The Golden Lion, Fareham; A Night of Quiet Whispers
- Dr Iain M Lightfoot
- Nov 17
- 5 min read
There’s a certain charm to the Golden Lion in Fareham, the kind you only find in traditional English pubs that have survived centuries of change yet somehow remain rooted in the community. Built around 1800, as a replacement for the demolished White Horse, it stands on the High Street as a promise kept! Local outcry had demanded the return of their pub, and the builder obliged, erecting the Golden Lion on the opposite side of the road. Today it is still very much a traditional inn with good beer, real food, a busy bar and a place whose history is mentioned fondly in local folklore. It is also a building talked about for its hauntings.
Barry and I arrived just before eight o’clock, choosing to go in 'blind' so to speak. It’s not often we do that, but occasionally it’s refreshing to enter a location without preconceptions or stories swirling in your mind. No research, no prompts or biases, just relying on the energy and your intuition. The team now gathered, and the temperature began dropping in that familiar way it does when a night of investigation is about to begin, it was a cold night outside but was the cold due to that or something else?
Walkthrough
Our first stop was an old outbuilding at the far end of the property. Even before stepping inside, I had the impression of hanging, a sudden, sensation that someone had ended their life there. Folklore, however, tells a different tale, suggesting a landlord in 1924 drowned himself in a water butt. I am not sure why I felt differently, we will never know the exact truth but nevertheless there is said to be a presence.
Inside the outbuilding we heard the unmistakable scrape of glass shifting; nothing dramatic, just enough to confirm that we perhaps weren’t alone with empty brickwork and tools.
Moving back into the main pub, we headed upstairs into what was living quarters. In the living room, I immediately sensed a woman. Victorian in dress, posture, and presence, she stood, at least in my mind’s eye, by the window, looking out as though waiting for someone who never came home or perhaps more likely looking at at the world. Later in the evening, the landlord would tell us about a fire that had ravaged the kitchen and upper level; they had barely escaped, but before the fire their dog would growl near to the spot I had pointed to. It is often the case that animals pick up what we can only sense faintly. After the fire the dog was said to no longer be worried in that room. Had the fire altered the activity levels?
A trip to the cellar was our next destination, and its atmosphere shifted the second we stepped in. There was weight there, a history, sadness, and something else. I felt the clear sensation of someone placing their hand on the shoulder of anyone passing through the corridor. The idea of a lingering caretaker, or perhaps someone who simply didn’t want to be forgotten. When we later learned that the cellar had been used as a mortuary, the impression made sense. The dead do not always leave quietly. Barry sensed stomach issues and the story is that a growl is often heard in that corridor!
Back in the bar area, we heard stories from the current team, of glasses falling from the top shelf, items pushed off tables, the odd cold spot that had no explanation.
We decided these three areas, the outbuilding, the living room upstairs, and the bar, would become our focus for the night.
Yet, as investigations often remind us, buildings make a different decision. The outbuilding, which had felt promising earlier, fell completely silent when we returned. Not a knock, a breath, or a shift of light, we did see brief orbs captured on camera and the sound of a lady's voice. Was it the sound of the lady at the window searching for her husband?
Upstairs again, things came back to life, though faintly. We saw orbs drifting across the room, Barry recorded what sounded again like a woman’s voice, and cold breezes passed us more than once. I played Victorian music, an intuitive call, perhaps for the woman I kept sensing, and I couldn’t shake the impression that she occasionally ventured downstairs, maybe seeking company.. Yet beneath all this, the overriding feeling was apathy. The spirits, if present, sat back with disinterest, unwilling to step forward. We may have made contact via a spirit box, the words "Barry", "7" among others in answer to our questions, but was this a form of verbal pareidolia?
In the bar, a music box chimed (which I later, and disappointingly, considered might have been a (my) phone notification), and an attempt at table tipping yielded nothing. While using the dowsing rods I picked up impressions linked to a collection of ornamental ducks displayed in the bar, but despite searching, we couldn’t locate any hidden ones that matched the feeling. The Landlords tell of Jacks corner, and that things 'got weird' when the plaque was removed. So the question is, who is Jack and is he still around?
An odd aside note from the night: earlier upstairs, I had a vivid impression of a church connection, and then an Irish Catholic priest. At that exact moment, Barry mentioned hearing a hymn, certainly that matched what I was sensing. The synchronicity was striking, though unverifiable. A Theory about The Golden Lion, Fareham?
In the cold light of day, there may well be more to this than first thought. It appears that the land, before it became the Golden Lion, was likely to have been an allocated burgage plot, belonging to the Church and the Bishops of Winchester, as was the case for the majority of Fareham's High Street area. If one goes back to consider that the Church of St Peter and Paul is about 50m away and would have been a Catholic church before the reformation in the 16C. The land may have been used by clergymen of Irish and most certainly of catholic faith. A theory, for future investigations at the Golden Lion.
The Verdict, The Golden Lion, Fareham
In truth, nothing felt negative or oppressive at the Golden Lion. There was energy, certainly, a few voices, drifting orbs, sudden cold patches, but alas, no direct engagement. With the recent major fire the building endured, it’s entirely possible that the activity has shifted, quietened, or simply begun to heal.
Is the Golden Lion haunted? I can certainly believe it is. Yet, during the time of our visit, it felt like a place in transition, a building holding its breath, its stories tucked away for now. The kind of pub that will, I have no doubts, reveal more in time, once the echoes are ready to speak again.
One to watch? Absolutely...
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