Sources:
https://www.campbelltown.nsw.gov.au/About-Campbelltown/Events-in-Campbelltown/Fishers-Ghost
100 Tales from Australia’s Most Haunted Places by Ben Pobjie. Pg. 34-36.
Transcript:
We all love a good ghost story, and I’m pretty sure most of us have one to tell, be it a true tale or a tall one.
This time, I bring you a classic ghost tale that has legendary status in Australia. It is a tale of greed, deception, and justice served in the most spine-tingling way. This legend is also intertwined with a town’s culture and is very well alive today.
This yarn is about Fisher’s Ghost.
(Cue intro)
Hi there! Now, episode might have a different tone. I’ll admit, I was a little conscious about how I spoke, so I kinda spoke deliberately and quite monotone in my first few yarns. I did get feedback that it’s a little difficult getting through these episodes and that the narration could be a lot better. I’ll have to agree with this sentiment, so for now on, I’m gonna be a lot more natural. Hope you enjoy. Now let’s get to the yarn!
This tale is set in Campbelltown, New South Wales. It’s a suburb on the outskirts of the metropolitan Sydney area, so it’s a little on the quieter side, but the tourism website boasts that there is plenty to do there; with nature parks, bike trails, social hubs, and various events always happening be they big or small. You’ll never really get bored there. But this time, we’re going back two centuries to when our ghost story took place.
Our main character is a guy called Frederick Fisher, a shopkeeper from England who in 1815 got shipped away to Australia for obtaining forged bank notes.
So because of his dodgy business practices, Fisher was sentenced to 14 years in the then penal colony of New South Wales, and toiled away at the land under the harsh sun with other convicts. Though, by 1822, Fisher obtained a ticket of leave, and also purchased some decent farm land in Campbelltown. Once settled, Fisher befriended his next-door neighbour, a man named George Worrall. According to others, Worrall was an honest and hard-working man, so it might have been easy for Fisher to come to trust him so soon.
All was going well until 1825. At this time, Frederick Fisher and a carpenter named William Brooker had a spat over money. It seemed, in Fisher’s life, that money was the one thing that caused him grief and invited trouble. During this argument, Fisher’s rage got the better of him and he pulled a knife on Brooker and made an attempt on his life. Brooker walked away with a few minor injuries, but Fisher didn’t get away with it scot-free. Because of this, he got arrested and given a short sentence in prison, based on the time frame, maybe about a year. As he spent his days and nights behind bars, Fisher couldn’t help but be concerned about the status of his property. Who would look after it? Who would harvest the crops and feed the animals while he was locked up?
Soon after, his neighbour and dear friend George Worrall came to visit him in jail. Fisher opened up to him about his worries regarding the property and then asked Worrall a favour. He asked his good neighbour to be the enduring power of attorney so that if anything happened to Fisher, at least his assets were in good hands. To this, Worrall agreed. After serving his sentence, Fisher went home and carried on with tending to the farm. All, perhaps, went well for a while.
On the 17th of June 1826, Frederick Fisher was gone. He packed up and went back to England, explained his best mate Worrall. He further elaborated that the Englishman was concerned over a recent forgery charge that was made against him, and didn’t want to risk going to jail again, so without telling everyone else, he shot off back to the motherland. Then a few weeks after Fisher’s departure, Worrall sold off Fisher’s horse and other personal stuff but kept other things like clothes. Why, you ask? Because apparently Fisher sold all of this to Worrall prior to leaving. It seemed that Fisher wasn’t planning on returning back to Australia anytime soon. And since Worrall was the power of attorney, he could technically do what he wanted with Fisher’s personal property.
However, the townsfolk were suspicious of Worrall. It seemed a little too convenient that Fisher nicked off back to England and that Worrall was the one looking after everything and gaining financially from it. Ultimately, on September 17th, the police took him into custody and questioned him about Fisher’s real whereabouts and if he had killed him. Worrall denied the accusations and instead named four other men that had chips on their shoulders regarding Fisher; if he had indeed been murdered, it’d be those four men that were responsible. So then, the good neighbour was released from custody and the four men he named were subsequently arrested. Worrall returned to his farm, and Campbelltown carried on as usual, without Frederick Fisher.
