Review: The Enfield Haunting, Sky Living Drama – Part One


So I actually watched it, only two days late! Firstly a note. Enfield produced a crop of iconic images, especially those by Graham Morris. I’m not reproducing them here. You have probably already seen them, and I don’t own the copyrights, and respect the owner’s IP, so sorry. 🙂 If the owner of the famous images reads this and is OK for me to license them for use in the review, drop me a line.

Polterwotsit is a blog about real poltergeist phenomena, not fictional ones, but clearly the two can inform each other. The new Sky Living drama about Enfield has attracted considerable media coverage, and from what I have seen so far good reviews. If it were just a fiction I would never get round to watching it – but it is (very notionally) based upon Guy Lyon Playfair’s This House Is Haunted and hence the Enfield Poltergeist. As such I guess I’d better say something. I have actually reviewed fiction before on my personal blog – you can find my review of the first Paranormal Activity film here.

“Everyone’s a critic” they say, implying that everyone who can’t perform or write themselves allows themselves to make harsh judgments of those who can. It is all too true in my case – as an actor I am appalling, as a screenwriter – well I’m not doing much of it now am I? – and as a writer, er yeah, ’nuff said. I did get an Asst. Director’s credit once when a real director taught me a bit and let me “call the shots”, but what I know about making film or drama can be written on the back of a postage stamp. If you want a considered review based on real knowledge of the paranormal on film go ask Tom Ruffles, he’s your man.

Timothy Spall looks nothing like Maurice in this scene from the drama; but of he get's the voice right I'm happy!

Timothy Spall looks nothing like Maurice in this scene from the drama; good actor though!

Still here is what I thought – the good, the bad, and the so ugly I twice paused it and walked away from the TV to go clear my head and stop being annoyed and shouty before I could continue…

Let me start by saying that as a representation of the events at Enfield, at least as depicted by Guy in This House Is Haunted, this drama is about as much accurate as Cameron’s movie Titanic is to the events described in A Night to Remember and the actual sinking of the Titanic. 

To justify that analogy – the dramatist, Joshua St. Johnston has pulled out strands of story, and woven together a drama, and set it against the backdrop of Enfield – and the sets are loving reconstructions of the 1970’s, with almost perfect verisimilitude in set, costume, and feel just as Titanic gets the ship and costume almost perfect.

I lived in a council house 1981 to 1987, very similar to the one the Hodgsons lived at – and it was pretty realistic, though we lacked slugs and snails and ours was in much better structural shape. Note to Producers – poor does not mean dirty. The pipes looked right, but a lots of working class homes are pretty immaculate. I like the was it was handled here – looked right, and the reconstruction of the girls bedroom was almost perfect. I think the Monopoly set on the wardrobe is a 1982 edition, but otherwise almost perfect set dressing.

So it looks right, the names are right, the period items are right, the atmosphere is 77 – even down to a clip of a famous Some Mothers Do ‘Ave ‘Em episode on the TV – the lighting is almost Dogme 95, and the claustrophobic shots build atmosphere – all excellent. It’s a fantastic effort; the Viewmaster-G series toy looked right, and I think the Ker-Plunk set was the correct era too.

This House is Haunted by Guy Lyon Playfair

This House is Haunted by Guy Lyon Playfair

That’s the Good. The Bad now. And here is a confession…

I’m possibly not the target audience for this drama. I am going to guess that less that 50%, maybe less than a couple of million of the viewers of this show, will have ever tried to make sense of what happened at Enfield, written about it, talked to any of those there or describe themselves as “academic parapsychologists” on the dole forms.  I may be in the 20% or so of the audience who have actually read This House is Haunted, and maybe the few thousand who actually have read much on poltergeists. And as far as I know, I’m the only viewer who has a Poltergeist blog, cos this is the only one. Therefore, as this is not a programme made for pretentious nerds like me, I would be an arse to review it. I shall do so anyway, but bear it in mind.

I saw that the Telegraph or someone did a review calling it The Good Life with ghosts. I haven’t read it yet – I prefer to form my own opinions – but I think they have something. There is nothing of Margot & Jerry about it, or the Goods – but in a sense it is about an assault on hegemony, common sense of a society. However The Good Life, like Keeping Up Appearances, The Upper Hand, and pretty much every other 70’s and 80’s sit com was about something we barely understand now – social class. Well we pretend not to, we live in a classless society, but hell it’s rough on lads like me who aspire to rise above their station I promise you. I did pretty well, but like so many of the working class intellectuals of my generation, or maybe in my case pseudo-intellectuals, I ended up broke living in poverty on benefits in a house full of books.

