to know him first.

[Ghost of the Sinful Man]

He'S seen.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

A deal of life as Joe Although he's in his prime he's at his bit of trouble and he's done his bit of time yeah, he'd never round upon a pel Unless it filled his.

[Uncle John]

Kick But I've known him land a builder on the boat coat with a bricasse Jolly good. Oh, he's all right when you know him but he's hasty when he's vexed. He'll black your eye one minute and the Stan you will fight the next. He wouldn't and a baby He's a palace you can trust. He's alright when you know him but you gotta know him first.

[Joe Parkinson]

I'm not sure I entirely approve of my brother in law being lampooned in Thor.

[Mr. Coombs]

Then you obviously have not imbibed sufficiently, sir. Drink up.

[Uncle John]

All Cheers.

[Mr. Coombs]

Now your attention please.

[Uncle John]

Thank you.

[Mr. Coombs]

Thank you very much. I have decided as your host that it is incumbent on me to reciprocate the excellent storytelling of my guests with a tale of my own. Scrubbles.

[Joe Parkinson]

I say scrubbles, old man.

[Uncle John]

Our host is to tell the next day. Now wake up. Don't stick him.

[Mr. Coombs]

Go back to sleep, my dear. Thank you, Mr. Coombes. I'm not sure that shaking the good curate will achieve any desirable effect better than even tea toweled. Sit down and listen. My tale is called the Ghost of the Blue Chamber and concerns this very house. I would not wish to make any of you nervous, but as a matter of fact, one of the bedrooms is haunted.

[Uncle John]

You don't say.

[Mr. Coombs]

Such what's the use of your saying I don't see it when I have just said it?

[Joe Parkinson]

I'm sorry.

[Mr. Coombs]

I'm sure.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Yes.

[Mr. Coombs]

As I say, this very house is haunted regularly on Christmas Eve. The Blue Chamber is haunted by the ghost of a sinful man. A man who once killed a carol singer with a lump of coke.

[Teddy Biffles]

A lump of coal. Was it difficult?

[Mr. Coombs]

I do not know how he did it. He did not explain the process. The Christmas Weight had taken up a position just outside the front gate and was singing a ballad. It is presumed that when he opened his mouth for a B flat.

[Uncle John]

Thank you.

[Mr. Coombs]

Was a bit flat. The lump of coal was thrown by the sinful man from one of the windows and that it went down the fellow's throat ain't choked him.

[Teddy Biffles]

He won a good shot, but it's certainly worth trying.

[Mr. Coombs]

But that was not his only crime, alas. Prior to that he had killed a solo cornet player.

[Ghost of the Sinful Man]

No.

[Joe Parkinson]

Is that really a fact?

[Mr. Coombs]

Well, of course he's a fact. At all events, as much of a fact as you can expect to get in a case of this sort. How many capsis you are this evening? The poor cornet player had been in the neighborhood barely a month old Mr. Bishop, who kept the Jolly Sandboys at the time and from whom I had the story, said he had never known a more hard working and energetic solo cornet player, despite only knowing two tunes, Annie Laurie and Home Sweet Home. Mr. Bishop said that the man could not have played with more vigour or for more hours per day if he had known 40. This musician, this poor friendless artist.

[Uncle John]

Thank you.

[Mr. Coombs]

Here's enough.

[Uncle John]

Thank you.

[Mr. Coombs]

Used to play in this street just opposite for two hours each evening. One evening, evidently, in response to an invitation, he was seen going into this very house, but was never seen coming out of it.

[Joe Parkinson]

Was any reward offered for his recovery?

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Not a hate me.

[Mr. Coombs]

There is more. Another summer, a German band visited here intending so they announced to stay until the autumn. On the day after their arrival, the entire company was invited to dinner by this sinful man and after spending the whole of the next 24 hours in bed, left the town a broken and dyspeptic crew. The doctor who attended them was of the opinion that they might never be fit to play an air again.

[Joe Parkinson]

You don't know the recipe used, do you?

