Beyond Midnight 69-04-18 (24) A True Ghost Story

Summary

Harold's Old Time Radio

Episode: Beyond Midnight 69-04-18 (24) – "A True Ghost Story"

Date: October 17, 2025
Summary Format: Detailed breakdown of the dramatic radio story as aired, with key themes, memorable scenes, quotes, and timestamps.

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Episode Overview

In this episode, Harold’s Old Time Radio presents "A True Ghost Story," an eerie, atmospheric tale from the "Beyond Midnight" series. The story is set in sun-drenched England in 1921 and follows a young aspiring writer as he rents a room in a small town, only to find himself engulfed by inexplicable dread and supernatural happenings. The episode explores themes of loss, unresolved grief, and the persistence of spirits, delivered in the narrative-driven, immersive style characteristic of golden-age radio dramas.

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Key Discussion Points and Story Progression

1. Arrival in Crome Stratford and Setting the Scene

• 00:33–03:44
  • The narrator (B) recalls the magical summer of 1921 and his decision to visit the unfamiliar town of Crome Stratford for a writing retreat.
  • Descriptions evoke nostalgia and a sense of peacefulness, quickly contrasted with the oncoming unease.
  • Quote: “There is not much point in inventing ghost stories. Anyone can do it. It’s rather like playing a game whose rules one has made up without telling anyone else what they are.” (00:33, B)
• 03:46–04:53
  • After advice from the stationmaster, the young man finds accommodation at Mrs. Wayne’s house in Sevastopol Terrace, described as “the most ordinary and mediocre dwellings.”

2. Settling In & Growing Unease

• 05:01–06:58
  • Inside, the house is filled with character, lived-in comfort, and small emotional details—like the photograph of Mrs. Wayne's deceased husband displayed above the mantelpiece.
  • Initially, the narrator enjoys life with the two ladies, Mrs. Wayne and Mrs. Jennison, though he writes nothing of his intended novel.
  • Anxiety creeps in: the protagonist becomes inexplicably afraid when left alone in the house, especially after going upstairs.
    • Quote: “I began to be afraid of something. Afraid in a way that I’d never experienced before, or for that matter, since this time.” (05:01, B)

3. Ghostly Sensations and Unease Deepening

• 07:48–08:18
  • The fear intensifies when the protagonist senses an unseen presence following him through the empty house, particularly in the absence of the ladies.

4. Revelation of the Past and Premonitions

• 09:06–11:22
  • Over Sunday tea, an awkward conversation unfolds about premonitions and Mrs. Wayne’s late husband, Sidney.
  • Mrs. Jennison reveals that Mrs. Wayne had a premonition on the day her husband died—he had hanged himself post-war, unable to settle into civilian life.
    • Quote: “Do you mean he killed himself because he was bored?” (11:00, B)
    • Mrs. Jennison: “No. Say, lost...Killed him in action, you might say.” (11:11, C)
• The unsettling photograph and these new revelations amplify the narrator’s discomfort.

5. Poltergeist Activity

• 13:58–14:44
  • Sidney's photograph suddenly falls from its place, the broken frame symbolizing a break in routine and suggesting supernatural disturbance.
    • Mrs. Wayne, unfazed by the damage, decides to store the photo away: “I never really liked that photograph. I only put it up there to please Sidney.” (14:26, C)

6. Seeking Answers at the Seaside

• 15:49–17:33
  • Attempting to escape his anxiety, the narrator visits Lowestoft, where a mysterious woman (C) approaches him and, after hearing his story, explains that the ghost is trying to communicate and seeks forgiveness for his actions in life.
    • Quote: “That poor spirit was driven to his terrible deed by...distress that was very real to him...Afterwards...he saw how wrong he had been...” (16:33–17:03, C)
    • “He’s in touch with you to be his messenger. You know that now. But you’re refusing the message...You must take it and set the poor ghost free.” (17:06–17:18, C)
  • She urges the narrator to face his fear, stay in the house alone, and let the ghost’s message come through.

7. Climactic Supernatural Encounter

• 19:36–21:13
  • Back in the house, the narrator feels peace but drifts into a trance-like state. Suddenly, he sees a vision: the hanging figure of Sidney Wayne.
  • He awakens in terror as Mrs. Wayne returns, oblivious to his ordeal.

