In February 1971, two strange stone objects surfaced from the garden of a small home in Hexham, Northumberland. They were carved to resemble heads, round, palm-sized spheres with crude but unsettling faces etched into their surfaces. The discovery seemed harmless at first. Children played with them. Neighbors examined them. No one imagined the artifacts would soon be blamed for a series of bizarre disturbances: objects flying across rooms, phantom footprints, and even an apparition that terrified multiple witnesses. The Hexham Heads, as they came to be known, became one of Britain’s strangest archaeological mysteries, a case where folklore, poltergeist activity, and scholarly debate collided.
The heads were reportedly unearthed by two young brothers, Colin and Leslie Robson, while they were clearing soil in their backyard. Their mother described the artifacts as smooth, rounded stones with carved faces, one grimacing, one smiling faintly. The boys brought them inside, placing them on a bedroom shelf. Within days, strange events began. According to the family, objects slid across tables. Doors opened on their own. A vase shattered without being touched. Most disturbing of all, the children claimed the heads moved during the night, shifting positions or appearing in new places entirely.
Neighbors soon reported their own encounters. One family claimed to hear soft footsteps padding down the hall after the heads were brought over for a brief visit. Another reported a sudden coldness and banging noises shortly after seeing the artifacts. These accounts spread quickly, drawing the attention of researchers and journalists intrigued by the alleged haunting. But the most dramatic event came from the home of researcher Professor Anne Ross, a respected Celtic scholar who briefly kept the heads for examination. Her experience elevated the mystery from a local curiosity to a national story.
Ross later reported that after bringing the heads into her house, she awoke one morning to the sound of heavy breathing. In the doorway stood a tall, hairy figure with the build of a man but the face of a beast, something resembling a Celtic were-creature known in folklore as a woldwose. The apparition reportedly turned and walked away, descending the stairs with ponderous steps. Ross pursued it, terrified yet compelled, only to watch it vanish into thin air. Her daughter later claimed she saw the same creature on a separate occasion. The incidents were so vivid that Ross, known for her academic rigor, stood by her account for the rest of her life.
With such dramatic claims circulating, researchers began investigating the origins of the heads. Some archaeologists suggested they might be ancient Celtic fertility symbols, similar to carved “moon-heads” found across Northern England. Others noted their crude construction and argued they were more likely made by a modern craftsman or child. The debate intensified when a local man later claimed that he carved the heads himself in the 1950s, using leftover stone from his masonry work. If true, the revelation undermined theories of ancient origin, but it did nothing to explain the reported disturbances.
The poltergeist claims persisted, even after the heads changed hands multiple times. Some owners reported knocks in the walls, sudden drops in temperature, or feelings of being watched. Others experienced nothing at all. Paranormal researchers suggested that the heads might have acted as a catalyst, an object that focused or intensified latent energy within the home. Skeptics pointed to suggestion, misinterpretation, or the influence of folklore. The conflicting testimonies only deepened the mystery.
The Hexham Heads eventually vanished into private storage, their physical location uncertain today. What remains is a tangle of competing narratives: archaeological speculation, eyewitness testimony, and paranormal accounts that resist easy explanation. Whether the heads were ancient relics imbued with cultural meaning or simple modern carvings that became the center of a psychological storm, their legacy endures as one of Britain’s most enigmatic cases.
More than fifty years later, the Hexham Heads still provoke debate. Their carved faces peer out from grainy photos, inviting speculation about what forces, natural or otherwise, might have been unleashed the moment they were unearthed. Were they artifacts of forgotten rituals? Innocent toys that gained a reputation through suggestion? Or objects that carried an energy no one fully understood? The answers lie buried somewhere between archaeology and the human imagination, in a mystery that refuses to be neatly resolved.
Editor’s Note: This article draws from historical records, newspaper reports, and documented witness testimonies. Interpretations of paranormal activity are presented as cultural narratives rather than verified scientific events.
Sources & Further Reading:
– Contemporary newspaper reports from Hexham (1971–1973)
– Interviews with Professor Anne Ross and Celtic folklore scholars
– Archaeological analyses of Northern England carved stone heads
– Folklore studies on woldwose and British wild-man traditions
– Paranormal research archives documenting the Hexham disturbances
(One of many stories shared by Headcount Coffee — where mystery, history, and late-night reading meet.)
