"Genteel & Bard's high-end Savannah History and Ghost Walking Tours are crafted with you, our guests, in mind. Our passion is creating an unparalleled tour experience, and to treat ya'll like family is our second nature. We value the fine southern art of storytelling, and the privilege of sharing that art with you.
Welcome, friends. Ya'll book a tour. Let's walk a while." - T.C. & Brenna, The original Genteel & Bard
PERUSE OUR FINE SAVANNAH WALKING TOURS
We're so glad you're here. We limit the size of our groups because we value your quality of experience over the quantity of guests we host at once. See, we don't see you as a number, a ticket sold, or a seat filled. We see you, and we celebrate you for who you are, and the unique experience we can give you during your stay in our sweet southern city. Our family understands the value of your time and money, and we're honored to be a part of the priceless memories you'll make here along your journey in historic and haunted Savannah.
A Legacy of Storytelling
This Savannah [love] story.
We're T.C. and Brenna Michaels, professional storytellers, and owners of Genteel & Bard.
We still can't believe we get to tell stories for a living. We love God, our sweet little southern gentleman, and our beautiful city of Savannah.
We're honored to host each and every one of our guests. You've come from near and far to witness the incomparable sights of our old city. Let's walk a while.
Genteel & Blog
Everytime I pass by the Sorrel Weed House, my nerves immediately go on edge and my senses on full alert. Long before it was a museum and department store, the home was cast with shadows of suicide, murder, adultery, and war. How could one home hold the key to so many hauntings?
If you were standing on the corner of Bull and Hull Streets in the early 90’s, you’d see a forgotten quiet city nestled among Live Oaks and Spanish Moss. Locals would quietly leave their offices at the closing bell and retreat to their homes outside of Savannah’s historic district. Because inside, Savannah lacked restaurants, hotels, and was overshadowed by empty buildings. Still beautiful by nature, the Hostess City didn’t have anyone to host.
Thankfully, he’s a Savannah boy. Blessed by the genteel grace of the South, kissed by the Georgia Sun, and loved fiercely by his Southern Belle of a mother. To be a Southern Gentleman is not God-given. It’s earned through lessons of “yes ma’am”, opening doors, and looking into people’s eyes with genuine care. It’s leading by faith, and not fighting with words, but proving through actions.
By the time we’ve poured our second cup of coffee and settled into the cushioned wrought-iron chairs on our front porch, the bride and her ladies will have shown up, looking all like flower petals twirling and floating into position for pictures and poses and procession.
For two though, the stench of Mr. Wise became their daily task…Alice Riley and Richard White. William Wise thought it was playful to beat and abuse Alice daily. Her only goal was to payback the price for her passage to the new world, a common ritual for poor indentured servants in 1734. As for Richard, he angrily looked on as his beloved Alice was torn by this old man and forced to bath him night after night.
I love listening to Savannah. Among the easy distraction of today’s technology, the Hostess City wins every time.
So when you hear, “would ya like wondago?”, download your preferred taxi app, watch your step along the cobblestone walkways, and sip the sweet taste of the South.
Savannah isn’t just a city of parks, squares, history, and public drinking. It’s home… Home for those who check on each other after storms. Home for those who pray for each other. Home for those who look into each other’s eyes, smile, and ask, “How are you?” Then they listen.
A Savannah courtyard is the kind of secret oasis we dream of in books.
I’ve had the pleasure of hosting guests from Canada, Australia, England, France, Germany, Italy, Poland, Austria, Ireland, Russia, Bulgaria, Columbia, and Israel to name a few. Most of them have only read about the South, seen pictures, and Savannah never disappoints any preconceived notion. For me, I become a student of their country as much as they become a student of ours. For the greatest lesson I’ve learned is that we’re all incredibly similar.
Genteel: polite, refined, respectable, or well mannered.
Your heart breaks in the best kind of way, and it’s just as if you’ve stepped back in time one-hundred years, or one-thousand. And you breathe deeper, and slower, and whatever hurry you were in sort of peels off you like a wet sweater.
Pocket of sage, and cross,
Laides and Gents, remember,
But we don’t call those shadows by name.
Might make ‘em stick around a while . . .
Of all of Savannah’s hidden locals, one of the most somber is the east end of Calhoun Square. Over her history, Savannah played home to thousands of African American slaves. At the time, the place where Calhoun now sits buttressed on all sides by beautiful stately mansions and draped in the shade of moss-laden oak trees, all was overgrown wilds, just past the edge of town, where it was deemed that those seen as property could bury their dead.