The Flask, Highgate: Where Dick Turpin's Ghost Rides Again

In the heart of Highgate Village, where the ancient High Street climbs the hill that gives this London district its name, stands a pub whose cellars once sheltered England’s most infamous highwayman. The Flask has served drinks since 1663, its name derived from the flasks once sold to those collecting water from the nearby Hampstead springs. But the Flask’s fame rests not on water but on whiskey and blood, on the legend of Dick Turpin who used its underground passages to hide from the law, emerging only when darkness covered the heaths where he hunted wealthy prey. Turpin was hanged in York in 1739, his body displayed as warning, but something of the highwayman never left the Flask. His ghost has been seen in the cellars where he once cowered, a figure matching his description appearing briefly before walking through solid walls, and the sounds of horses’ hooves echo from spaces where no horse could stand. But Turpin shares the Flask with other spirits—an old woman in grey who sits eternally in her corner, a Victorian barmaid who serves customers who died a century ago, and countless presences from the pub’s three and a half centuries of history. Highgate itself is one of London’s most haunted neighborhoods, home to the vampire-plagued cemetery and lanes where specters walk openly after dark. The Flask stands at the supernatural heart of this supernatural place, a gathering point for ghosts as much as for the living, where the veil between worlds has always been dangerously thin.

The History

The Flask was established in 1663, during the reign of Charles II, as England emerged from civil war into an era of celebration and excess. The pub served the village that had grown on Highgate Hill, a stopping point on the road between London and the north. Its name came from the flasks it sold for collecting spring water from Hampstead’s famous wells, which were believed to have medicinal properties. Visitors came to take the cure, and the Flask served them refreshment while they sought health.

Highgate’s position on the Great North Road—the highway to York and Scotland—meant that all travelers passed through, and coaches stopped regularly for rest and fresh horses. The village thrived on this traffic, and inns and pubs multiplied. The Flask was among the oldest, serving the road’s endless travelers. The eighteenth century was the pub’s heyday, when coaching inns prospered and the Flask expanded, adding rooms and serving the wealthy and criminal alike, for the highwaymen who hunted on the heaths between London and Highgate were never far away. The Flask saw both predator and prey within its ancient walls.

Dick Turpin

Richard Turpin, born in 1705 and hanged in 1739, was one of England’s most notorious criminals. His legend far exceeds the man, but the man himself was dark enough—a butcher turned smuggler, horse thief, murderer, and highway robber who terrorized the roads around London for years before his capture. The romantic image of the gallant highwayman on horseback is largely Victorian invention; the real Turpin was a member of the brutal Essex Gang, who tortured victims for information and committed acts of shocking violence.

Turpin used the Flask as a refuge, relying on its cellars and their connections to hidden passages beneath Highgate. When pursuit grew too close, he could vanish underground, emerging miles away without ever being seen on the streets. The cellars of the Flask are ancient and extensive, medieval in some sections, connecting to other buildings through escape routes and bolt-holes. A criminal could enter the Flask and leave through another building entirely.

The Turpin Haunting

A figure matching Turpin’s description appears in the cellar areas—dressed in eighteenth-century clothing, dark coat and tricorn hat, the garb of a road agent. He materializes briefly, looking around as if checking for pursuit, then vanishes through walls, following routes that once existed but are now sealed or collapsed. He navigates by a memory of how things were in his day; the walls that stop the living are no barrier to him.

The sounds of horses echo through the cellars—hoofbeats, snorts, the creak of leather, as if a rider has arrived in the basement. The sounds of Turpin’s arrival replay through the centuries, his flight still ongoing. Staff also hear frantic whispers in the cellars, the sounds of conspiracy, plans being made and pursuits being evaded. Turpin and his accomplices may still be discussing their next crime or their current escape, conversations that never end.

The Grey Lady

An old woman in grey sits in the corner of the bar, her clothing suggesting the eighteenth or nineteenth century, though it is hard to date precisely. She simply sits there, as if waiting for something or someone who never comes. Those who observe her report that she fades gradually, becoming less solid over seconds until she is simply gone—she does not walk away or vanish suddenly but becomes transparent and then invisible.

Her identity is unknown. She may have been a former landlord’s wife, a regular from centuries past, or someone who died here while waiting for news that came too late—perhaps waiting for a loved one who met highwaymen on the road and never returned. Those who encounter her report a profound sadness, a grief that fills the space around her spectral form. She carries her loss into the present, her waiting eternal, her sorrow unending.

The Victorian Barmaid

A young woman in Victorian dress—apron, cap, practical working clothing—appears behind the bar or moving between tables, going about her duties as if the pub were full of customers only she can see. She takes orders from empty seats, pours drinks that do not exist, and carries invisible trays to tables where no one sits. Her service continues for customers long dead, an eternal shift in a Victorian pub that persists alongside the modern one.

Sometimes the barmaid approaches living customers, her lips moving as if speaking, though no sound comes. She seems surprised when they do not respond, then moves on to serve the dead instead. Perhaps she loved her work, or perhaps she died while on duty, or perhaps some unfinished task keeps her at her post. The Flask was her life and became her afterlife.

The Highgate Connection

Highgate Cemetery lies close to the Flask, one of London’s most haunted places, famous for its vampire legends and the dark spirits said to walk among its overgrown monuments. In the late 1960s and 1970s, reports emerged of a vampire in the cemetery, prompting a media frenzy that brought self-appointed vampire hunters who claimed to have staked the creature. The panic elevated Highgate’s reputation as a place of darkness, and the Flask sits squarely within the cemetery’s supernatural sphere of influence.

