When Neil and Louise Bronner sank more than 55,000 into a two-bedroom property in the British town of Stoke-on-Trent, they knew the house had a unique connection to history: It was the boyhood home of Edward John Smith, the Titanic's captain who died with roughly 1,500 others when the ship struck an iceberg in 1912.
The couple rented the property for a decade and now they want to ship out. The Bonners are hoping to get the equivalent of 126,000 for it, but have the problem of scaring up a buyer who isn't spooked by the fact that Smith's spirit still haunts the place.
"We've heard of things going bump in the night from other tenants," Neill Bonner told the Daily Mail. "Some have said they felt a really cold chill passing over them -- as cold as an iceberg."
The house has suffered other coincidences similar to the disaster, albeit on a smaller scale, the owners said. About five years ago, a young couple flooded the kitchen.
"[The couple] stacked all the dishes in the sink after a party and they went away for the weekend but left the taps on," Bonner told the Daily Mail. "We had a phone call from them on the Monday morning sheepishly saying 'we've flooded the kitchen.' I definitely had that sinking feeling when they started to explain, but at least it is all water-tight now."
Louise Bonner, 60, says the 100th anniversary this week of the tragic voyage has increased awareness of the house. But they haven't been flooded with offers.
"Since it went on the market it's already triggered some interest," she told the Express and Star. "One of those has included someone on the phone from a Titanic museum in Germany."
Smith is believed to have lived in the house with his parents for more than 10 years before heading off to sea when he was 13.
By age 25, he was qualified to captain a ship and had a successful naval career before making the Titanic voyage at the age of 62.
"It's hard to understand what motivated him to go to sea," Louise Bonner told the website This Is Staffordshire. "He came from a typical working class potteries family and he went on to achieve so much.
"His name is known across the world and the interest in the Titanic is never ending," she went on. "Many people ask whether Captain Smith was to blame for the disaster, but a lot of things conspired against that ship. He wasn't at the helm at the time and the ship had been badly designed without the proper buoyancy because they wanted to make more space for first class passengers."
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On a headland near Plymouth lived "Aunt Rachel," a reputed seer, who made a scant livelihood by forecasting the future for such seagoing people as had crossed her palm. The crew of a certain brig came to see her on the day before sailing, and she reproached one of the lads for keeping bad company. "Avast, there, granny," interrupted another, who took the chiding to himself. "None of your slack, or I'll put a stopper on your gab." The old woman sprang erect. Levelling her skinny finger at the man, she screamed, "Moon cursers! You have set false beacons and wrecked ships for plunder. It was your fathers and mothers who decoyed a brig to these sands and left me childless and a widow. He who rides the pale horse be your guide, and you be of the number who follow him!"
That night old Rachel's house was burned, and she barely escaped with her life, but when it was time for the brig to sail she took her place among the townfolk who were to see it off. The owner of the brig tried to console her for the loss of the house. "I need it no longer," she answered, "for the narrow house will soon be mine, and you wretches cannot burn that. But you! Who will console you for the loss of your brig?"
"My brig is stanch. She has already passed the worst shoal in the bay."
"But she carries a curse. She cannot swim long."
As each successive rock and bar was passed the old woman leaned forward, her hand shaking, her gray locks flying, her eyes starting, her lips mumbling maledictions, "like an evil spirit, chiding forth the storms as ministers of vengeance." T
he last shoal was passed, the merchant sighed with relief at seeing the vessel now safely on her course, when the woman uttered a harsh cry, and raised her hand as if to command silence until something happened that she evidently expected. For this the onlookers had not long to wait: the brig halted and trembled-her sails shook in the wind, her crew were seen trying to free the cutter-then she careened and sank until only her mast-heads stood out of the water.
Most of the company ran for boats and lines, and few saw Rachel pitch forward on the earth-dead, with a fierce smile of exultation on her face. The rescuers came back with all the crew, save one-the man who had challenged the old woman and revengefully burned her cabin. Rachel's body was buried where her house had stood, and the rock-before unknown-where the brig had broken long bore the name of Rachel's Curse.
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