Hidden among the woodland between Ballymacarthy and Clogheen once stood Shallardstown – a large country house. Today, little of the house itself remains, yet it is still central to one of South Tipperary’s most enduring legends.

Local tradition recalls the final occupant as a woman named Angelica. Having married a foreign nobleman, she lived abroad for some years before returning home after her husband’s death. From that point on, locals referred to her simply as the Princess.

According to the old stories, Angelica dismissed almost all of her staff, keeping only her loyal butler, Creed. The gates were closed, the shutters drawn, and no visitors were received. Neighbours believed grief had entirely altered her nature. Once sociable, she became private and withdrawn, determined to shut herself away from the world.

Yet a strange ritual soon attracted attention. At exactly three o’clock every afternoon, a black carriage rolled down the avenue and out onto the road. Creed sat on the reins while a white-gloved hand, believed to hold the late husband’s riding crop, rested behind the drawn curtains. The carriage followed the same route each day and returned precisely on the hour. This continued for years without explanation or deviation.

Eventually Angelica’s family grew suspicious. Repeated requests to visit her were refused, and after several years one relative forced entry during a storm, demanding to see her. Creed attempted to prevent him, but in the confrontation the butler broke down and confessed that Angelica had been dead for eleven years. Her last instruction, he claimed, was simply: “Let no one know. Let them believe I still live.”

Creed was said to have preserved her body and placed her in the carriage every afternoon, the glove and riding crop on view, and carried out her final request in total silence. Some tellings conclude that, after confessing, he walked into the surrounding woods and was never seen again. A letter later found inside the house reportedly confirmed his account and warned that anyone interfering with her wishes would suffer misfortune.

The house eventually passed to other families, and in some versions even to a religious community, but those who lived there spoke of misfortune and unusual disturbances. Visitors claimed to hear the sound of carriage wheels long after the avenue had disappeared, and the figure of a woman was glimpsed on the stairs of the increasingly ruined building. Dog walkers spoke of areas of woodland their animals refused to enter.

Reports continued long after the house had collapsed into overgrowth. In the 1950s, there were accounts of a bluish-white light moving among the trees. In the 1960s, a cyclist described a pale blue glow descending through the woods at a steady pace; at first he believed it to be a lantern, though no figure was visible. As late as the 1990s and 2000s, walkers described a cold circular patch hidden among the trees where the air dropped sharply in temperature and seemed to move vertically rather than across the ground, as though something passed up and down through the space. Birds fell silent there, and older locals insisted their dogs would dig in their heels rather than cross it.

Whether any part of the tale is rooted in fact is impossible to determine. Little remains today but scattered stone beneath the woodland floor. Yet the site retains a curious atmosphere, and for many locals the echo of carriage wheels is still said to be heard along the invisible avenue—at exactly the same hour the Princess once made her daily journey.