Right now I get you don’t want a Marxist discussion of the base/superstructure model, and what economies generate poltergeists. 🙂 My point is that the 80’s and Thatcher changed so much that unless you were in the 70’s it is hard to imagine the class system, and how pervasive and taken for granted class assumptions were until maybe the early 80’s. And here is the first failing – while The Good Life was about two middle class couples, one of whom dropped out and lived what would not be recognised as a perfectly mainstream organic urban farming middle class existence; the Enfield Haunting has to negotiate class distinctions in 70’s England.

So let’s start with the Hodgsons – plainly working class, poor but respectable. Dad has left. So what is the single most important class indicator for a production like this? Accent. North London accents are divided by class; way more so then but now, and Enfield has an accent. Now luckily they avoided the obvious trap of Cockney – but the family just sound all wrong, shattering the illusion for me.  Eleanor Worthington-Cox sounds middle class, perhaps Cheshire (I’ll probably find out she grew up in Enfield now) and her brilliant performance as Janet is marred by an accent that would put her in the middle classes, not on a council estate in 1977. Now you can live on a council estate and talk posh – someone once said I did for instance, and I notoriously have  a “telephone voice” if someone calls me – but the accents of the family evoke a disconnect in terms of class and time and place. I guess you need fairly neutral accents for TV, but also I was surprised that the familiar diction of North London has gone – and even the choice of words feels wrong. “bleedin'” made far too few appearances. Are  there no North London child actors? Only Peggy really convinced by accent, and she looks like a middle class Oxo ad mum rather than a working class woman of the 1970’s. Still the families acting is superb, so all is good there!

Now as Becky says “this is TV” and Lisa “yes Chris it’s a drama, not a recreation”. Yeah fair point. I just felt stronger play on the language and class aspects would not have harmed the drama, though it may actually make younger viewers uncomfortable. People under 40 often seem uncomfortable talking about class.

mauriceNow it get’s harder for me; Spall and MacFadyen. Why? Because Maurice’s moustache and voice are totally wrong. I can do a pretty good impression of Maurice Grosse – I once dared to do it to his face, and he laughed, which was lucky as while a jolly and good natured chap he could blow up and explode in to harumphing rage if provoked. 😉 However the moustache, and the voice, and a few mannerisms made Maurice pretty unique – and a bit eccentric. Spall has played it safe, by playing Maurice as a more respectable, slightly sad figure – I recall him more as a frenetically driven, sometimes angry, often laughing, usually interrupting kind of bloke – but I liked Maurice, who I knew a little, so I like Spall’s depiction – I just don’t recognise it. So for the 75% of viewers who never ate with Maurice, or talked politics with him – well you guys will have to make up your own minds. Just don’t confuse Maurice Grosse and Maurice Grosse, if you see what I mean. I guess that is true of any fictional depiction of a real person, but I can’t think of any I have seen.  Maurice is odd – because you take away his North London middle class accent – a self made millionaire I believe, Grosse was perhaps working class made good, but he a long away above the Hodgson’s socially.  One lovely tough is Grosse’s red sports car, spot on.

Guy Lyon Playfair likes the drama, and I can see why. The depiction of him is pretty good. Of course there is one of the scenes which lefts me infuriated soon after his character arrives. As I recall Grosse and Playfair were sitting together at a monthly SPR talk  on a Thursday night when the shout went out and they volunteered to go look.  For dramatic purposes that is completely changed here, and – well I’ll get to that in my rant under “the ugly” below. For now what we have to note is Guy is very upper middle class – I find him a little scary, as I find most Cambridge graduates. The depiction of his in this respect seems good – he was good looking, well educated, and knew about poltergeists. He also seems a little more cynical and harder to befriend that Maurice – I always wonder if I am inadvertently “using the wrong knife” round Guy, but we do not meet often these days as I have no money for SPR meetings or conference. 😦 Guy also is extremely intelligent, a little belligerent when defending his case and while not a touch eccentric like Maurice, perhaps a little non-conformist. I like him from the few occasions we have met, but I’m a bit nervous of him, even by email!