8. Resolution and Emotional Release

• 22:04–25:28
  • The next morning, Mrs. Wayne, visibly shaken, hands the narrator a letter he apparently wrote subconsciously—a message addressed to “Manx,” Sidney’s affectionate name for her, asking for forgiveness.
    • Quote: “How did you know? He called me Manx.” (24:11, C)
    • “Max, dear. Forgive me. Forgive me.” (24:46, B)
    • Mrs. Wayne recognizes the handwriting as Sidney’s, though she did not tell the narrator about the pet name.
  • The implication: the ghost finally conveyed his message and finds release, having received forgiveness.

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Memorable Quotes & Moments

• Making peace with the dead:
  “Maybe you are his only chance.” (26:03, C)
• The narrator’s reluctant empathy:
  “I can’t do that. I won’t.” (17:33, B)
• Spiritualist interpretation:
  “In the clear vision death brings with it, he saw how wrong he had been.” (16:59, B)
• Emotional weight of the ending:
  Mrs. Wayne’s reaction upon receiving the ghost’s message: “She held out to me a letter...Her face...was as pale as death...She had a terrible dignity of sadness, a piercing accusation like an angel with a sword and a dreadful quietness.” (22:55–24:17, B)

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Timestamps for Important Segments

• 00:33 – Narrator introduces the story’s “true” nature and 1921 setting
• 05:01 – Onset of inexplicable fear at Sebastopol Terrace
• 09:06 – Mrs. Wayne’s tragic backstory is revealed
• 13:58 – Supernatural event: Sidney’s photograph falls
• 15:49 – The seaside encounter; guidance from the mysterious woman
• 19:36 – Climax: the narrator’s ghostly vision in the kitchen
• 24:11 – The revelation: Mrs. Wayne receives her husband's apology through the narrator

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Tone and Storytelling Style

The episode’s language is reflective, atmospheric, and at times somber, effectively evoking the quiet, haunted landscapes both literal and emotional. The dialogue is direct, but thick with subtext and emotion, reflective of the period and the slow-building psychological tension of classic radio horror. The mood is one of nostalgia tainted by melancholy, fear, and, ultimately, a bittersweet sense of closure.

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Summary for New Listeners

"A True Ghost Story" from "Beyond Midnight" captures the lonely fear of encountering the supernatural and the emotional weight of unfinished business. Set in a sunlit English summer, the story gradually shifts from warmth and comfort to ghostly dread before resolving in catharsis. This classic radio narrative is less about overt shocks and more about the underlying sadness of both the living and the dead, and how peace can be made when the truth is finally spoken. If you appreciate atmospheric, character-driven ghost stories with psychological depth, this episode is a fine example of golden-age radio drama at its best.

Transcript

[Radio Announcer]

Sa. Dear Ghost.

[Mr. Field]

Dear Ghost. Dear Ghost. This is a true story. There is not much point in inventing ghost stories. Anyone can do it. It's rather like playing a game whose rules one has made up without telling one else what they are. The events I'm going to report took place in a glorious blaze in the most marvellous summer in living memory England. The summer of 1921. Good it was that summer. To be alive, but to be young was very heaven. I was as old as the century. 21.

[Radio Announcer]

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[Mr. Field]

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[Radio Announcer]

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[Mr. Field]

There are plenty of people still alive who will recall the endless procession of golden days. 1921. Its unclouded dawns, its magnificent looms of blue and gold. Its days sinking into warm noble evenings full of the promise of another day, of the kind of summer one dreams about but seldom gets. I was living at this time with my parents in Taunton and they, knowing my ways, were not at all put out when I went off saying I would write. When I found out where I was going. I had never been to Crome Stratford. I read its name and decided I made up my own fantasy of characters. I was the only Passenger to alight. 4 o' clock in the afternoon, the whole earth drowsed pleasantly in the heat.

[Radio Announcer]

Crown Stratford.

[Mr. Field]

Crown Stratford. The station master wore a cap of golden braid, but it appeared he was doing duty as porter as well. It was good to be 21 at Crome Stratford in the sun that summer crime.

[Radio Announcer]

Stratford.

[Mr. Field]

Afternoon, sir. Ticket, please. Good afternoon.

[Radio Announcer]

Oh, this is beautiful.

