ASHLEY DARKWOOD sets off on a haunted road trip through southern England, exploring eerie prisons and ancient hillforts steeped in ghostly legend
Haunted Road Trip Day One
Having become a fan of YouTube videos featuring people wild camping in the wilderness, I felt a twinge of envy for that carefree lifestyle.
Then YouTube suggested car camping videos — and I started to wonder: how feasible would it be for me to park somewhere scenic, cook up a steak, and sleep in my car?
Naturally, my brain wandered straight to haunted outdoor locations around the UK.
Within a 30-mile radius of High Wycombe (which neatly covers Oxford and even parts of London), I’m already quite familiar with the legends and hauntings. There are so many reports within this circle that I rarely, if ever, feel the need to look beyond it — a bit like Frodo Baggins in a haunted Hobbiton.
For example, when Guy Lyon Playfair wrote The Haunted Pub Guide in 1985, the entries for Buckinghamshire filled just two pages.
Yet within a five-mile radius of my house, I know of 16 pubs with reported hauntings — and I’ve spoken directly with first-hand witnesses in many of them.
So, as you can see, there’s not much need for me to wander too far.
However, I’d started to get the itch to explore again.
About a year ago, I bought a Hyundai ix35 — a small SUV — and discovered that, with the back seats down, I could just about sleep in the back with room for supplies.
All I needed was a travel plan — an itinerary.
After some thought, I decided on a journey through Somerset and Dorset to Devon and Cornwall: places I’d visited and heard plenty of tales about, but never properly explored.
This wasn’t to be a paranormal investigation around the West Country, more a visit to learn, observe with a critical eye, yet absorb the vibes in an open empathic way.
I decided I would document the trip on YouTube, and for Spooky Isles readers, of course — A Haunted Road Trip with Ashley Darkwood.
Haunting Memories at Shepton Mallet Prison
On my route, I decided to stop at the notorious Shepton Mallet Prison.
For me, it represents a place of strange familiarity.
Back in late 2019, I worked there as a stunt performer on a Bollywood film called Taish. The scene involved a full-scale prison riot. I didn’t actually know where we were filming until the day itself.
My friend and stunt coordinator, Dominic Kinnaird, asked if I was available for the job. I said yes, and he told me he’d pick me up along with another stunt performer.
It was only once we were on the M3 that I thought to ask, “So, where are we actually filming?”
“Shepton Mallet,” he replied.
Oh, shit, I thought.
As a clairsentient, I’m sensitive to the emotional residue of people and places — especially negative or depressive ones. They tend to stand out against my own emotional baseline.
Having heard a few stories about the prison, and knowing the sort of energies I might encounter, I decided I’d do my warm-up and stretching as far from the main buildings as possible.
We were eventually shown to the wing where we’d be filming.
The assistant director walked us through the action — where the riot would take place, the camera angles, all the usual logistics.
Tristan (the other stunt performer) and I took a wander around to get a feel for the environment.
That’s when I felt it: a familiar weight pressing down on my right shoulder, followed by a deep sadness creeping in for no reason.
The feeling grew heavier, blending all the worst emotions into one — loss, bereavement, despair, depression.
In my mind, I found myself saying, “Whoever you are, I’m sorry — I can’t help you. I’m not here for that.”
I’ve always believed that spirit entities can recognise healers and empaths, perhaps by aura colour or energy signature. Whatever it was, it had found me.
Curiously, when we moved to other wings, or over to catering and costume, the feeling vanished completely.
It was only that one wing.
I managed to focus and get through the scenes, but that oppressive presence never really left me while we were there.
Built in 1625, Shepton Mallet Prison in Somerset is one of the oldest surviving prisons in Britain.
Originally established as a “House of Correction” for petty criminals, vagrants and debtors, it was a grim place even by 17th-century standards.
Inmates were put to hard labour, often in chains, and disease was rife.
Through the 18th and 19th centuries the prison was repeatedly expanded and rebuilt, most notably between 1817 and 1820 under architect George Allen Underwood, creating the classic Victorian layout that remains today.
The prison endured riots, fires and the occasional execution, serving as a stark reminder of how brutal early incarceration could be.
By the 1930s, Shepton Mallet was closed due to low prisoner numbers, but the gates didn’t stay locked for long.
During the Second World War it was commandeered by the British Army and later by American forces, who used it as a military prison and execution site.
Nineteen American soldiers were executed here between 1942 and 1945, most by hanging in a purpose-built block.
After the war, it returned to civilian use and became a Category C lifer prison until its closure in 2013.
Today the site operates as a museum and dark tourism attraction, its walls echoing with four centuries of human suffering.
Many visitors claim those echoes are more than just metaphorical.
The prison has gained a reputation as one of the most haunted sites in the country.
Staff and guests alike have reported disembodied voices, sudden drops in temperature, slamming doors, and the sensation of being watched.
One of the best-known tales is that of the “White Lady”, said to be the ghost of a woman imprisoned for murdering her husband.
On the night before her execution, she wore her wedding dress, and her apparition — often accompanied by the scent of perfume — is said to drift through A-Wing.
Others speak of shadowy figures moving across the execution block, phantom footsteps pacing the corridors, and unseen hands tugging at clothing.
