Warwick Campus

A collection of our most famous urban legends

By Will Moores

What follows is a compilation of Warwick’s most well-known lore. Though inevitably incomplete, it captures a series of tales, myths, and legends that have been told across the campus over the last 60 years.

The Spirit of Sonic

Some say that in the first year of Sonic – a Copper Rooms club event focused on Indie and Alternative music – one Fresher fell completely in love with the night. Unfortunately, his friends were less impressed and however hard he tried, he could not convince them to go again. So, next Sonic, he went alone – and loved it. And then he went again, alone, and loved it even more – except he didn't just love it – he felt something deeper, as though the music itself was calling his name. Slowly but surely, he distanced himself from everyone he knew, and, before long, his life became one long wait for the next Sonic.

He became a being consumed entirely by the idea of one-man-stepping Sonic. He continued in this way, like a man possessed, first year became second, degree became master’s, master’s became PhD – anything to stay at Warwick and go to Sonic. Things persisted in this manner until one day, during his law conversion, he totally lost himself; consumed by the spirit of Sonic, he left the physical realm for good.

Some say he still haunts Sonic to this day. Dubbed the Spirit of Sonic, he appears only when 505 by the Arctic Monkeys plays, though, since no one actually goes to Sonic, it has been impossible to verify this claim. Allegedly, he haunts the Copper Rooms, a ghostly apparition, waiting to pounce, possessing anyone who dares to solo Sonic. Many say he does this, hoping it will free him from his earthly shackles, allowing him to pass on, leaving another to take his place…

Image: 'Ghost sighted in Sonic!', The Boar, 1982

Koanspiracy

Image: (left) Koanspiracy.com, (right) E Gammie / Wikimedia Commons, edited

Koanspiracy

Legend has it that in the early 1980s, a man lived inside the famous white Koan sculpture opposite the Warwick Arts Centre. Just as his father had done before him, he worked tirelessly, day and night, pedalling a bicycle within, powering the Koan’s once-famous turn. For years, students marvelled at this phenomenon, totally unaware it was underpinned by the uni’s violation of labour laws, enabled by Thatcher’s deregulatory approach and weakening of trade unions.

One day, a bright young professor at the university was reassigned, tasked with dropping carrots into the mouth of the Koan each day, though she was not told why. Some say the order came from an old directive sanctioned by Lord Butterworth himself, but this is impossible to corroborate. The carrots were intended not only to maintain the lone Koansman but also to help him see in the dark, ensuring he cycled better in the evenings. Although some allege the carrots have a more twisted origin, suggesting that it was some sick attempt to make the man think that all things were conically shaped, subtly pushing him to think only of the Koan.

The story goes that the professor learnt the purpose of her daily carrot delivery when one day she spoke to the Koan and it spoke back. The two continued to communicate through the Koan wall, and slowly but surely, they fell in love, despite never once setting eyes on each other. After some months and much trying, she managed to convince him that it was possible to live outside the Koan. Though the lone Koansman remained hesitant, he agreed to cycle away together at sundown that day.

Shortly before dusk, however, the professor was called away to the Vice-Chancellor’s office. Confident she’d make it back to the Koan by sunset, she went. Despite the professor’s optimism, the meeting ran for many hours, concluding with the news that she was to be sent on study leave to Monash. Unfazed by this revelation, she ran out of Senate House, certain that her love was waiting.

However, when she reached the mouth of the Koan and called out for her dearest, she heard no reply. And so, for the first time in their lengthy courtship, she climbed up and looked inside the mouth of the Koan, only to see it left totally bare. Devastated by the thought that he had abandoned her, she fell wailing to her knees. After hours of sobbing, she rose, expression hollow, and ordered the Koan sealed shut, before boarding the first flight to Australia, never to return.

Unbeknownst to her, however, the powers that be at the University had, that evening, replaced the white Koan outside the Arts Centre with a copy, relocating the original Koan to Gibbet Hill with our man left waiting inside, sealed in his ivory tomb forevermore.

It still stands there to this day, and though it spins no more, some say that if you go to Gibbet Hill and listen close on a quiet night, you can hear the sound of sobbing ripple through the dark.

Image: The University of Warwick

Image: The University of Warwick, edited

Image: The University of Warwick, edited.

