The Ghost of the Old Cross Gaits Inn
In t’ quiet little village o’ Blacko, tucked up agen t’ dark slopes o’ Pendle, t’ owd Cross Gaits Inn ’ad stood nigh on two ’undred year. Its low beams still smelled o’ woodsmoke an’ tobacco, an’ on certain neets t’ locals swore t’ past walked among ’em.
One winter neet a stranger named Tom, new to t’ area an’ lookin’ for a mug ’ o’ ale an’ a warm fire t’ rest ’is weary feet afore, pushed oppen t’ ’eavy door. T’ candle-lit pub were nigh on empty. Only a few regulars sat in t’ corners, talkin’ softly. In t’ farthest settle, ’alf-shadowed bi t’ fireleet, sat a woman in a long grey cloak. Beside ’er, on t’ flagged floor, lay a big black dog, its ’ead restin’ on its paws. T’ woman never looked up, she just stared into t’ flames as if she were waitin’ for somebody as ’d never come.
Tom ordered a pint an’ took a seat opposite. T’ dog’s een oppened, deep, liquid, an’ far too knowin’, an’ fixed on ’im for a long moment afore closin’ agen. T’ woman stayed motionless. When t’ landlord brought Tom’s drink ’e muttered, almost to ’isself, “Tha’ll not get much conversation out o’ ’er. She’s bin sittin’ theer longer nor any of us can remember”.
Tom smiled polite, thinkin’ t’ man were ’avin’ ’im on, yet as t’ evenin’ wore on ’e noticed summat strange. Nobody else went near t’ settle, nobody offered t’ woman a drink. T’ fire burned low, t’ clock ticked, an’ still she sat, pale ’ands folded in ’er lap, t’ black dog unmovin’ at ’er feet.
At closin’ time Tom got up to leave, as ’e passed t’ settle ’e nodded politely. T’ woman turned ’er ’ead at last. ’Er face were young an’ sad, t’ colour o’ cold moonlight. She spoke in a voice no louder than t’ settlin’ o’ ash in t’ grate.
“As tha seen mi ’usband? ’e said ’e’d meet me ’ere when e’ finish at ’t market, ’e’s bin gone so long”
T’ dog lifted its ’ead an’ gave a single, soft whine as seemed to come from a great distance.
Tom oppened ’is mouth to answer, but t’ words died. Wheer t’ woman an’ t’ dog ’ad bin there were only an empty settle an’ a faint chill, as if a door ’ad bin left oppen to t’ neet.
’E never went back to t’ Cross Gaits. T’ regulars say t’ woman still sits theer on quiet evenin’s, waitin’ wi’ ’er faithful black dog, forever expectin’ t’ man as walked out into t’ Lancashire dark an’ never found ’is way ’ome.
The Inn Today
The Cross Gaits Inn, established in 1736, is located in the ancient Lancashire village of Blacko.
For nearly 300 years the traditional stone building, now grade 2 listed, served as a well-loved gathering spot for both locals and tourists exploring the local countryside. It was highly celebrated for its character, low-beamed ceilings, open fireplaces, and rumoured connections to the Pendle Witches.
Sadly the Inn permanently closed its doors in January 2023 and was purchased by a developer, sparking a fierce and prolonged battle with residents who fought to save the “beating heart of the village” by combining the pub with other commercial uses and community events.
Pendle Council repeatedly rejected the plans to protect the community asset and the UK Planning Inspectorate ultimately overturned the decision on October the 2nd, 2026.
The inspector ruled that the business was no longer commercially viable, officially approving the historic building’s conversion into a single private home to ensure its preservation.
It is hoped that whoever occupies the Inn next will respect its long and rich history, and that they will keep the fire lit and a chair set aside it for the lady in grey who eternally waits for the return of her beloved.
Thank-you for reading. If you enjoyed this piece and would like to support further articles on the wildlife and history of the Northwest, you can buy me a coffee here.
Alex Burton-Hargreaves
(October 2026)