Whether these are echoes of the past or tricks of the imagination, Shepton Mallet Prison remains a place heavy with atmosphere — part museum, part mausoleum, and a reminder that not all those who entered ever truly left.
I was somewhat apprehensive when I arrived to begin A Haunted Road Trip.
Do I really want to pick up a negative spirit attachment on day one?
In my experience of spirit attachments, they offer nothing to investigate, no razzmatazz for paranormal TV fans to enjoy. They are just there, silently in the background, acting like a parasite.
But I’d committed to it and always intended returning to Shepton Mallet.
This time I had the luxury of exploring the entire site — each wing, courtyard, office, chamber, etc.
Anyone visiting would feel vibes. It wasn’t a happy place. It wasn’t meant to be.
Fortunately, as I walked around the entire site, I felt nothing like I did in 2019.
By this I mean I wasn’t aware of any conscious or intelligent presence.
That’s not to say there aren’t any still there, but at least nothing was making me aware of its presence.
The staff I spoke to told of regular odd experiences.
Yet, as is common for people working in haunted locations, they tend to ignore them, as they have tasks to complete and don’t really have time to stop and engage.
I’ve had it myself: “Yeah, I get it, you’re a ghost, I’m busy.”
Maiden Castle and an Uneventful Night
I sat in the coffee shop and planned my route to my overnight stop: Maiden Castle.
Maiden Castle is one of Britain’s largest and most impressive Iron Age hillforts.
The site has been occupied since the Neolithic period, with evidence of early enclosures dating back to around 3500 BC.
By the Iron Age, it had grown into a vast fortified settlement with ramparts so huge they still dominate the skyline today.
Excavations have revealed signs of conflict — skeletons showing fatal wounds, and remnants of the community that once called the hilltop home.
When the Romans arrived, the fort’s power began to fade, and a small temple was later built on the summit, suggesting the site retained a spiritual or ritual importance even into the 4th century AD.
Today, Maiden Castle stands as a dramatic reminder of Britain’s prehistoric past — an archaeological marvel that still carries an unmistakable sense of presence.
Yet beyond its historical importance, the site has gathered a reputation for strange activity.
Visitors have reported shadowy figures moving along the ramparts, phantom warriors glimpsed at dusk, and a heavy atmosphere that seems to thicken after dark.
More modern tales speak of glowing orbs and unexplained lights hovering above the hill, sometimes darting silently across the night sky before vanishing completely.
One well-known account from 2008 describes witnesses watching “weird lights” over the fort in the early hours, too bright and too erratic to be aircraft.
Whether these lights are the result of natural phenomena, modern misinterpretation, or something altogether stranger, Maiden Castle has a long history of stirring the imagination.
Standing among its windswept banks at twilight, it’s easy to understand why so many feel the place is still alive with the echoes of its ancient past — and perhaps something else watching from above.
I pulled into a fairly busy car park.
A quick glance told me that at least three of the vehicles were clearly planning to stay overnight.
It was a bright, warm day — the kind that makes you forget you’re technically on a haunted road trip.
I sat at the back of my car for a while, transferring files from my phone to my laptop.
This seemed to catch the attention of a few local dog walkers.
They were friendly enough, curious about what I was up to, and offered one piece of advice.
Not about ghosts. Not alien abductions.
Teenagers.
Apparently, the place becomes a magnet for kids parking up and smoking weed into the early hours.
The horror.
Twenty years ago, I probably would’ve joined them.
Still, it was a reminder that any outdoor vigil is never completely sterile — you can’t control who’s around, what noises you’ll hear, or what might suddenly move in the dark.
I was also concerned by a sign I had read, basically prohibiting anyone being there overnight.
Oh, and sheep. There were dozens of sheep mooching about the place.
The air was full of the aroma of their poop, which was everywhere.
A man emerged from a white van — one of the vehicles I had identified as probably staying overnight.
I approached him and explained what I was doing, that I planned to stay overnight.
He was friendly but struck me as reclusive.
He explained that his van had broken down, so he was effectively living there for the time being.
He put my mind at rest about being moved on.
The police do arrive after dark, but more as a deterrent for the kids parking up.
They check in with him, offer him bottles of water, then leave him alone.
He warned me about walking around at night if I intended sleeping in my car.
“You don’t want sheep shit on your shoes if you’re living in your vehicle for any amount of time.”
Solid advice.
He did go on to confirm that he had seen and heard some odd things, but didn’t elaborate further.
That confirmation was good enough for me.
As night fell, a steady stream of cars would turn up — closely followed by a smell that reminded me of holidays in Amsterdam.
That, mixed with the smell of sheep’s waste, made quite the mixture.
Nightfall brought a significant drop in temperature.
I decided to lie down on the futon mattress in the back of my car and listen to the radio for a while.
I got up hourly to have a look and occasionally walk around.
I noticed strange flickering lights up on the hill fort.
I reasoned that they were our cannabis-smoking friends, sparking up every so often between tokes.
Sadly, I didn’t witness anything I would consider unusual or supernatural, and I was getting tired.
I bedded down for the night and slept very well.
Hopefully, day two would offer more things to ponder.