The Ugly

There is a lot I actively dislike about the show. The biggest thing was early on, when Maurice and his wife take the call from the SPR (which of course never happened). There is a weird dream sequence in which it seems Maurice is looking at blood on a girl’s  head – I think Janet Grosse was 22 when she died, not a child, and her head injuries in the motorbike crash that killed her went a lot further than a bit of blood – but here the dramatist establishes Maurice was suffering “bad dreams” at the time of the case.

I know nothing of the sort to be true; I did speak to Maurice about his daughter’s death, well he told me, and he told most people – he was obviously very upset by it, and it was why he came to join the SPR – but I still don’t think bereavement effected him. Spall play’s Grosse as vulnerable – I recall him as a an energetic firebrand, but I could be wrong. I was only an acquaintance of his- others should speak on this.   Still this is a drama so that is fine, and the author is cleverly creating multiple potential explanations. enfield2

So what annoyed me in this scene? After Maurice leaves the house, his wife Betty is seen making a mysterious phonecall and saying something like “Ray, I’ve got to see you”. She smiles – and I immediately got an uneasy feeling the implication was that she was having an affair. Now this seems a nonsense from what I know – it serves a narrative purpose, to show that Maurice pretty much dedicated all his time day and night to the case – but Maurice was a family man and he and Betty were devoted to each other. Maurice has a son, Richard – perhaps that is the mysterious Ray, or maybe Ray is a family physician? The storyline will be resolved in the second or third episode I explain innocently enough, but it struck a nerve because of the David Baddiel incidents.

Baddiel wrote a novel featuring a fictional character called Maurice Grosse who has an affair –

GHOSTBUSTER Maurice Grosse did not see the funny side when he read a novel by comic David Baddiel with a storyline about an adulterer called Maurice Grosse.

Now the 79-year-old para-psychologist is suing the Fantasy Football star for libel – and demanding £10,000 damages.

In his book, Time for Bed: A Novel About Sleep, Sex and Skewed Clocks, Baddiel describes a psychic investigator called Maurice Grosse who lives in High Barnet, North London, and runs away with a married woman. The non-fictional Mr Grosse, who lives in Muswell Hill, North London, said: ‘I’m 79 and I’ve been happily married for 55 years.”

They settled out of court, and Grosse characteristically gave his winnings to charity. After he died however, Baddiel used the character again in another novel (and film) The Infidel. I am diplomatically going to avoid saying what I think of this move by David Baddiel…

So with that background, I think the screenwriter should have stayed well clear of teaser storylines about Maurice’s (as far as I know extremely happy) marriage. I was annoyed a bit, and went for a walk to calm down. I’m sure episodes 2 & 3 will as I say dismiss this but…

And then the portrayal of Maurice, and the bond between him and Janet, well it just goes a bit far. He comes over as a kindly uncle, all perfect, but did he sniff that hairbrush? We are viewing this in the wake of the historic sexcrimes investigations of Operation Yewtree and things that were totally innocent often seem dodgy to us in this cynical and perverted age. For a moment i felt uneasy – was Maurice being depicted as a perv, to set up a storyline where at the end of the evidence we learn about his daughters death and his  behaviour is explained? I’m probably too defensive of Maurice, but I felt uncomfortable. Nothing about him was in the slightest sleazy as far as I can recall! 🙂 Quite the opposite.

The third  thing that really annoyed me was the whole Playfair versus Grosse set up.  As noted above, the two had previously met at an SPR event or two, but only really got to know each other after they came to Enfield. In reality they both volunteered at the 4th August SPR 1977 meeting. Except in the drama Guy arrives at the house, and joins the investigation, and then forces Maurice briefly out, having talked some utter bilge (I assume) about being sent by Prof Beloff to stop Maurice and protect the good name of the SPR!  Would John Beloff have roared with laughter, or sued? I suspect the former, but it is a nonsense.

The SPR since its inception in 1882 has not held corporate opinions.  Members of the SPR may investigate cases, may have even been sent out by John Stiles and the Spontaneous Cases Committee, but they are investigating as private individuals and their opinions are there own, as the SPR does not hold collective opinions. If you don’t know much about the SPR ( http://www.spr.ac.uk ) you might want to have a quick look at this old blog piece of mind from my personal blog.  Whatever the case, I don’t think the SPR sent anyone to “shut down Enfield”. I may be wrong, but I very much doubt it, and it certainly was not Guy Lyon Playfair. Maybe a rivals dynamic is more interesting, and Guy is depicted in the role of all the Sceptics he had to answer, then and today, putting their critiques to Maurice, who refutes them. An interesting dramatic measure, making Guy Lyon Playfair the villain, but not what I understand happened. Both investigators were pretty self critical and sceptical, and I can’t imagine Guy rounding on Maurice with “I am the expert.” Good drama, don’t confuse it with the real dynamic. I think Guy here represents the other SPR members who came along and were woefully unimpressed, but “bandying the SPR name about?”. Really???

