Ghosts, Gardens, and Gladys

On Sunday, a podcast came to interview me here at my little castle in Wales. We wandered through the house and gardens, talking about the layers of history held in these old stones.

People have lived on this land for over a thousand years. It was once a village school, then a prisoner of war camp during the Second World War, and before that, the grand home of the local gentry. The place hums with memory.

But it was during the interview that something quite unexpected happened.

A medium who was part of the podcast session connected with a spirit — a woman named Gladys. She used to live here, and she made her presence felt. She told us she was slightly annoyed with me. Not for the usual ghostly reasons, but because I’m being too deferential to the past. Too respectful. Too careful.

She’s not wrong.

My home is full of antiques I’ve inherited from my parents and grandparents. It’s a museum of MOK’s family history, preserved like a time capsule. And maybe that’s the point Gladys was making. That while the history is precious, this place is now my home. I can make it mine, not just a tribute to what has come before.

I recently discovered that Gladys is actually buried here — under a cherry tree she planted as a child. But instead of haunting, maybe she’s guiding. Whispering reminders that history isn’t a cage. It’s a foundation.

As the son of immigrants, I’ve always craved a sense of rootedness. I don’t have generations of family buried in local churchyards or ancestral homes in the countryside. So when I found this place, I poured myself into its past like water into an old vase — wanting to belong, to honour everything that came before me.

But Gladys has a point. The people who lived here made their choices. Now it’s time for me to make mine. That doesn’t mean ripping out the old or forgetting the stories. It means mixing in my own colour, my own chaos, my own life.

So, I’ll keep renovating, choosing things that spark joy or curiosity, even if they clash with the antiques. I’ve planted my own trees beside Gladys’s cherry tree. And maybe — just maybe — the spirits will approve.

What do you think? Do you believe in ghosts? Have you ever felt the tug of the past when decorating or renovating a home? And how do you balance respect for history with the need to fully live in the now?

Let me know — I’d love to hear your stories.