Some years ago I undertook to house-sit at Woolgatherers, Coxwell Street, a large 4 storey house owned by Mrs Small, in Cirencester where I live. Arriving on the Friday morning I was installed in a first floor bedroom, the owner going to London for the weekend with her sister. I’d been to the property several times before but knew nothing about its history.

For security reasons and in case of burst pipes etc I always look in every room every day. After breakfast on the Saturday I went to go upstairs and heard a radio playing very loudly on the second floor. It was in a bedroom being used by the sister and there I found a small battery-operated non-programmable radio which I switched off. I thought it odd that I’d not heard it as I’d been up and down stairs several times, but I imagined that every time I was nearby the music or speech was soft, perhaps.

My tour of the house took me into the owner’s bedroom where I switched off a light left on in an adjoining bathroom which I’d not noticed on Friday's rounds.

Sunday, at about 6 am. I was wide awake and was about to get up, when the bedroom door swung open. I looked in the passageway - but there was nothing to be seen. Strangely, I wasn’t alarmed. I rationalised that as the room, constructed out of two smaller ones, had a slightly flexible floor, the door which had no catch and only pushed-to, could have edged open as I went to and fro to the loo at night through a different door.

When the owner returned that evening, I asked her if there were any spooks and she instantly replied, “In Pippa’s room” I’m not sure whether she phrased that as a statement or a question. I had slept in Pippa’s room, with its masks and native artifacts, her daughter being an anthropologist who travelled to all sorts of remote places.

I recounted to the owner what had happened. All she said was, “Don’t let my sister know.” How I wish that I’d thought of testing the door whilst I was there to see if I could get it to open by itself. but I was never invited back again. Later research led to a vague reference to a family living there where a man was said to have murdered his daughter because she became pregnant outside of marriage.

In 2000 a book* was published which included information that the house had been

requisitioned for storage of medical supplies during WWII and later returned to civilian life as the home of Mr and Mrs Michael Ingram, their family and - so it was said - a resident ghost.'

The book goes on to name a later tenant, a Mrs Hunter Dunn, the stepmother of the celebrated Joan Hunter Dunn, who is forever linked with John Betjeman because of a poem he wrote about her.

As for the ghost, Mrs Hunter Dunn was one of those who were disturbed. Contrary to local legend, however, there is no evidence of there having been a full-scale exorcism, and in recent years peace has prevailed.

In late November 2010 I was passing the house the front of which is being partly renovated by its new owner. On impulse, I stopped to talk to a man working outside who had charge of the work, and mentioned that I'd house-sat there and we chatted. As I went to carry on walking home, I turned back and said,

"I suppose you know this house is haunted?" "Oh yes," he replied and then he told me of incidents where he'd taken his dog inside and it had become distressed and had refused to go upstairs. On another occasion when he opened the cellar door the dog again acted strangely and defecated all over the carpet.

So there it is, another ghost story which lacks that final element of proof. But what do you make of it?

*A Narrow Cotswold Street. Copyright, The Coxwell Street Residents' Association, published by Abbots, Coxwell Street, Cirencester, 2000.