07/12/2025
In the poem, Spike Milligan wryly contends that the things that go “bump” in the night should not, in themselves, cause dread — it is our own senses and circumstances that invite fear in, rather than any innate monster or ghost. He points out that “the hole in each ear” is what lets in the fear, suggesting that sound alone, when misinterpreted in the dark, can spark our imaginations. Moreover, the “absence of light” compounds uncertainty, making ordinary noises seem monstrous simply because our eyes — and thus our ability to rationalise — are denied.
By phrasing the poem as he does, Milligan invites readers to question what truly causes their fear. Is it the unknown bump, or the silent assumptions and anxieties we overlay on it? In dimness, every rustle or creak becomes a blank canvas upon which our mind paints horror; but under daylight, the same noise would likely be dismissed as nothing more than a settling floorboard or a passing cat. What might scare our ears in the night would be rendered harmless, or even amusing, in the clarity of light.
There is a gentle wisdom underpinning the humour — a reminder that much of what troubles us is not external, but born from inside: from our ears that hear, our eyes that cannot see, and our minds that fill the void. In this way, Milligan’s short poem becomes a subtle bit of reassurance: night‑time noises need not serve as spectres or omens; fear is often a fault of perception, not reality.
Ultimately, the poem stands as a playful yet insightful meditation on fear, perception and how human imagination — especially in darkness — can turn the mundane into the uncanny. It offers a comforting truth: sometimes, the things that scare us most don’t come from outside, but from the shadows we ourselves create.