[Mr. Field]

Oh, yes, thank you, sir. I want to stay here for a while. Have you any suggestions where I might put up? Put up? Well, there's The Bell Inn. Such if you don't mind a bit of jollification on market days and Saturday nights. Oh, well, you see, my stay is going to be quite a long one. I think I would prefer private accommodation. You go out of the station there you go over the bridge, you'll see four houses in a row. They're called Sevastopol Terraces. Now, you call at number two and ask for Mrs. Wayne. Tell her I sent you. Mr. Dalbery. I think you'll find she'll fix you up. Sevastopol Terrace consisted of four red brick cottages without elegance of any sort. They could not have been more ordinary if the architect had entered a competition for the most ordinary and the most mediocre dwellings.

[Mrs. Wayne]

Please come in.

[Mr. Field]

So, thank you very much.

[Radio Announcer]

Oh, it's a beautiful day.

[Mrs. Wayne]

Let me show you.

[Mr. Field]

A dead front room, seldom used. Uneasy chairs. A small piano with a fretwork front panel. The front room fire grater stuffed with orange tissue paper. Above the mantelpiece there was the enlarged photograph of a man in khaki. It was dark, with a full moustache and an expression of slight astonishment on his face. I made a satisfactory deal with Mrs. Wayne. The other lady was Mrs. Jennison, 50ish, stout, and as it was called then, a kindly, infectious laugh. I knew I was going to be comfortable. Six weeks or so, I decided upon time in which to write a novel. Oh, yes. That is what I had set my heart on doing. The blue cloudless days went by and I wrote not a word of the novel. I liked my ladies. We took our meals together, and the household was an easy one to dwell in. And then a strange uneasiness began to make itself manifest in my mind. For no reason at all, it seemed, I began to be afraid of something. Afraid in a way that I'd never experienced before, or for that matter, since this time. As Dr. Johnson said, if you think well of what you earn at night, tear it up in the morning. Hushes. Quiet. Where are the ladies? Oh, come on, Field. And what's the matter with you? What is there to be afraid of? Man.

[Mrs. Wayne]

So quiet.

[Mr. Field]

But there was no doubt about it. For some strange, strange reason, I was afraid to stay in that house in Sebastopol Terrace alone. Wayne, are you.

[Mrs. Wayne]

Are you going out? Yes, we're just going for a walk, Mr. Field, and we won't be long. Yes, there won't be long, Mr. Field.

[Radio Announcer]

And just a little walk.

[Mrs. Wayne]

We shall be back to see. Bye. Bye.

[Mr. Field]

You see, I became certain that I was being followed by something down the stairs. Whenever I'd been up to my room. It was worse somehow, when they were out of the house. All right somehow when they are here.

[Mrs. Wayne]

But so quiet.

[Mr. Field]

Something was wondering. Stupid.

[Mrs. Wayne]

Yes.

[Mr. Field]

Yesterday too, when I went up to get my pen. I wasn't imagining it. I wasn't. I knew, of course, that Mrs. Wayne was a widow. And I knew that that exceptionally plain soldier in the picture was her deceased husband. One Sunday, after ceremonial tea, Mrs. Wayne had used him as a time take, as people do. She was putting the tea things together to take them out into the kitchen and was at that moment holding what I privately thought to be a very ugly teapot. Mrs. Denison regarded the teapot. She nodded at it.

[Mrs. Wayne]

I always liked that teapot. Do you believe in premonition?

[Mr. Field]

No, I can't say that I do. At any rate, I've never had one that was worth having.

[Mrs. Wayne]

Do you believe in premonitions, Mrs. West?

[Mr. Field]

Tell me about it, Mrs. West.

[Mrs. Wayne]

I'd rather not. It's a painful subject. She often thinks about that on Sundays. Two years ago, on a Sunday, she had a premonition of something awful all day. Her husband, who went into business when he came out of the army, used to get up first and go off to work. That Monday morning when Mrs. Wayne came down, she found him in the kitchen. He'd hanged himself there. Why? There had to be an inquest, of course, but that nothing definite ever came out of it. He had trouble. Money or drink or something like that.

[Mr. Field]

Well, there had to be a reason. There had to be.

[Mrs. Wayne]

Tell me about it.

[Mr. Field]

Tell me what it was.

[Mrs. Wayne]

Well, if you ask me, it's only my opinion. Of course I'm asking you.

[Mr. Field]

Excuse me.

[Mrs. Wayne]

I must go and help Mrs. W with the watch.

[Mr. Field]

The reason to tell me the reason.

