Blimphey's Return 
Folklore, Prince Edward Island
By: Sterling Ramsay

There are many people of the area who still fondly remember a ghostly figure along the road from St.Felix to Tignish Run and there are innumerable accounts of the mysterious figure; it has almost taken on the proportions of a tradition. Since 1925, however there have been no reported confrontations with this "spirit". Fisherman of the area to Mrs. Frank Ross related one of the more intriguing tales involving "Blimphey":

"Three fishermen trudged through the gathering gloom of the May night on their way to Tignish Run. Every Sunday evening during the lobster season the men from surrounding areas gathered at Myrick's bunkhouse where they would make their homes for the week. These three headed there too, and, as they walked through the sandy road that would along the shores of MacLeod's Pond (really little Tignish River), they talked of last week's catch and the prospect of the week to come.

Suddenly the group fell silent, for a fourth had joined them. They had spoken a hearty "Hello", thinking it to be a comrade, but when no answer was forthcoming, they turned to him with one accord. Yes, it was a man dressed like them, but unaccountably their spines tingled and a sense of foreboding came upon them. They could not perceive his features in the dark, but his uncanny silence made an eerie and rather uncomfortable companion. For two hundred yards or so they walked on, the quiet becoming more and more oppressive. Then, just as suddenly as he had appeared, the fourth disappeared.

'Who was that?' George asked in a low voice.

'I didn't know him at all' Ray replied. 'You were next to him, Harry. Why didn't you talk to him?' 'Talk to him! Talk to him!' Harry's words tumbled out. 'He wasn't there to talk to.' 

'What do you mean, he wasn't there? We all saw him.' Ray replied. 

'I tell you he wasn't there,' Harry insisted with a quaver in his voice. ' I thought it was Jerome and reached to jerk his jacket. But there was nothing. Just nothing! My eyes saw, but my hand found only air. What can it mean?'

'I don't know and I don't intent to find out,' spoke up George. 'Let's get out of here.'

Fifteen minutes later the three slipped in through the bunkhouse door. The others, who sat around or lay in their bunks smoking and talking, greeted them.

'What on earth is the matter with you? You're all as white as sheets,' asked Merrill.

'Oh nothing. Nothing at all,' answered Harry, though his voice betrayed his words.

'I bet I know,' spoke up Martin. 'You've seen Blimphey.'

'Who's Blimphey?' The three asked together.

'He's the ghost that walks the shore road by MacLeod'' pond,'' replied Merrill. ''His man had come over from Ireland and lived here for a while. But he got lonely and started to brood. One day they found him hanging to the rafter in the shed. Since it was against the law for anyone who committed suicide to be buried in the graveyard, he was placed in a shallow grave on the bank by MacLeod's pond. Years later the bank caved in and the grave were exposed, though it was empty. Since then Blimphey walks the road he used to tread, in restless yearning for you know what. Being newcomers here, you probably haven't heard of him before.' 

'No we didn't, spoke up Ray, 'and for my part, I'm in no hurry to further my acquaintance with your local ghost.'

The incident aroused much discussion, and it seemed as if everyone had something to contribute to the colorful perambulations of Blimphey's ghost. Some facts were consistent; he always appeared in the early hours of the evening; he patrolled just a certain distance; he never caused any harm.

Two years later, so Mrs. Ross relates, a smelt fisherman below McLeod's was busy with his morning catch. His partner was later then he should have been, and becoming impatient, Will had gone out in the dory to fish the nets. From time to time he looked toward the shore for his tardy friend.

"There he is now! It's about time too! It must be after seven," he complained irritable as he rowed toward the figure waiting on the shore.

"Your late again," he said as the dory grounded on the pebbly beach. The form neither moved nor spoke, and then he wasn't there.

"That's Blimphey's ghost again!" will exclaim. "This is no place for me. It must be a warning of some kind. The gulls can have the smelts today," and he hurriedly beached the dory and left the shore.