[Mr. Coombs]

Unfortunately not. Though the chief ingredient was said to have been railway refreshment room pork pie. This sinful man was not entirely unconnected with the death and subsequent burial of a man who played the harp with his Toes. Nor was he altogether unresponsible for the lonely grave of an Italian barrel organist who strayed unwisely into this vicissitude. Every Christmas Eve, the ghost of this wicked man Haunts the Blue Chamber from midnight until cock crow. Amid wild muffled shrieks and groans, mocking laughter and the sound of horrid blows, it does fierce phantom fight with the spirits of the solo cornet player. And the wait assisted at intervals by the shades of the German band. While the strangled harpist plays mad melodies with ghostly tones on the shadow of a broken harp. Hark.

[Joe Parkinson]

Hup.

[Mr. Coombs]

Hark. I believe they're at it now in the Blue Chamber.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Now, as I stated at the beginning, there has been unpleasantness in our family over this party of ours. And in my share in the events I am about to relate As a means of replacing my character in its proper light of dispelling the clouds of calumny a misconception with which it has been darkened. I feel my best course is to give a simple and dignified account of the plain facts and allow the unprejudiced to judge for themselves. So the assembled company, those of us who remain un tea towed, that is, strained our ears for the sounds of ghostly music from the Blue Chamber. And heard not a sausage. However, into this somewhat anti climactic silence I bravely stepped and announced to the assembled company. I will sleep in the Blue Chamber this very night.

[Mr. Coombs]

Never. You shall not put yourself in this deadly peril. Besides, the bed's not me.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Never mind the bed. I have lived in furnished apartments for gentlemen and have been accustomed to sleep on beds that have not been made from one year's end to the other. Do not thwart me in my resolve. I am young and have had a clear conscience now for over a month. The spirits will not harm me. I may even do them some little good and induce them to be quiet. Besides, I should like to see the show. And it is a guest privilege to sleep in the haunted bedroom.

[Mr. Coombs]

Well, my boy, if you put it like that, I can hardly dissuade you. Take this candle to light your way.

[Joe Parkinson]

And jolly good luck. Here, here.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Oh, I see. Very well.

[Joe Parkinson]

A brave fellow.

[Narrator / Mr. Scrubbles]

I. I will pray for you.

[Mr. Coombs]

Ah, you're with us again.

[Uncle John]

Scrubbells, old man, not the old pasties.

[Mr. Coombs]

Make haste to your nephew before your aunt, remember?

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Oh, yes, yes, yes, of course.

[Uncle John]

Good luck.

[Mr. Coombs]

Good luck.

[Uncle John]

Good luck, sir. And good luck.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

One last thing, Uncle.

[Joe Parkinson]

Yes?

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Why is it called the Blue Chamber?

[Mr. Coombs]

After the predominant color of its toilet service, which you will find in the usual place. Under the bed, should you need it.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Good night, dear boy.

[Uncle John]

Good luck. Have a good night, sir.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Teddy at my exit.

[Teddy Biffles]

Music at once, old chap.

[Uncle John]

Oh, yes.

[Teddy Biffles]

Climbing the stairs to a bedroom blue this belt fellow has had a few all unsuspecting of what will ensue oh, what a surprise A specter's a thing to beware of, it's true Especially when your bedchamber is blue Just watch out or he'll give to you.

[Uncle John]

Two lovely black eyes Two lovely black eyes oh, what a surprise Only for hunting for ghosts in the night Two.

[Teddy Biffles]

Lovely black eyes Next time ghosts are mentioned it may be best to think very hard about where you'll rest if a haunted room's mentioned don't be pressed for you'll have a surprise it may be bunk or it may be true but if you impress with your daring do such ghostly encounters may give to.

[Uncle John]

You To a lovely black haw Lovely black eyes oh, what a surprise Only for hunting for ghosts in the night.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Certainly need this candle, not the gas lights.

[Joe Parkinson]

Black as pitch yet now left at.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

The head of the stairs. We'll laugh about this in the morning. Ah, here we are. Hello. As I thought. Well, Uncle John, it was a fine story and well told, but. Oh, dear. I do believe the effects of your excellent punch will overcome my vigilance on ghost watch without the benefit of a tea towel.

