By One Network Wellington Live
March 27, 2025

Kilbirnie’s a quiet spot tonight, isn’t it? The streets are still, and Anderson Park sits under a blanket of fog, just off Coutts Street, a stone’s throw from the bustle of Evans Bay. By day, it’s a green patch—1.5 hectares of grass, a playground, a few old trees—where locals walk dogs or kick a ball. But as the sun dips and the wind picks up, something shifts. On nights with a storm brewing over Cook Strait, Anderson Park feels different. Locals whisper about giggles in the grass, shadows darting near the trees. They say it’s the lost children of 1912—two kids who vanished in a storm, never found, still playing hide-and-seek. So, let’s step into the park’s history, its mystery, and the chills that linger for Kilbirnie’s night owls.

First, let’s go back—way back to 1912. Anderson Park was a picnic spot then, a grassy escape for Kilbirnie’s 2,000-odd residents. Wellington was smaller—50,000 people total—and the park, gifted by farmer John Anderson in 1908, was a gem. Families would spread blankets, kids chasing each other while parents sipped tea. But on August 12, 1912, a storm rolled in—fierce, sudden, the kind Wellington’s known for. Winds hit 100km/h, per old weather logs, and rain lashed the city. Two children—siblings, aged 7 and 9, names lost to time—were at the park with their family. They’d been playing near the trees when the sky turned black. Their parents called them back, but the kids didn’t come.

Panic set in fast. The family searched, shouting into the gale, but the children were gone. By evening, a search party formed—50 locals, lanterns swinging, combing the park’s 1.5 hectares. They checked the trees, the gully, even the bay’s edge 200 meters away, thinking the kids might’ve wandered. Nothing—no footprints, no scraps of clothing, just mud and wind. Police joined in, per a 1912 Evening Post snippet, dragging the bay for days. Still nothing. The siblings vanished, swallowed by the storm, leaving a mystery that’s haunted Kilbirnie ever since.

Now, fast forward to 2025—Anderson Park’s still here, a quiet green lung in Kilbirnie’s 10,000-strong suburb. The playground’s new, built in 2018 by Wellington City Council, but the old trees remain—gnarled kahikatea, some 150 years old, standing like sentinels. By day, it’s peaceful—mums push prams, kids squeal on swings. But when night falls, the park changes. Locals, especially night owls walking home from the Kilbirnie shops, swear they’ve heard things. Giggles, soft and high, floating through the grass. Shadows—small, quick—darting between trees, gone when you look twice. “It’s the lost kids,” an old-timer told us at the Sprig & Fern pub, nursing a pint. “They never left.”

Let’s dig into those whispers. Back in the 1920s, picnickers reported odd sounds—laughter when no kids were around. A 1935 Evening Post letter mentioned a “chill presence” near the park’s northern edge. By the 1950s, the tale grew—teenagers dared each other to sneak in after dark, claiming they saw “two wee shapes” by the kahikatea. In 1980, a dog walker told police his pup froze, staring at the trees, growling at nothing—or so he thought. More recently, a 2023 Reddit thread on r/Wellington blew up—someone posted, “Heard kids laughing in Anderson Park at 1 a.m.—no one there. Freaked me out.” Replies piled in: “That’s the 1912 kids,” “Seen shadows too,” “It’s always windy nights.”

So, what’s the park like now? It’s 9 p.m., March 26, 2025, and the wind’s howling—26 gale days a year in Wellington, per NIWA, and this is one. The sky’s a mess of swirling clouds, and the park’s empty, save for the rustling grass. Those kahikatea trees loom, branches creaking like old bones. The playground’s swings sway on their own—could be the breeze, but it’s eerie all the same. Wet leaves crunch underfoot, sounding like footsteps trailing behind. Is it just the wind? Or are the lost children of Anderson Park still here, playing their endless game?

Let’s hear from locals. A night-shift worker, walking home via Coutts Street, shared his tale at the pub. “Last winter,” he said, “I cut through the park—midnight, windy as hell. Heard this giggle, clear as day, from the trees. Looked over—nothing. But I felt watched. Ran the rest of the way.” Another, a mum from Darlington Road, nodded. “My boy, he’s 6, won’t play there after dark. Says he saw ‘two kids’ by the swings—thought they were friends, but they vanished.” A third, an old fella who’s lived in Kilbirnie 50 years, shrugged. “It’s them alright—poor mites, stuck since 1912. You hear ‘em most on stormy nights.”

But what really happened to those kids? The 1912 storm was brutal—100km/h gusts, per weather records, could’ve disoriented them. Anderson Park’s small—1.5 hectares—but back then, it bordered rough scrub, and Evans Bay was a short stumble away. Police at the time thought they drowned—currents in the bay are fierce, even now. A 1912 coroner’s report, cited in a 1980s history book, ruled “missing, presumed dead,” with no bodies to bury. Some locals reckoned they got lost in the scrub, maybe fell in a gully—there’s a small one near the park’s edge, hidden by grass. Others whispered darker things—abduction, though no evidence ever surfaced.

Now, the ghostly bit—why do folks think they’re still here? Māori tradition might call them wairua—spirits tied to the land. Anderson Park sits on old Ngāti Awa territory, per Te Ara, and 14% of Wellington’s 215,000 are Māori—some might see the kids as unsettled souls. Pākehā locals, 70% of the city, lean on ghost stories—unresolved tragedy keeps spirits lingering. Science says it’s the wind—26 gale days, gusts up to 120km/h, per NIWA—whistling through trees, sounding like giggles. Shadows? Just branches in the moonlight. But when you’re alone in the park, those explanations feel thin.

Imagine this—it’s late, fog thick as soup, wind rattling the swings. You’re cutting through Anderson Park, heading home from Kilbirnie’s shops. Leaves crunch behind you—too steady for the breeze. A giggle, soft and high, drifts from the kahikatea. You turn—nothing but shadows, flickering fast, two small shapes darting between trunks. Your heart thumps—they’re gone. Another laugh, closer now, right by the gully. You bolt, Coutts Street’s lights a lifeline. At home, you lock the door, breath ragged. Just the wind, you tell yourself. But deep down, you wonder—were the lost children of 1912 playing hide-and-seek with you?

Back to reality—Anderson Park’s history lingers. The 1912 mystery’s unsolved—no trace, no closure. Wellington City Council keeps the park tidy—new playground, trimmed grass—but they don’t talk about the whispers. Locals do, though—over pints, on Reddit, in hushed tones. The kahikatea stand guard, 150 years old, holding secrets in their roots. Kilbirnie’s night owls know the drill—walk fast, don’t look back. The lost children, if they’re here, don’t mean harm. They’re just kids, after all—giggling, darting, stuck in a stormy night from 1912.

So, next time you’re near Anderson Park on a windy night, listen close. Those footsteps, that laughter—is it leaves and gusts, or something more? Wellington’s wild, and its stories are wilder. The lost children of Anderson Park might just be waiting—for a playmate, or a way home. Either way, their whispers in the grass aren’t fading anytime soon.