Holy Levitating Lyon Playfairs Batman!

The moment at the end of episode one where Guy is suddenly hurled to the ceiling by the poltergeist nearly became a major contribution to psychical research in its own right, in that it nearly killed me. I was eating a packet of crisps, and physically fell off the sofa crying with laughter. For a show about a poltergeist investigation – and it is about that rather than the poltergeist, the phenomena is firmly relegated to the background, with usually good but occasionally irritating sound – actually well done music but occasionally distracts rather than adds, blame the mix not the sound’s composer  I guess – indicating “this bit is spooky” the actual haunting effects are absolutely bollocks.  Janet sees an old man (is that Guy Lyon Playfair made up to look old and scary? You only see him for a second and I did wonder if he was playing a cameo!) through the Viewmaster toy – really? – the Mirror journalists are relegated to the role of barely adolescent wonks (they play a significant role in events) and the string of visiting experts seems boilded down to a cameo of what I guess are the guys from PYE.  The weird shot from Graham Morris showing the curtains blowing in turns in to a Hollywood horror movie sequence of the curtains strangling Janet…

The story is told higgledy piggledy, without regard for the   actual chronology of the phenomena, and while in places the phenomena are served well – the marbles which take the place of the marbles and Lego bricks that hit the Daily Mail guys scene is shot in such a way there is ambiguity about how it occurs, and if the kids chuck things, but seriously, the “creepy old man apparition” glimpsed through windows etc a la Mr Pipes feels more like a homage to Stephen Volk’s Ghostwatch than anything to do with Enfield, unless it is supposed to be the chap Vic Nottingham saw at the table? (You will look in vain for the Burcombes, the Nottinghams, or most of the others who came to Enfield in episode one. I guess introducing the girls and investigators enough – Peggy hopefully gets  screen-time more in episode 2, and Graham Morris too. WPC Heeps gets a mention – but the problem with this simplification for good screenwriting, reducing an endless list of characters to a handful who perform their narrative function, is it severely reduces the strength of the testimony, and some twonks will make up their mind on Enfield not from the people, physical evidence or written sources, but from this drama 😉 Such people really exist, and I seem to meet them! 😦 ).

You are not going to learn much about poltergeist phenomena from this – go to the book. Unbelievably Becky claims most people do not actually WANT TO learn about poltergeist phenomena(!!!), and if they did they might not try a Sky Living drama. 😉 It’s like Lisa says “CJ, you simply don’t understand fiction and a good story: it’s entertainment”.  While a few phenomena were absolutely spot on – marbles stopping dead for instance – seriously, don’t confuse the real case (more dramatic at times) and the rather dodgy special effects here.

Overall

A few aspects of the case seemed a bit personal to drag out for a drama; the oldest boy Johnny sent off to an Approved School, the girls periods etc. I’m guessing Guy has good relations with the family and he approved the screenplay I believe; I was surprised to find I know a couple of people related to the current residents of the house, and I hope they are not being harassed by “ghosthunting kids” and that Sky Living make it worth their while. I’m not sure I’d want my childhood on primetime TV, but hey, that ain’t ever gonna happen so I can sleep easy. 🙂

A good intelligent drama, as entertainment 7/10, mainly for good acting and great backdrops and period feel, but the script is not what I would have hoped for. I could not do anywhere near as well though, so bravo! to all involved. 🙂 I am probably not the person to review this. 😀

CJ x

QA

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117 Comments

Filed under Poltergeist Cases, Poltergeist Dramas, Poltergeist Investigations

117 responses to “Review: The Enfield Haunting, Sky Living Drama – Part One

  1. Simon

    Becky, As far as I’m concerned; It’s fine for you to go ahead and reproduce the Graham Norris images. Actually, he (Graham), had no right to publish those images, without the express permission of my father; Stuart Certain: The ENFIELD POLTERGEIST.The fact that he (G.N) did so, was a long-standing irritation to my father. After all; Dad was the focus of attention. I, myself; think of it as a breach of confidence.
    I’m considering legal action.
    Meantime, I wouldn’t mind seeing those images of my father, in action, again
    You have to admit; he was a class act.
    SC