Image: The University of Warwick

Image: The University of Warwick, edited

The Westwood Moleman

Image: huntingthemoleman.com

The Westwood Moleman

The Westwood Moleman is a half-mole, half-human creature said to lurk in the Westwood region, gobbling up innocent locals. This, of course, explains the near-total absence of Westwoodians on campus.

Many say this unholy beast was created in the 1970s by a Discrete Maths student, living in Westwood, who went totally mad. Initially fashioned to give him someone to talk to, given his degree and accommodation, the creature turned evil and now hunts and/or mugs students in the Westwood area.

The mole aspect of this campus cryptid is said to come from the creator’s anger at being repeatedly told to “touch grass” and the allegations that he lived “underground in his mum’s basement”. Channelling this criticism, he turned to the animal he identified with most: the mole.

Allegedly, the Moleman has become increasingly deformed over the past 50 years, due to increased Purple in the water supply. Additionally, some report the creature’s taste for humanities students, some claim this stems from the resentment of its creator, who was jealous of their endless free time. Others believe the beast is fulfilling its maker’s internalised bitterness towards Westwood, and that it is hell bent on destroying it and all those who come near.

Though little is known of the creator's fate, many say that the Moleman ultimately turned on him, mugging the student near The Oaks and forcing him to drop out due to a lack of funds, doomed to run forever from his unholy creation…

Image: huntingthemoleman.com

The Cryfield Criers

Image: Warwick Ghosts

The Cryfield Criers

Legend has it that Cryfield Village was built on the site of a demolished prison. While many would argue that the prison still exists and that it’s called Cryfield Standard, over the years, there have actually been several reports of Cryfield Village and the adjacent Windmill Hill being haunted by ghostly convicts. It is allegedly home to a gang of wailing spirits who were once imprisoned on the grounds and wander the area, crying out in anguish.

In fact, it is said that the origin of the name Cryfield derives from a shortening of ‘Crying field’, a ghoulish description of its famous soundscape. Some say the only remaining clue to this history, now lost to time, can be found on particularly rare and quiet evenings atop Windmill Hill. When the wind is but a whisper and the dusk is at its darkest, the faintest cries of this ever-wandering chain-gang can be heard rattling across the night.

Image: Warwick Forum

Image: Warwick Forum

The last floor of the library

Image: Stephen Richards / Geograph

The last floor of the library

In the late 2000s, a third year named Cassie had her dissertation due the next day. She’d finally come to terms with the fact that she should probably start writing it, and, having still not met her dissertation supervisor, she went to the Warwick library to ‘lock-in’.

She tried to work on the collaboration floor, immediately realised it was far too hectic, and decided to go up to the fifth and most oppressive floor.

Cassie entered floor five and would have stopped there; however, in the corner of her eye, she spotted something that stopped her in her tracks. On the edge of the room, lay an open doorway she’d never seen before and beyond it a staircase.

The sight left Cassie questioning not only her familiarity with the library but also her ability to count. Either way, sure that upstairs would grant her fewer distractions and greater focus, and reminded of the urgent need for both as she saw her watch ticking towards midnight, she endeavoured upstairs.

Cassie sat down, staring blankly at the paper before her, until her wandering eyes focused on the ticking clock fixed on the wall in front. The clock read 11pm. Her watch read midnight. She assumed the obvious: that this underused floor was met with unreliable maintenance and shrugged it off as poor maintenance.

She worked tirelessly for an hour, though to little avail. Her word count sat at a devastating 4,000; even worse, her watch face read a crushing 1:00 a.m. Her morale flailing, sleep-deprived, and fraying under the stress, her eyes wandered once more away from her now-cluttered page. She looked over to where she thought the stairway she’d come in by was situated, only to be met by an almost identical set of stairs, which now led in the opposite direction.

Confused, she collected her stuff and investigated, ambling up the stairs only to be met with an almost identical floor. That was until her eyes fell on the mounted clock, which read dead-on 10 pm. She turned back, desperate to get out of this nightmare, hoping it was a dream… only to be confronted by that same staircase, now leading upward once more. This is all we know of Cassie’s story, the only source for which comes from a scrawled, badly crumbled scrap of paper, found on the road outside the library, sometime after Cassie’s disappearance.

We can only assume Cassie never met her deadline or her dissertation supervisor. Perhaps this is a lesson to start your dissertation at least two days before it’s due. Although, fortunately for Cassie, it seems like she may have all the time in the world to get hers just right.

Some say you can still hear what sounds like scribbling or perhaps even scratching coming from the ceiling of the library’s fifth floor.