About a month later, another Campbelltown farmer named John Farley was minding his own business one night. While outside, he saw a familiar face at the bridge over the creek. Sitting on the bridge railing was none other than…Frederick Fisher. Farley approached him, and upon coming closer, noticed something was a little bit off about the man. Despite it being night time, Farley could clearly see the man as if it were day. In fact, Fisher appeared to be glowing. What startled Farley the most was the blood seeping over Fisher’s pale face; coming from a blow to the head that was far too deep for anyone to survive it.
Fisher didn’t say a word to him, but he pointed towards a paddock down by the creek, and then vanished into thin air. Farley had to be seeing things. After all, there are no such things as ghosts. They only ever exist in fictional stories and if anyone claimed to see one, it was probably a figment of their imagination. But the man that was in front of him a moment ago was real, and Farley knew it.
In a state of shock and fear, Farley ran into a nearby pub. When he stumbled in, pubgoers were quick to ask him what was going on. Farley breathlessly stammered, “I saw Fred Fisher sitting on the bridge!”
That response was met with jeers, disbelief, and laughter. To the others, it sounded completely nuts. Fred was most likely dead, and Farley, an otherwise respectable man, wasn’t being rational at all. Although he insisted that he really did see Fisher, everyone else shrugged it off as nonsense.
But later on, the town would learn that John Farley may not be a crazy guy after all. Later on in the month, two boys were making their way home, when upon crossing the bridge where Farley apparently saw Fisher, they noticed blood on the railing, and strands of hair and even a tooth, which was a strange discovery indeed. The police were informed, and a constable conducted a search around the area for more clues. However, this search turned up nothing, and law enforcement decided to hire an Aboriginal man from Liverpool (note: not the city in England) whose job was a tracker. Trackers were known to accurately survey and observe the land, and have a keen eye regarding clues that other people would otherwise completely miss. Back in the day, they were hired by police to catch wanted criminals, find missing people, and in this case, look for evidence.
The tracker went down by the creek and when he came across a particular spot, he squatted down and further inspected the puddles there. He noticed that there was evidence of decay in the water, as if something was decomposing nearby, or rather, beneath the earth. He called out, “Whitefella’s fat here!”
So, the investigators started digging in the area where the tracker indicated. And alas, Fisher was found, buried in a shallow grave. Where was this shallow grave exactly? It just so happened to be on George Worrall’s property. John Farley later confirmed that it was the exact place the apparition pointed to the night he saw him.
Almost immediately, Worrall was arrested for the murder of his friend and neighbour, Frederick Fisher. With all the evidence mounting against him, Worrall finally admitted to the crime. On the 2nd of February 1827, he was found guilty of murder and sentenced to death by hanging dated three days away. On the day of his execution, he tried one more time to prove his innocence, claiming that the killing was an accident and that he thought he struck a stray animal that was on his property but then later realised it was Fred. Too bad for him though, nobody bought it. It was clear as day that the murder was premeditated and that Worrall’s motive was to obtain Fisher’s property for himself. But how could he do that if Fisher was still in the picture? It was a despicable act of greed, betrayal, and senseless violence which lead to the town losing two of its citizens.
Then and there, they released the platform and George Worrall at last met his demise.
As for Fisher, he was finally laid to rest by his surviving brother Henry at St Peter’s Cemetery, without a headstone.
The creek that his body was found by was named Fisher’s Ghost Creek, based on the ghost on the bridge that John Farley saw.
This story goes to show that we can’t always trust the people we consider friends. Sometimes, we see them as pals, but in their eyes, they see us as a walking bank, or a free taxi, or someone that’ll keep giving and giving to them without anything in return. They focus on what they can get from us rather than genuinely enjoy our company. People can and will try and take advantage of others, sadly, and it’s just the nature of some people, like George Worrall.
Anyway, if you think that the story of Frederick Fisher is over, well, you are dead wrong. Pun intended.
