Twilight Zone ... Ranelagh

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We've been away on one of our many trips Down South -- not all the way to Melbourne this time, just to the border of NSW and Victoria. On the way down, we stopped in at Bowral on the Southern Highlands to catch up with friends, and since we were unable to book into our usual motel, we spent two nights instead at Robertson.

This is a picturesque little town right on the edge of the escarpment of the Great Dividing Range; from here, the road drops down through Macquarie Pass to the coastal plains around Wollongong. Those of you who've seen the Babe movies will be familiar with the area. There was great excitement among our Robbo friends when the movie-makers came to town, especially when lots of locals were roped in as extras!

Apart from the spectacular scenery, its fame as a film location and its principle products (cheese and spuds), Robertson also has a fabulous old hotel, which was where we stayed.

This place started life as the Hotel Robertson in the early 20s, when it was built as a destination for the flappers of Sydney, who used to travel down by train or in one of those new-fangled motor cars. It reportedly won an award for the “most luxurious hotel in the Commonwealth” in 1925 and was the first hotel in Australia to have phone lines to every room. Set in 14 acres of gardens, it had tennis courts, a golf course and swimming pools. Sadly for the owners, the Good Times were short-lived (does the year 1929 ring any bells?)

It was thrown a life-line in 1930, when it re-opened as an elite country club and was renamed Ranelagh House (so the new owners could recycle all the doors and monogrammed linen with their RH logos). But again, the timing was wrong and the club shut its doors in 1934.

During W W II, the hotel was used by the WRAAF (Women's Royal Australian Air Force) as a depot, and after the war, as a hospice for returned pilots.

Then in 1947, the building was sold to the Franciscans, who renamed it St Anthony's College and made it into a friary and seminary for their monks. With all those idle hands available and needing to be kept busy, it's no surprise that this is the time when major works were undertaken, and most of the terraces, raised gardens and rock walls date to these years of free labour!

The Franciscans also added all the beautiful stained glass panels throughout the building. These two show St Francis blessing the animals, and they're positioned at the head of the sweeping staircase on each floor.

But Ranelagh once again defeated its owners, and the monks called it quits in the early 70s, heading for quarters closer to Sydney. Ranelagh was sold and reverted to its original role as a hotel.

Our association with it dates back to the late 70s, when one of my aunts spent time there. She'd managed motels in country towns for a friend of hers during her working days, and when she retired and her friend bought this amazing old hotel, it was only natural that my aunt would jump at the chance to get back to doing what she loved.

The first time we went there was before it was ready for its public opening, so we had a full tour of all the Upstairs and Downstairs areas ... and what a place! It's a building for which the term "faded elegance" could have been specially coined.

It's huge, built in the style of a grand English Manor, with 80+ guest rooms and suites, soaring ceilings, sweeping stair cases, wings heading off in all directions, a ball room, lounge areas on every floor, massive open fire-places ... Just wonderful, but also a teensy bit spooky, and we marvelled at my 70-something aunt who was often there on her own.

Fast forward to our recent visit, when we arrived in a Sunday afternoon to check in and were surrounded by about a dozen laughing couples who'd been down for one of those Music-in-the Vineyard dos that are so popular everywhere now. After oohing and aahing at how it all looked the same as it had when we were there before, we wandered around the gardens and noted how much had grown and changed since our last visit (only ... gulp ... 30 years ago ... Egad!)

The front of Ranelagh, looking much the same as it did on our first visit.

The gardens

The view over the escarpment

Our rooms (on the top floor of the three-storeys) had lovely views and one of those genuine (i.e. un-renovated) 1920s bathrooms with ancient plumbing ... it was fabulous. After dinner in town, we settled ourselves in for the night and enjoyed hearing the sounds of our fellow guests as they returned to their rooms, chatting and still laughing. We tried to imagine what it must have been like in the 20s with all the Beautiful People down for their weekend, taking the cool mountain air to escape the heat of the city ...

Breakfast next morning was taken on the sunny enclosed verandahs and was one of those artery-thickening affairs consisting of eggs, lashings of bacon, sausages, mushrooms, tomatoes etc, followed by sweet pastries, crumpets and muffins with full-cream butter and 100% salt content ... Sheer heaven!

We spent the second day of our stay catching up with friends and didn't get back to the hotel until around 5 pm, when we chatted to the receptionist on our way up to the rooms. The Love of My Life commented that it was much quieter than the previous day, to which the receptionist replied that we were the only guests that night.

We laughed and joked about having the place to ourselves, and she repeated that we would most definitely be the only ones there ... all the staff were gone by 6. She must have misinterpreted the looks we exchanged, because she added, "But the cook will be here in the morning to prepare breakfast. Just tell her what you want and she'll make it for you."

"Lovely," I murmured, as I glanced up the sweeping staircase to the shadows beyond and the stairs twisting up and disappearing yet further into the stygian gloom ... where our rooms were.

Already I could feel the prickle up the back of my neck as I tried not to think of all the empty rooms around us. Tuning back in, I heard her giving instructions to the LoML about how to operate the huge televisions downstairs in the lounge, where to find extra coffee etc and how to get out -- and back in -- the front doors.

Does she honestly think we're going to be wandering around here in the dark ... alone? Not this little black duck!

With a final cheery wave, she vanished into her office to complete her work for the day before leaving us to our fate.

