The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding - riding - riding -
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door.

The Scole Inn, near Diss.

As this evocative and romantic poem by Alfred Noyes suggests, the highwayman was a rather dashing character, admired by men for his daring and bravery and by the ladies for his demeanour and good looks. This is a popular image of the highwayman; the truth is less wholesome. Early 18th century newspaper reports carry harrowing accounts of these rogues murdering and dismembering their victims for both money and valuables.

Highwaymen were at their deadliest between 1700 and 1800, tempted by an easy way to make a living, or by necessity after falling on hard times.

Many highwaymen are associated with particular inns as they provided information about travellers' destinations and, importantly, the financial disposition of their pocket. One such establishment is the magnificent Scole Inn, in Norfolk. Formerly the White Hart, built in 1655. During its heyday, up to 40 coaches stopped for vitals every day.

One regular visitor was the highwayman John Belcher. He'd ride his horse up the heavily carved oak staircase in order to hide in one of its many rooms. It is rumoured that the hoof prints are still visible today under the carpet and so is the gate, installed at the top of the stairs to stop such escapades.

The ghost of a White Lady killed by her jealous husband who suspected her of having an affair with a highwayman. She loved her husband but that wasn't enough. Nothing she did or said could stop him believing she was having an affair. He thought she was being unfaithful with a highwayman. His jealousy engulfed him and he murdered her. She still visits this inn, you might see her on the staircase or in a room on the first floor. She is the White Lady.

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