  2. Simon

    No-one wants to speak to a Poltergeist.
    I wonder why?
    I miss Maurice Grosse.
    I wish he were still alive.
    He would speak to me.
    He did before.
    SC

  3. Simon

    It was GLPlayfair who caused Janet to have a fit.
    It was GLP who wrote ‘I AM FRED’ upon the back of the bathroom door.
    His reasoning was as such: the name FRED was scratched onto the wooden partition behind the alter of St James Church, Enfield Highway.
    GLP suspected that the ‘Girls’ had done it.
    The church priest wanted to call in the police, over the matter.
    GLP and the priest had an argument over this.
    GLP realized that if the police became involved over this, then everything would come to an end. He could forget about writing a novel.
    Which was his ‘Primary’ aim, from day one.
    He managed to persuade the priest to give him more time.
    GLP and the priest were friends.
    He asked the priest to visit the house in Greenstreet.
    The priest subsequently did. He said that he could do nothing.
    GLP wanted to gauge the reaction from the girls.
    GLP was wrong.
    The sisters did not cause the scratchings in the church.
    Janet had an overwhelming feeling of guilt.
    The sisters knew that it was I who scratched FRED in the church.
    They were both there when I did so.
    They watched me do it.
    GLP’s actions caused Janet to have a fit.
    SC

    • Simon

      There is no doubt in my mind, that if Maurice Grosse had still been alive then he would have wanted to speak to me. That he would seek to see me and speak to me in person.
      He would not have run away, like Guy Playfair has.

  4. Simon

    GLPlayfair never understood the psychodynamics of the situation at Green Street. His background and education gave him a sense of superiority over the Hodgson family. For their part, the family were in some awe of him. They related much better to Maurice Grosse. They liked M Grosse.
    It is doubtful if GLP realised that he was unliked. Even when the youngest son threw a lump of excrement, wrapped in toilet tissue, at him.
    Billy hated GLP.
    It is doubtful, even to this day, whether GLP realised that dynamic.
    He should have left when the neighbours advised him to.
    GLP is a control freak.

  5. Simon

    Strolling along Green Street; Margaret and Janet at my side; I was aware of an air of expectancy about them both. I knew that something was coming, for they began to dispute among themselves.
    “You ask him?”, said one to the other. “No; you ask?”
    This went on for a while, until I decided to intervene.
    “What is it?”, I asked of them. They both looked at me, with indecisiveness written all over them. “Come on; you wanted to ask me something?”, I remarked. They looked at one another, before Janet took control of the situation and said to me, rather sheepishly, “Would you like your marbles back?”
    I admit that I was rather taken aback at this, for we had spoken some days previously, about marbles. I had asked them both, if they knew how many marbles they had; if they had counted them? They had told me, then, that they didn’t know, as they belonged to Billy. He was the only one to play with them. When they asked me, why it was that I wanted to know, I had told them that I kept on losing mine; that I often dropped them and, they would sometimes vanish as soon as they hit my bedroom floor.
    Janet especially, and after some period of musing over this, found this extremely funny. Nevertheless, they had promised to ask Billy.
    Sure enough; Billy confirmed, via the girls, that he did have more marbles than before! Apparently; after sorting through them, he put the extra marbles in a bag, ready to give back to me! As I remember, it was seven in all. This was somewhat short of the amount I had lost, as I had started out with around twenty and was now reduced to five. Where the others went, I have no Idea. I assume that they are still floating around in the ether, somewhere? Needless to say, I declined the offer and told them that Billy could keep them. Anyway, I didn’t need them so much at that time, as my ability to glide along the Astral Plane had become more enhanced.