Since we'd spent the day eating far too much, we weren't hungry and there was no way known I was going to go into town for a meal and then drive back here in the dark and then let ourselves in ... What if we couldn't get the door to open? What if someone else pulled up and wanted to stay the night? What if someone else had come earlier and we didn't know and ...?

So we found a packet of savoury biscuits we'd bought on our travels, and that was dinner for the night!

We heard the receptionist and other staff drive off after 6, and while I was ready to lock our door and stay put, the LoML decided he wanted a coffee. He offered to bring one back up for me, but stay here alone? (See previous comment re duck.)

Putting on a brave face, I followed him down two flights of stairs, along two sets of corridors, past countless empty rooms (oh please, let them all be empty ...) through the bar area and out into the dining area to get our coffee. Skilfully masking my mounting unease, I maintained my lively girlish chatter, until the LoML turned to me with that knowing grin that comes after many years together, poked me in the ribs and said, "You're scared, aren't you?"

"Huh!" I declared, scurrying after him as he made his way into the lounge to watch the big telly.

"Aren't we going back upstairs?" I squeaked. The response was another annoying chuckle as he patted the seat beside him and proceeded to channel surf.

I gave myself a stern talking to, reminding that Little Voice in the back of my head that I was a rational person who didn't believe in any sort of spirits or ghosts or imaginary friends.

"Yes, but ..." the Little Voice said, sniggering, "it is spooky, isn't it?"

In an attempt to distract myself, I focused on the dearth of programs on the telly. Surely it couldn't be non-ratings time already?

After an hour or so of fruitless searching, even the LoML conceded defeat, so we switched off all the lights as instructed; I quelled the shiver up my spine as we walked out of the blackness, and we made our way up the first flight of stairs. At the top of the final flight, we had to traverse two winding corridors to reach our rooms, which were (as you'll recall) in a corner of the building.

We made it without any dramas, got ourselves snuggled in and put out all the lights. I happened to turn over at one stage and was facing the door to the corridor. Big mistake, because the rest of the night, I kept opening one eye and looking at the sliver of light coming in under the door. And I knew that if I saw a shadow move across that light, I would have been hanging from the ceiling by my fingernails.

As soon as it was light, I was up, showered, dressed and ready to go. The LoML offered to bring me a cuppa in bed (as is his wont at home) but I declined, describing in no uncertain terms what would happen if he dared to leave me alone -- even in the daylight.

So down we went again, much too early for breakfast, but needing to get out of the rooms. While we were sitting on the verandah having our coffee, the LoML began telling me about a dream he'd had. It was a complex story that had obviously been inspired by our recent peregrinations down the coast past inlets with treacherous sand bars, and our current -- more than a little unusual -- circumstances, and it involved a shipwreck, a housemaid at Ranelagh and a sailor loved then lost at sea.

As he was telling me this, (cue the Twilight Zone music ... doo-do, doo-do ...) the double doors leading from the garden into the dining area very slowly and quietly opened. They didn't blow open as if blown by a sudden gust of wind, they just very gently opened fully.

The doors that opened so spookily are on the left of the photo

Now I don't know which was more disturbing -- the thought that this was connected to my husband's dream or that the doors had been unlocked all night!

Sunshine and daylight restore courage and rationality, and since we had the place to ourselves, I decided to take some more photos, because the ones I'd taken inside the previous day had strangely not come out, so I reasoned that with all the time in the world to set up shots, focus and hold the camera still, I could get some great pictures ...

Do the words "best-laid plans" mean anything to anyone?

These are some of the photos I took ... My sister-in-law (who is far more sympathetic to Imaginary Friends than am I) was very impressed ... What do you think?

The ball room -- you can imagine the wonderful nights people could have here!

Trying to take a photo from the top of the first flight of stairs, looking down into the main hallway ... Is there someone else here?

The guest lounge ... more company than we realised?

Yes, I know what you're going to say ... my hand shook or there was some interference with the digital camera. But why did photos I took at the same time in other rooms turn out just fine?

Hmm?

But wait ... there's more!

Another view of the lounge

Looking up to the top of the second flight of stairs ... "our" floor!

During our stroll the previous day, we'd noticed a number of signs in the gardens warning guests to watch out for the peacocks ... we didn't see any the first day, but while waiting for breakfast That Morning, we happened to see one wandering past the window. Peacocks being peacocks, this one enjoyed posing for us, so I managed to get lots of photos. When I showed them to my s-i-l, she was certain she could see figures in the trees ...

If you view this full-size and let your gaze relax, you may see something ... but if not, the peacock is lovely!

More figures in the trees?

All right ... I suppose it was one of those times when you really had to be there (and I really, really wish you had been there!)

However, we survived our brief sojourn in the Twilight Zone and Night Alone in Ranelagh House ...

And now for something completely different (and slightly surreal) ...

Ta-da!

The Robbo Spud!

A perfect example to illustrate the old adage that bigger is not always better (and rather unkindly dubbed "the Big Turd" by wags about a nano-second after some poor councillor unveiled Robertson's entry in Australia's long list of Big Things ...)

If you'd like to start writing about any of your scary experiences (or anything else for that matter) here's a helping hand ... Lots of FREE books and programs to help writers! Click to get yours now -- take as many or as few as you please ...

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