[Uncle John]

Good evening.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Good Lord. My uncle's story had been true after all. There, sitting patiently at the end of my bed, was the spectral shape of an elderly male party smoking a pipe. Oh, good evening. I believe I have the honor of addressing the ghost of the gentleman who had the unfortunate accident with the Christmas Wait.

[Ghost of the Sinful Man]

The incident is remembered then?

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Oh, well, yes, in fact, we. That is, several guests of my aunt and uncle who now own this house, which you probably know, so there's no need to tell you of it. We. We were given your story this evening. Ah, I wonder.

[Ghost of the Sinful Man]

He is.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Just check a few of the facts of the case with you, if that's all right. Is that all right?

[Ghost of the Sinful Man]

Get to the point.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Oh, yes, right. Is it true that you had a hand in the death of an Italian battle organist?

[Uncle John]

Had a hand in it?

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Sorry.

[Ghost of the Sinful Man]

Who dared to pretend that he assisted me? I murdered the youth myself. Nobody helped me alone. I did it. Show me the man that said I didn't.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

No, no, no, you misunderstand. Just a turn of phrase. No, sir intended.

[Ghost of the Sinful Man]

Anything else?

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Well, yes, as a matter of fact. The solo cornet player.

[Ghost of the Sinful Man]

Which one?

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

There was more than one.

[Ghost of the Sinful Man]

Not wishing to boast There were seven, if one includes trombones.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Oh, dear me, you must have had quite a busy time of it. One way or another.

[Ghost of the Sinful Man]

There are few who could look back on a life so full of sustained usefulness.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

You know, I never imagined a ghost smoking before.

[Ghost of the Sinful Man]

A little indulgence. I use the ghost of Best Cut Cavendish as a rule. That being what I had in life, the ghost of all the tobacco that a man smoked in life belongs to him when he is dead. I am fortunate that I smoke so good a blend.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Useful thing to know that. Must remember to smoke as much as possible before I die. Mind if I join you in a pipe?

[Ghost of the Sinful Man]

Do, do. And I will recount for you the nature of my crimes.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

He had been an energetic old fellow in life. There were 18 muffin men that he had lured into passageways and stuffed with their own wares until they died. Young men and women who recited dreary poetry. He used to poison in batches of 10 park orators and temperance lecturers. He used to shut up six in a room with a glass of water and a collection box apiece and let them talk each other to death. Oh, it did one good just to listen to him. Isn't it true, old fellow, that the ghosts of all your victims meet you here every Christmas Eve for a row?

[Ghost of the Sinful Man]

It was true. For 25 years we had the most wonderful get togethers here. Ah, me. But no more. One by one I laid them out spoilt and utterly useless for all haunting purposes. I finished off the last German bandsman just before you came upstairs.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

But I suppose you're still come yourself as usual.

[Ghost of the Sinful Man]

Oh, I don't know. Nothing much to come for now. Unless, of course, you are going to be here.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Well, I've taken a liking to you.

[Ghost of the Sinful Man]

You don't fly off screeching when you see a party and your hair doesn't stand on end.

[Uncle John]

Oh, I know.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

I say, you look quite ill, but that was only an owl or some such.

[Ghost of the Sinful Man]

I was afraid it was the cop.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

It's too early for that.

[Ghost of the Sinful Man]

It doesn't make any difference to those cursed chickens. They'd just as soon crow in the middle of the night if they thought it would spoil a chap's evening out. Friend of mine, ghost of a fellow who killed a water rate collector. Used to haunt a house in Longacre where they kept fowls in the cellar. Every time a policeman went by and flashed his bullseye lantern down the greeting, the old cock would crow like mad and my friend would have to dissolve.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Damn bird does seem jolly unfair.

[Ghost of the Sinful Man]

It's an absurd arrangement altogether. I can't imagine what our old man was thinking of when he made it. As I've said to him over and over again, have a fixed time and let everyone stick to it, that we'd all know where we were. There you are. That is the sort of thing we.

[Uncle John]

Have to put up with.

[Ghost of the Sinful Man]

What is the time?

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

It's half past three.

[Ghost of the Sinful Man]

Thought as much.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Ah, well, if you can wait a minute, I'll go a bit of the way with you.