Centuries of burial, death, and mourning have charged Highgate Hill with supernatural energy, and the Flask, standing in the midst of this concentration, acts as a magnet for spirits. Some theorize that Highgate sits on ley lines—pathways of spiritual energy crossing beneath the village—and that the Flask may occupy a node of power where these energies concentrate and ghosts naturally gather.

The Phenomena

Sudden cold spots are common throughout the Flask, particularly in the cellars and near the grey lady’s corner—intense, localized drops in temperature unrelated to drafts or ventilation that mark the passing of spirits through the building. Objects move on their own as well: tools disappeared during renovations and reappeared elsewhere days later, glasses slide across tables, and furniture rearranges overnight, as if the resident spirits hold opinions about how things should be and enforce them. Visitors consistently report the sensation of unseen eyes following them through the building, especially on the upper floors where lodging rooms once stood and where travelers once slept—and where some may have died. Staff hear footsteps pacing the floors above when no one is up there, the restless dead unable to sleep in their eternal lodging.

The Upper Floors

The Flask was originally a coaching inn, and its upper floors served as bedrooms for travelers stopping overnight before continuing their journeys. Some of those journeys were never completed, and some of those travelers never left. The upper floors are intensely active: furniture moves visibly, doors lock and unlock without human intervention, and guests report being watched, seeing figures in doorways, and feeling someone sit on their beds in the small hours. The locked-door phenomenon particularly baffles staff—doors bolt themselves from the inside of empty rooms, requiring forced entry only to reveal nothing. The spirits claim their privacy and deny access to the living. Those who stay on the upper floors report overwhelming feelings of dread and unwelcome, as if intruding on space that belongs to others. The upper floors are territory claimed by the dead; the living are merely visitors.

The Renovations

Renovations at the Flask have consistently provoked increased paranormal activity. Work carried out in the 1960s disturbed something, with activity increasing dramatically as workers reported tools vanishing and returning, cold drafts in sealed rooms, and the sense of being watched with malevolent intent. Further restoration in the 2000s brought more phenomena—workmen felt someone walking close behind them when they were alone, footsteps that matched their pace and stopped when they stopped, as if something shadowed them through the building.

The pattern is clear: the ghosts resent changes to their environment. The Flask they know is the Flask of their own era, and alterations disturb them, provoking resistance and heightened activity. After renovations are completed, the activity gradually subsides as the ghosts accept or adapt to the new arrangement. Adaptation, it seems, takes time even for the dead.

The Atmosphere

The Flask carries a weight of history beyond its visible age, a pressure that visitors feel from the moment they step inside—the sense that the past is not past here, that three centuries exist simultaneously within these walls. From the moment of entry, visitors feel observed, not by staff or other patrons but by something unseen, eyes following from shadows and corners as the dead watch the living with unknowable intent.

Regular patrons adapt to the haunting as part of the pub’s character, as integral to the Flask as its architecture. They accept the grey lady in her corner, the wandering barmaid, Turpin lurking in the cellars. All are regulars in their own way. Some visitors come specifically seeking ghosts, drawn by the Flask’s reputation, hoping to glimpse Turpin or the lady in grey. Most leave without a sighting, for the spirits choose when to appear, but the atmosphere alone rewards the visit even without direct encounters.

Visiting the Flask

The Flask is located on Highgate West Hill in the heart of Highgate Village, easily reached from Hampstead Heath or Archway station. It operates as a working pub with good beer during regular hours—no special permission is needed to drink among the ghosts. Those seeking encounters should focus on the cellars where Turpin still hides, the corner where the grey lady sits, the main bar where the Victorian barmaid makes her rounds, and the upper floors where travelers from centuries past still claim their rooms.

Watch for sudden cold spots, the sensation of being watched, movement at the edge of vision, the smell of horses and old beer, objects that shift positions, and doors that stick or swing without cause. Evening visits tend to be most productive, particularly on winter nights when the living crowd thins and the dead emerge. But the ghosts are constant—they do not wait for darkness.

The Highwayman’s Rest

The Flask in Highgate has stood for over 360 years, serving travelers, locals, and at least one infamous highwayman who used its cellars to evade the law. Dick Turpin, England’s most notorious road agent, found sanctuary here before his hanging in York, and something of him never left. His ghost still walks the cellars, still vanishes through walls that once led to escape routes, still listens for the sound of pursuing hooves. The terror of his crimes, the desperation of his hiding, have imprinted on this ancient pub.

But Turpin is not alone in haunting the Flask. The grey lady sits eternally in her corner, waiting for someone who will never come. A Victorian barmaid serves customers who died a century ago, her dedication to duty extending beyond death. Travelers who stayed in the upper rooms and never continued their journeys still walk the corridors, still lie in beds, still resent the living who intrude on their eternal rest.

The Flask sits in Highgate, one of London’s most haunted neighborhoods, where the famous cemetery casts its shadow and vampire legends persist. The pub absorbs this energy, concentrates it within its ancient walls, and presents visitors with a haunting that spans centuries and contains multitudes.

Order a drink. Take a seat. Feel the weight of watching eyes. And remember—in the cellars below your feet, Dick Turpin may still be hiding, waiting for nightfall, planning his next crime on roads that no longer exist.

The highwayman rides forever.

The Flask remains his refuge.

The ghosts never leave.

Sources

• Wikipedia search: “The Flask, Highgate: Where Dick Turpin”
• Historic England — Listed Buildings — Register of historic sites