Built in 1629 by Scotsman William Bailie, this estate was one of many created during the Ulster Plantation. Designed as a fortified residence for settlers, the property would evolve over centuries—shaped by new owners, new ambitions, and, eventually, decline.

The castle passed through several prominent families, including the Hamiltons, Stewarts, and Corrys, before being purchased in 1814 by Colonel William Young. It was Young who transformed not only the estate but the landscape around it—laying out what would become the modern town of Bailieborough.

By the mid-1800s, the house had taken on the appearance of a grand Gothic Revival or Scottish Baronial mansion. With turreted projections, steep gables, and tall chimneys, it looked every inch the stately home—its stonework softened by ivy and its grounds framed by parkland and gardens sloping toward the lake.

But the estate began to fragment following the death of Lady Lisgar in 1895. Under the Ashbourne Land Act, tenants were able to buy the land they worked—leaving only 100 acres around the main house. With no family remaining, the castle entered a slow decline.

In 1915, the Marist Brothers purchased the property and converted it into a boarding school. But just three years later, in 1918, a devastating fire ripped through the building. Although parts were rebuilt, the Brothers left in 1936. The house was demolished soon after.

Today, the land is owned by Coillte and forms part of Castle Lake Forest. Only fragments remain—weathered stone, old paths, and a walking trail that loops through the woods where the castle once stood. But not all signs of the past have vanished.

Shortly after the demolition in February 1937, a man named Patrick Hackett, who lived alone in a cottage within the old castle yard, reported a series of strange and unsettling events. Night after night, he heard knocks at his door. When he opened it—no one was there.

One evening, a large rat darted inside. When Hackett tried to chase it out, the rat hissed and leapt onto the table. As he approached again, it changed—transforming into a serpent before slipping through the keyhole. The next night, the rat returned. This time it jumped into his bed. Hackett raised a stick to strike it—only to hear a voice whisper from the darkness:

“They have put me out of my home, and I have no shelter.”

Terrified, Hackett fled to a neighbour’s house and refused to return at night. From then on, he would only enter his home in daylight.

Some believed the events were tied to a sealed room in the old house—one even the Marist Brothers had kept permanently locked. With the building now gone, had something long contained finally been released?

Another enduring legend from Bailieborough speaks of “The Rector”—a tall, solemn figure in 19th-century dress, seen walking the overgrown avenue near the castle site. He’s often linked to a phantom coach said to pass silently through the area.

At night, witnesses reported the sounds of hoofbeats, iron wheels, and harness chains—but no carriage was ever seen. One landowner, roused by the noise, stepped outside to find nothing. His horses were calm. But neighbours confirmed they’d heard it too.

Two men on Thomas Street later claimed they saw The Rector pass straight through a locked door. Others described a black coach drawn by four horses, gliding through the town. The driver never looked up. The windows never moved. And always, it vanished near the old castle gates.

Some say the Rector foreshadows the coach. Others believe they’re one and the same. One local theory identifies the ghost as Sir John Young, 1st Baron Lisgar, who died in 1872.

But whoever—or whatever—he is, the Rector has never been far from the stories whispered in Bailieborough after dark.

It would be interesting to know whether there have been any more recent accounts of hauntings in this area. If you have something to add, click “Add Your Experience” to tell your story.