[Mrs. Wayne]

I reckon that, like a lot of other men, couldn't settle down to ordinary life. When he came out of the army, it wasn't the same anymore. Whatever makes you like life had gone out of it. He never liked being a soldier. But when he got back home, he didn't like that either. Some fellows managed better than he did with it. He couldn't used to breathe a lot. You could hardly get a word out of him.

[Mr. Field]

Sometimes I stared at the photograph of Sidney Wayne and then at Mrs. Jennison. Do you mean he killed himself because he was bored?

[Mrs. Wayne]

No. Say, lost. It was a lot like that when they came back. Killed him in action, you might say.

[Mr. Field]

I moved close to the photograph and stared at the dead face in it. He stared with the same cold intensity. Not at me, but past me. It was horrible, the stillness of the face, those eyes fixed on some object of vision beyond me or my glass. His hair was close, cropped beneath his hat with its badge of the Suffolk regiment. The piece of the cap came down almost to the bridge of his nose, hiding his forehead. Nothing fitted with either his body, his temperament or his final act. Now that I knew what that could be. He was dressed for me in a horror but grotesque. My eyes moved involuntarily to his neck and I turned away alike from the photograph and the dreadful images which I violently excluded from my mind.

[Mrs. Wayne]

Now, how should we spend the evening? Is anyone to church or a walk? Or shall we have a game of cards?

[Radio Announcer]

Darling, let's go out and paint the sun red.

[Mrs. Wayne]

But what about your headache?

[Mr. Field]

Oh, that's gone.

[Radio Announcer]

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[Mrs. Wayne]

Ah, Grandpa.

[Radio Announcer]

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[Mrs. Wayne]

Well, what do you think? A walk? Do you fancy? Would that be nice, Mr. Fielder? Oh dear, look at that. Sydney's picture. Well, well, of course, when you were to go one of these days. Get me a dustband and brush, will you? I'll soon clear this message. All right. I'm sorry that happened. Now you'll have to have it framed. Oh, frame's broken too. I shan't do that. I never really liked that photograph. I only put it up there to please Sydney. I like to remember him the way he was before he went into the army. I shall just put it away somewhere.

[Mr. Field]

And then I knew that we were not three in that house, but four. The situation had taken a new turn. I did not know what to expect. I decided that that day after the falling of the picture was a day to be spent by the sea. So accordingly, I went to Lowestoft. I soon settled with a newspaper on the promenade in a deck chair. There was an empty chair beside me. It was not empty long, though. A middle aged woman sat beside me. After only a few minutes, she made occasion to talk to me. You're troubled about something, aren't you?

[Radio Announcer]

Yes.

[Mr. Field]

Yes, I am.

[Mrs. Wayne]

Will you tell me what it is?

[Radio Announcer]

Yes.

[Mr. Field]

Yes, all right. I will. And as if it was the most natural thing in the world, I told her the whole story. From my arrival in the house in Sebastopol Terrace. Right up until the falling of a stage picture.

[Mrs. Wayne]

May I tell you what I think?

[Mr. Field]

Certainly. I. I'd like to hear. It's quite clear to me. I believe in spirits or ghosts or.

[Mrs. Wayne]

Whatever name you like to give to.

[Mr. Field]

That part of us that you now know exists when the body's fallen away.

[Mrs. Wayne]

That that poor spirit was driven to his terrible deed by. By distress. That was very well to him, however.

[Mr. Field]

Silly you or anybody else may think it to have been.

[Mrs. Wayne]

And afterwards, in the clear vision death.

[Mr. Field]

Brings with it, he saw how wrong he had been.

[Mrs. Wayne]

How cruel to that kind.

[Mr. Field]

That a woman.

[Mrs. Wayne]

He's trying to tell her that. And he can't leave the house till he has done it. He's in touch with you to be his messenger. You know that now. But you're refusing the message. Oh, you mustn't, my dear. You must take it and set the poor ghost free.

[Mr. Field]

I. I can't do that. I won't.

[Radio Announcer]

Lydia's message, if there is one, be.

[Mr. Field]

Carried some other way. He told me that you don't dare stay in the house when the others have gone out for a walk or. That's right. Daren't is the right word.

[Mrs. Wayne]

That's just the time when he was trying hardest to get his message to you. You must stay in the house and give him his chance.

[Mr. Field]

I doubt he'll leave you till you do. Maybe you're his only child. How do you know your way?

[Mrs. Wayne]

Experience. And now I must go home to lunch. I think I should come to you this morning.