So it turns out that Fisher is still somewhat an active resident of Campbelltown.
Several people of the town have experienced peculiar happenings that they can’t help but feel that the long-dead farmer was responsible for.
In the 1960s, a lady name Beatrice Charters moved to Campbelltown, into a house near the creek. Her grand daughter was three years old at the time, and one day, she overheard her talking upstairs.
When Beatrice asked her grandchild who she was talking to, the child answered, “Uncle Fred.” However, there was no relative of theirs called Fred, and there was no other person in the room with the little girl. It wasn’t until they heard of the Fisher’s Ghost legend that everything made sense.
Additionally, Fred Fisher seems to haunt the Town Hall Theatre on Queen Street. Historically, it was around there where he once had his farm. Members of the theatre group had separate chilling experiences in the building. In 1995, the then-president of the theatre group, Neil Hatchman, would often work in the building until into the late hours alone. While he was putting away rubbish, the lights suddenly switched off by themselves. As soon as Neil switched the lights back on, he saw a figure run across the stage, and at that point, Neil thought that someone snuck in and was playing tricks on him.
Though, when he followed the figure into the room he went into, Neil saw that it was empty. Nobody was hiding anywhere. He was utterly alone.
Another instance involved a musical rehearsal at the theatre, and the lights went out over the orchestra pit, making it difficult for the musicians to read their music. The musical director exasperatedly asked, “For God’s sake, Fred, turn the lights back on!”
And instantly, the lights turned back on.
Reportedly, Fisher’s Ghost would also move around paintings and make lights flicker on and off, while other electronics remained working.
I don’t know if you believe in ghosts or not, but it seems like Fisher’s lingering spirit like to fool around with lights. He also seems to curse people if he doesn’t like what they’re doing. But whether you’re a believer or a skeptic, Fisher’s Ghost is a spirit that everyone in Campbelltown feels.
Annually, in November, Campbelltown holds the Festival of Fisher’s Ghost, commemorating the eponymous figure. This event has been going on since 1956.
In that year, the council was planning on starting up a festival in order to gain more funds for the town. At around the same time that the festival happened, droves of people visited Campbelltown in order to see if they can spot the ghost for themselves. For the next several years, the festival coincided with people trying to see the ghost. Eventually in 1960, two and two got put together, and they amalgamated to become the festival that it is today.
The festival lasts for 10 days, and it operates a bit like a show. There’s rides, show bags, hot food and a sideshow alley. There’s also a street parade that happens too, and it features a rather adorable ghost mascot that represents Fred. Honestly though, the previous ghost mascot was kind of nightmare fuel, but anyway. People dress up in costumes and interact with the crowds; and kids are particularly fond of it. You can also participate in a fun run as well if you wanna be active. Prizes for the Arts are also awarded at this time.
All in all it looks like fun, and 10 days is a lot for an event like this. Maybe one day, I might actually go there and experience it for myself. Go eat some fairy floss and see what’s going on.
Also, Frederick Fisher himself appears to approve of the festivities. Though, he may or may not have caused a fire in a restaurant during the festival in the year 1990.
Anyway, this marks the end of this episode.
I hope you enjoyed it. Feel free to leave a rating and review if you want. Constructive feedback is welcome, because I really wanna do better. I also wanna re-record the first few episodes because, well, they kinda suck. So when I have time, I’ll go and do that.
Additionally, when I was checking on my stats, I noticed there were a few listens from outside Australia, namely the US, Ireland, and the Philippines. So yeah, I guess I’m Mr. Worldwide now.
Nah, in all seriousness, thanks for listening. No matter how little the audience is, I appreciate each and everyone of you for at least listening to what I’ve got to say. I’m forever grateful for you all. Sharing is caring, so please recommend the podcast to people who you think are into paranormal events, urban legends, and overall high strangeness. Share links or tweet about it. Tell your friends, your family, and your accountant. Follow me on my socials, but I’m most active on instagram.
Anyway, enough blabber from me, you heard enough. Look after yourselves, lock your doors, and ignore the tapping on your window. I’ll be back for the next yarn. See ya!
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