[Ghost of the Sinful Man]

Oh, it's very good of you, but it seems unkind to drag you out.

[Uncle John]

Oh, no, not at all.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

We'll just step quietly down the stairs so as not to wake the rest of the house.

[Ghost of the Sinful Man]

Oh, sorry to pass through you. Oh, no, not at all.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Well, I'll step quietly. Beast. You can float. I just see you at the corner. It's getting chilly. Ah, good evening, Constable Jones.

[Mr. Coombs]

Good morning, I should say, sir.

[Ghost of the Sinful Man]

May I ask what you're doing on?

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Just seeing a friend part of the way home.

[Ghost of the Sinful Man]

Friends?

[Mr. Coombs]

Huh.

[Joe Parkinson]

What friend?

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

Of course, I forgot. He's invisible to you. He's the ghost of the gentleman that killed the Christmas weight, amongst others. Horns here regularly, Mrs. Bowles? Cockerel stopped play? I'm afraid so. I'm seeing him off. Just gave to the caller. With him.

[Joe Parkinson]

Well, I don't think I would if.

[Mr. Coombs]

I were you, sir. If you take my advice, you'll say goodbye and go back indoors. Perhaps you're not aware, sir, that you're.

[Uncle John]

Walking about with nothing on but a.

[Mr. Coombs]

Night shirt, pair of boots and an opera hat. Where's your trousers, Jones?

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

I don't wish to report you, but it seems to me that you've been drinking. My trousers are where a man's trousers ought to be. On his legs. I distinctly remember putting them on.

[Uncle John]

Well, you haven't got them on now.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

I beg your pardon? I tell you I have. I think I ought to know.

[Uncle John]

I think so too, sir, but you evidently don't. Now, come along indoors with me and.

[Ghost of the Sinful Man]

Don'T let's have any more of it.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

I'm happy. Constable.

[Uncle John]

Help. Good heavens. What is going on? He's not wearing any trousers.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

My friend here can confirm. Oh, he's gone.

[Uncle John]

Get off me.

[Joe Parkinson]

Perhaps I. I will be back in.

[Ghost of the Sinful Man]

The Blue Chamber next year after all.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

I wish you a merry Christmas I.

[Ghost of the Sinful Man]

Wish you a merry Christmas I wish you a merry Christmas and good haunting next year.

[Nephew / Main Storyteller]

I am indebted to my Uncle John for squaring it with the constabulary. But do you know, when I got back to my room and thought over the events. I was so overcome with emotion at the sight of my trousers hanging over the bed rail that I burst into tears. I still find it affecting even now. Such are the plain facts of the case, and I thank you for your indulgence in listening to them. I am sure that to your healthy, charitable minds it must appear impossible that calumny should spring from such a tale. But it has. Persons, I say persons have professed themselves unable to understand the simple circumstances I have disclosed to you, except in the light of explanations. At once. Both misleading and insulting slurs have been cast and aspersions made on me by those of my own flesh and blood. But I bear no Ophelia. I will state quite publicly and without rancor or regret that I wish all of those mentioned, even Aunt Maria, the most cordial seasonal felicitations. May my tale be a caution to those lucky enough to spend this season in the bosom of the family. Beware, at the first mention of ghosts, turn all the lights on full and earnestly discuss the weather. May your Christmas days be full of good cheer. I recommend whiskey punch and your Christmas night, sweet and untroubled. Good night and a happy New Year.

[Narrator / Credits]

In After Supper Ghost Stories by Jerome K. Jerome Dinsdale Landon overindulged and lost his trousers. Jeffrey Matthews was Uncle John, Linda Poland, Aunt Mariah, Roger Hammond, Mr. Coombs, Jonathan Tafler, Teddy Biffles, David Holt, Mr. Scrubbles, the Ghost of a sinful man, John Baddeley, and the police constable, Philip Anthony. Musical accompaniment was provided on the pianoforte by Neil Brand. Jerome K. Jerome's After Supper Ghost Stories were adapted for radio by Paul Weatherby and directed by David Blount.

[Ghost of the Sinful Man]

Is this a musician I see before me?

[Uncle John]

Yeah.

[Ghost of the Sinful Man]

Oops, sorry.