  6. Simon

    Whilst it could be said,(with some justification) that, although twenty-two years of age: my emotional age was much younger: the mind of a twelve-year old would be a more accurate description of my outlook at that time. Occasionally though, I was able to make reasoned decisions worthy of someone of my age. Such an occasion occurred when one afternoon, I had a sudden inspiration to redecorate my bedroom. In fact, I reasoned, why not redecorate all the bedrooms? This would please Mother? A coat of paint to cover the old wallpaper, would do a lot to brighten the place up. With this in mind, I turned my attention to the fire-places. These were not used and no gas flowed through them, so I hit upon the idea of removing the gas-fires completely; boarding up the chimneys and then painting the lot. With this in mind, I went into my eldest sisters room, which she had recently vacated, and set about trying to remove the appliance. These gas-fires, cream-coloured and made of cast-iron (typical council stock) were quite heavy. They came apart in two pieces, which made it slightly easier. With a bit of effort, I was able to remove the fire completely. Satisfied that they wouldn’t present too much of a problem, I refitted the fire and went downstairs to put my ideas to Mother. She was all for the idea, but was a bit concerned regarding my ability regarding the fire-places. Seeking to reassure her, I asked her to come upstairs where we went into the front (main) bedroom, which was hers. After some talk about asking the council if they would supply the paint, I went over to the fireplace, removed the front-piece and set about lifting the remainder of the appliance from the chimney. Suddenly, I hit a snag. This wasn’t coming out as I expected. I put it down to the extra weight of the larger fire. Mother interjected at this point with, “Leave it… I’ll get the council to do it.” I explained to her, that the other fire had come out alright; and then set about a second attempt. Gripping the gas-fire firmly, I heaved against the weight of the fire and managed to pull it about six inches from the opening. Then, looking down at the back of the fire, I noticed that it was still attached to the gas-pipe. This, I hadn’t suspected. To make matters worse, I had managed to bend the pipe which meant I couldn’t replace it. Feeling like an idiot, I turned to Mother and explained the situation. Strangely; mum didn’t respond, but stood there with a blank expression upon her face. Something was wrong, I knew, and asked,” Mum, are you alright?” There was no response. More concerned now, I went over to her and asked again if she were OK? She suddenly snapped out of her trance-like state and exclaimed “Oh, there you are?” Confused now, I asked her what the matter was and she said that something was wrong; she may need a doctor! After getting her to sit upon her bed, I questioned her as to what the problem was. She responded by asking me, “Where did you go to?” She told me that I had disappeared: vanished in front of her eyes!
    Fortunately, Mother recovered fully from this experience.
    For my part, I had no knowledge, at the time, that the same incident regarding the gas-fire removal was taking place, down the road at 284.
    SC

  7. Simon

    As far as poverty goes, I suppose that our household probably ranked as one of the poorest in Enfield; if not, the whole of North London.
    Although we had lived there for a few years now, we were still in the position of having no carpets in the house: a situation which necessitated the need for me to occasionally go round the house with a hammer; in order to knock back down the nail-heads, which would sometimes pop up from the rough council floor-boards. However, we never complained or bemoaned our position as we were, in truth, happy to have a roof over our heads.
    The time came, however, when Mother decided that something needed to be done to improve our general well-being. She therefore decided that the purchase of net curtains would be an appropriate step in the right direction; not only from a sense of privacy, but it would show the neighbour’s that we did, actually, care about such matters. As with all decisions regarding financial outlay; a veritable juggling-act would occur. On this occasion, it was decided that the purchase of new and much needed crockery would have to be put off; for now. This was no small matter, for in a house-hold of five, we owned: five dinner-plates, three side-plates, one cereal-bowl and a selection of cups/mugs. When my eldest sister left home, the situation improved somewhat, for I was the only one to eat cereal. However, a problem would still occur when my cat (minstrel) who was a night-hunter, occasionally decided that she would stay indoors for the night. This meant that I had to use the bowl for her water-holder. Which meant, in turn, that I would have to wash the bowl again, before usage.
    I can tell you: its not much fun sharing a bowl with a cat.
    It must have been my reflection on this point, and my general disposition of despair and despondency that caused me , one morning, to suddenly grab hold of the bowl and fling it against the kitchen wall; smashing it to smithereens.
    I was totally unaware, of course, that at that very moment; within the kitchen at 284: Janet was about to tuck in to her bowl of shredded-wheat.
    To have her bowl suddenly whipped from under her nose and smash against the wall was, of course, a distressing incident for her.
    It is one of those incidents, of which I remain totally sorry about, and if she happens to read this; Janet, please accept my humble apologies.
    SC

