It is a ghost town in the Namib desert, in Southern Nabia, it was named after Johnny Coleman, a transport driver, who, during a sandstorm abandoned his ox wagon on a small incline opposite the settlement. It was a small but rich mining community however, it now a tourist sight ran by a joint firm Namibia-De Beers.
In 1908, Zacharias Lewala, a worked found a diamond and showed it to his supervisor and after miners from Germany settled there because it was rich in diamonds. At its height it was producing around 11.7% of the world’s diamond production. A town sprang up around it in 1912 was built with amenities such as a hospital, ballroom, power station and school. It was a prosperous place in its time. The town was built in the German architectural style and had a railway linked to nearby Lüderitz.
After the First World War the town declined around the 1920’s as supplies of diamonds began to deplete and in 1954 or 1956 (depending on the source) they ultimately abandoned the town. The residents went south to try and get their chance on the next area with a supply, with many residents leaving possessions behind in their haste to chase the new money venture. The new area meant that instead of hard mining they could be scouted on the beaches.
Destination Truth investigated the town during rumours of it being haunted, it seems that the abandoned town keeps many interested. Tourists now need a permit to engage and enter the town, Kolmanskop is now being claimed back by the desert and so walking around tourists will find themselves knee deep in sand, but it is still very popular. It has been used as filming location and photographed widely, as it creates some very unique images thanks to it’s location and geography.
Drive South Africa- it mentions that there is a house just outside of Windhoak, Liebig House that has also been abandoned for about 30 years at the time of their article where people have reported ghosts and hearing spirits in the hallway of the house, but I cannot find anything else about it.
This was originally hidden away on my fiction account, as I sort of wanted to document it but I was worried about how it might sound. I have decided to re-visit and to also say hello, I am sort of here still, when I first wrote about it my mother was also still alive, so this is a pretty old recounting.
My mother was never one to be easily deterred or frightened; so, I guess that is why I took her coming through the door in a panic seriously. It was a winter night, freezing cold and I worked on a very early morning shift so would sleep in the afternoon and then stay up at night to watch my younger brother, feed our horses and prepare for mum coming home around 9-10pm.
My brother was around 14 to 15 years old and leaving in a rural area it meant that my mother liked me in at nights. She felt, that although at that age, he was mature it was always better to be safe than sorry and I might have moaned at the time but in retrospect I would have to agree. I was in the kitchen, in my god-awful boxer shorts that had been washed enough times to go grey, slippers on and a shirt that was likely some metal band. I was the epitome of the lazy ass student at the time… I wonder if anything has changed there.
I was single, working nights between a kitchen and then a morgue. NO, the two are not related before you ask but most of my spare time was spent on music, wargaming miniatures and reading. When I wasn’t doing that, I was either working or helping with the horses, animals or generally hanging around with friends. Some of which might read this, and I have since left that area, but they know who they are!
Anyway yeah back to the situation right? My mum came through the door, me in boxers and the dogs that had been asleep jumped up and started wagging their tails and getting excited. Dear Lord, mum took a look at me, I was expecting some form of lecture. She hated that I wandered around like that. It was bad for my brothers’ friends, I was setting a bad example, yada yada…
“Get your bloody coat on and dive in the car…” She says holding the keys. I’m looking at her. The car door is wide open and she’s not even moaning just looking concerned.
“Err can I get dressed?” I hear myself asking though finding it rhetorical, as she hastily shoves my long coat at me. My messy hair is hastily tied back, and the dogs are shut in the kitchen. I head out behind her. “What’s wrong?”
“There was a girl, she was… she was trying to hitch a ride. She was in her nightclothes, red coat over the nightie, running and I was scared to stop on my own, but she looked like she needed something. I figured we could go back, it’s just a couple of miles. We’ll find her easy enough.” She gave me the 101 on the situation.
“Sure.” I mutter as I steal one of her cigarettes (things were different back then, no I don’t smoke now). I notice now that there is heavy rain. My feet are cold. I light up and watch as we pull off.
And now a little geography for you: We live in England, United Kingdom and more specifically we lived in Exton, Rutland in England. There are a lot of villages and small towns, it’s a county and our nearest city is like 30-40 miles. Not far but darned far if you were say hitching a ride or whatever. Anyway, we drove about a mile out, passed some big farm that had sheep. All the lights were off, we headed past that, last local place for I think another two miles. Now we’re into the area where ploughed fields and trees are your scenery. For the more discerning rural spotter we of course have random animals that run in your path, such as deer, rabbits and the like.
Okay so you get the idea, it’s dark, raining and I’m already slightly peeved. Mum is driving, on a mission, she’s heading to this road. It’s quite a badly kept country one and it’s dangerous if you don’t know where you are and break down. You know you need are going to need a mobile or good walking shoes. So, we drive to where this woman was, and she starts to slow down to look for her.
“Okay she looked about twenty-ish and she was,” she lights a cigarette, “running down the road. There isn’t another road off, and I am sure in this time unless she has been picked up, we would have seen her.” My mum was looking and I’m thinking ‘don’t you make me get out this car’ and she looks to me. “She had a nightie and a red coat. She was running really fast.”
“Mum maybe someone else got her?” She looks to me like I am talking another language, which on this occasion I am not.
“No one really comes down here. No, she should be here.” My mother, who I am convinced now may need sectioning, finishes her cigarette. “Damn it.” She pulls to turn around and we head back home. I am now cold and firmly awake; the weather has eased so I get dressed and take the dogs out and think nothing more of it. The next day I finish work and head home and I have all but forgotten it as one of those silly things you can bring up as a guilt trip for a free pint at the local. The mum tells me that she told someone in the local shop about it and that person in the shop described the woman perfectly; naturally this led to my mother asking how of course.
“So?” I try to sound interested, expecting it to be a local person well-known to the villagers for this sort of shenanigan.
“The girl was called {I forget the name} and her boyfriend was killed three or four years ago at the crossroads when a Range Rover hit him. She was waiting for him to arrive, and he never did but she heard the noise. She went running to find him in her nightie and when she got there the Range Rover was speeding towards her. She never had the time to move out of the way. She was killed twenty feet away from him.” I looked at my mum and she looks back incredulous she’s even telling me it at all. In all the years after that if my mother had to drive that way it was only during the day, or if she had someone in the car with her.
I decided with a slightly clearer head to dig around. It’s pretty hard to know what to search for in order to try and help validate my mother’s claim and now it seems that the village has undergone changes from when I was there. In 2016 the Civil Parish of Exton was abolished and is know merged with Horn, (which has three properties by the way) and so I think the records of things like death’s etc all go to the Leicester offices. I did fine one thing about a roadside crash, a bit further away however at Manton Hall, this is situated on the other side of the large body of water known as the Rutland Water Nature Reserve but in “The Villages of Rutland (Vol 1, part II) the old had reports of noises when it was empty in 1942 and another report mentions Stocks Hill, Manton, was witness to a phantom passenger killed in a coach crash in 1973. Now just like so many places there are tales about the local historic hauntings but they are more campfire and undocumented. Can I verify it? No… do I believe my mothers conviction about what she saw? Yes. Any tales of your own you want to share but don’t want to put your name to? Or just comments in general you can mail me at silentthrillblog@gmail.com
Exton Church Graveyard, the Dovehouse is visible in the background.
Investigations into the unknown and weird 