[Mr. Field]

And then she was gone, walking against the sun so that I could hardly see her departure. I arrived back at Crome Stratford at six letters. I must keep up my correspondence. If no great novel is to come out of his holiday. Then at least I must find out. Mrs. Wayne and Mrs. Jennison. The house is completely silent. Yet somehow I. I don't feel afraid anymore. Even though I'm in the kitchen where he. Where did the body hang?

[Mrs. Wayne]

Behind me or in front?

[Mr. Field]

The little kitchen had the peace of a Dutch interior. The place shone quietly with care. There was not even a sound from the outside world. The shadows in the room moved solemnly with the sun and the light imperceptibly faded. The window was open a little at the top, and occasionally the curtains stirred in a passing, soundless breeze. My eyes felt heavy and my limbs agreeably warm. I felt for the first time completely free of fear. Slowly I moved into that half slumber that one gets in church at sermon time. One hears the sound of the voice and sometimes the words, but the whole, the impressions are jumbled. And then something happened. Something happened that turned me into a thing of terror. I uttered a sound like a man in a nightmare. I struggled to shout at the dark terror that flapped in my mind. I thought I saw something, a limp form unnaturally hanging in the room in front of me.

[Mrs. Wayne]

Been doing your correspondence? What a good man. Now, off you go while I make supper.

[Mr. Field]

But I'll just get everything sorted out and then I can see whether it's done tomorrow. I'm quite hungry.

[Mrs. Wayne]

Yes, she says. Why, of course he isn't an officer of the Royal Flying Corps. He's wearing the uniform of an army chaplain. Then we all knew, you see, at once.

[Radio Announcer]

Oh, Mrs. Patterson, you're the giddy limit, you really are.

[Mrs. Wayne]

You all right, dear? Quite all right. Why shouldn't I be? Oh, I thought maybe you had one of your headaches. Some maybe. No, no, I knew right this tired, perhaps. But since I'll go to bed shortly after supper. You do that. We'll wash up, won't we?

[Mr. Field]

Oh, rather. She had lost her air of commonplace acceptance of life. She looked like. What could it be like? Someone who had mislaid a possession was trying to remember where it might be. She wasn't going to bed because she had a headache. She was going because she wanted to be alone, to think about whatever it was that preoccupied her. When the meal was over, she rose.

[Mrs. Wayne]

Well, if you don't mind excuses. Not at all. Where you go, have a good rest.

[Mr. Field]

And so Mrs. Wayne went up to bed. Next morning I was having breakfast when I heard the postman knock at the door. I expected her to return to the kitchen where I sat at breakfast. I was reading the paper which I'd propped up against the teapot. Mrs. Wayne didn't come back. I thought she was being a long time out in the lobby. There's no sound at all. Then, just when I was going out to see if anything was the matter, she came in slowly. Her face, with its snub nose and sandy hair, was as pale as death. It had a terrible dignity of sadness, a piercing accusation like an angel with a sword and a dreadful quietness. She held out to me a letter. The envelope and note paper were mine. It was addressed to someone called Meg.

[Mrs. Wayne]

How did you know? He called me Manx.

[Mr. Field]

I did not need to ask any questions. She had found this letter among my mail on a little table. And she gave the rest to the postman. I didn't know.

[Mrs. Wayne]

No, I never told you. Read the letter.

[Mr. Field]

I don't want to.

[Mrs. Wayne]

Read it.

[Mr. Field]

Max, dear. Forgive me. Forgive me.

[Mrs. Wayne]

That's not my writing. It's his. But you wrote it. I found it with your letters. He came to you last night, didn't he?

[Mr. Field]

I don't know.

[Mrs. Wayne]

I knew as soon as I came in the house. Wasn't this.

[Mr. Field]

He stayed with me until you came.

[Mrs. Wayne]

He was here. I knew he was always here. I didn't think anyone else could ever know. But you knew. And he came to you. And now he's gone. Ever. You must stay in the house and.

[Mr. Field]

Give him his choice. I doubt if he'll leave you until you do.

[Mrs. Wayne]

Maybe you are his only chance.

[Mr. Field]

Max, dear. Forgive me. Forgive me.

[Radio Announcer]

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[Mr. Field]

Friday night at half past nine by.

[Radio Announcer]

Biotech the new Soak and Pre Wash Powder. The program is adapted for broadcasting and.

[Mr. Field]

Produced by Michael McCabe.