  8. Simon

    I’d arrived home, to find the house empty. Mother was out; with my two youngest sisters. This was disappointing, as I had something on my mind that I needed to talk about. This was a matter to which I had been thinking about for a few days. I had weighed up all the possibilities; I had spent time in seclusion; in my own place: my special place, which was the roof-space above the Nave in St James Church, Enfield Highway. It was a place that I would often go to, when I needed to think things over. More often than not; it was when in a state of depression. And I was oft depressed. This time though, it was not through depression; rather, a sublime feeling of overwhelming happiness, that had taken me there.
    However; that joy that I felt, was tempered by a realization of a problem. A problem that had originally seemed insurmountable. A problem to which I blamed GOD. For; surely it was HE who had instigated this and, I suspected; a cruel joke upon myself. Yet, my time alone paid dividends; for I found a solution. In the end, the answer was a simple one. And I had to tell Mother. So I made some tea, and settled in to wait. When Mother arrived, with the buggy, I was quickly to my feet and helped her in. I couldn’t wait, as this was something that needed to be said now. Mother sensed something was coming, for she put the down the shopping-bags and asked;… “What?” Looking squarely at her, I told her, “I’ve found a girl – a girlfriend.”
    Mums expression of delighted surprise grew more, when I said that I was “In Love.” “At last!,” Mother responded. “I was wondering how long it would be before you found someone. I’m really pleased….. what’s she like?” “She’s lovely!,” I replied. “In fact,… shes beautiful!….however, there’s a problem?” “What do you mean – a problem?” she asked, as her smile somewhat diminished. “Shes a bit younger than me.” I answered. “What do you mean?” she pursued, “how old?…..twenty-one?……twenty?.” “No,” I said, “shes a bit younger than that.” “Well….nineteen then?……eighteen?” “No,” I replied,…. “younger,” “Seventeen?,” Mother ventured, her smile now just a trace. “Younger,” I said, softly. Mothers expression was now one of confused concern. “Well, what are you talking about, here?” she exclaimed, in a puzzled voice, “how old…exactly?” I took a deep breath and answered, assuredly: “Twelve”
    Mothers face contorted, as though she had sucked upon a bitter lemon. “Twelve!?,” she exclaimed, incredulously, “Twelve!?….Is this one of your jokes?…. I know you….this is a joke isn’t it?” “No, mum,” I stated, “its no joke. I love her very much….her name is Janet…..and…..I’m going to marry her!”

  9. Simon

    Leaving my turning and entering Green Street, I glanced to my right and saw, on the opposite side; Janet and Margaret. They were obviously on their way to the shops (or the library), along Enfield Highway. Seeing them both, cheered me up; as it always did and, I was in a rare cheerful mood anyway, so my happiness increased measurably. Of course, I went straight across to them, with a smile on my face. Yet, as I approached, it was obvious to me that something was wrong. I went to say ‘Hello,’ and then thought better of it; for, they both had a look of contempt upon their faces.
    I was puzzled.”What?”, I ventured,… “whats the matter?”
    “You lied!” Janet exclaimed, angrily.
    Margaret joined in, with; “Yes, you lied to us!”
    I couldn’t speak for a few seconds, as my mind tried to get to grips with this bombshell. “What do you mean?” I exclaimed, querulously, for I had no idea as to what they were talking about. “Come on Janet, lets go!” Margaret said, decisively. “Hold on!” I asked, worriedly, as they started to move off, “what, on earth, are you talking about?”
    “You know what we’re talking about!” Margaret asserted.
    I assured them both, in a pleading tone, that I had no idea? They both stopped in their tracks and looked back at me.
    “There’s no such thing as ‘Quark’… or, whatever you call it….’Strangeness’ and ‘Charm’!” Janet shouted at me. To say I was; nonplussed, would be an understatement. “But, of course there is!” I answered; “I wouldn’t lie to you?” “Well, we’ve spoken to Mr Grosse,” Janet went on, “and,.. “he’s never heard of it!” “Yes, you’re so childish with these silly games you play!” Margaret joined in. “Yes, and Mr Grosse is really intelligent”, Janet continued. “If it were true, then he would know?”
    “Is he?,” I responded, flatly. “Well, he may not of heard of it?”, I said, “this is all quite recent knowledge: its obvious that he hasn’t heard yet,… he’s probably a busy man…….not everyone knows?” I detected a slight waver in Janet’s assured manner over this and, sought to appease her further. “What about that other one?” I ventured, “that other ghost-chaser,…whats his name….Playfair?” “Mr Playfair’s not here at the moment. He’s had to go somewhere,” says Janet. “Well, when he gets back, ask him,…maybe he’ll know?” I said. “Well, we’re going round the library now,” says Janet, and we’ll look it up, there.” “Good!” I exclaimed, finally, as they made off. I suppose, you could say that we’d had something of a spat. I was most unhappy and decided against going out, but returned home instead. There, I lay on my bed and thought things over. ‘These ghost-chasers are going to ruin everything,’ I reasoned. ‘Fancy, him not knowing that?’ Still, I knew that I was correct and just hoped that the girls would come to realise this, sooner, rather than later. For, I was fearful of losing their friendship.
    # # # # # # # # # # # #
    This whole incident had its roots via an idea of mine, to give psychic names to both Janet and Margaret. This was quite reasonable, as far as I could see, as Janet had given me my psychic name, yet, they had none for themselves. I had suggested this to them once before and come up with Janeth: for Janet (she wasn’t too keen) and Magreth: for Margaret (she flatly refused, stating that it made her sound like some evil witch – I could see her point.) So, the idea of renaming all three of us as ‘quark’, ‘strangeness’ and ‘charm,’ somewhat appealed to me. However, we couldn’t decide on who should be whom, so I’d left it with them both, to think about. To be truthful, I wasn’t too keen on the name which I’d been given (Stuart) and much preferred Simon. Janet, though, insisted it had to be Stuart, as it had been dictated via the Quija-board. (She later conceded to me that I could have two names – Stuart/Simon – and agreed to address me by the second of those names.) The manner of my psychic-naming is an interesting one, so I tell it here. Well, a bit later. I’m a bit upset at the moment. Forgive me.

  10. Simon

    There’s no doubt about it. I must be the saddest Poltergeist that ever lived.

  11. Simon

    Elsewhere on this site, (The Legacy of the Enfield Poltergeist) CJ states:

    ‘The girls were 11 and 13 when it all kicked off; and they acted like teenagers anywhere. At first they were terrified, but soon they began to enjoy it all, and if I recall correctly Tony Cornell was particularly put off by the way he thought Janet was loving every moment and endlessly amused by the investigators failure to get to grips with it.’

    Whilst that is obviously true, what it really shows is; the lack of lateral thinking on the part of those who investigated. I can tell you now: the assumption that this is evidence of the girls trickery is most certainly not the case.
    The real reason behind Janet’s amusement was; not because she thought that she could fool the investigators: rather, it was because she was in on a secret. The secret being: she and her sister knew the identity of the Poltergeist. They both knew that it was me, for; I had told them so. Yes, they were scared at the beginning, for they thought their home was haunted, yet; when I told them the truth (and, they had finally accepted it) the mood of both Margaret and Janet improved, significantly. In fact, they related this to their mum (Peggy,) although, they denied this to me. Yet, I knew that they had done so. When I called at the house (284) one evening, bearing gifts ( a couple of games that I no longer used: I believe they were ‘Mastermind,’ – a game involving pegs – and ‘Masterpiece,’ – an auction game, around the buying and selling of great works of art) I was startled by Peggy’s response. Her actual words to me were (I remember them exactly) “Whats this for?….Is it because you feel guilty?” I was totally unprepared for this and, had no idea of what she was talking about. I told her as much; and said that if they didn’t want them, then they could bin them, if they wanted. She took the carrier-bag indoors and I heard Janet say, eagerly; “What is it, mum…..lets have a look!”
    I didn’t hang around to get an answer, but made my way home. Further, unequivocal, proof to me of what I suspected, occurred at a later date.
    In the early hours of one morning, (around 1.30 am, I believe) I was disturbed from my sleep by the distant sound of a woman’s voice. Whoever it was, sounded in some distress, for she was calling out; loudly and sometimes shrilly. At first I thought it was someone who was drunk. Then, as the voice progressed along Green Street, an uneasy feeling gripped me. I had a deeply intuitive feeling that whoever it was, was making for me! I quickly got out of bed, opened my bedroom window and scanned the part of Green St that I could see. Despite my poor eyesight, my anxiety increased tremendously when I saw, whom I thought to be the girls mother, Peggy!
    I quickly got dressed and hurried downstairs, for I believed that she was going to call at my home. I couldn’t have that – what would Mother think! I opened the front-door, stepped outside and peered from behind the cover afforded by the bay-window. Suddenly, the shouting stopped and then, just as I thought it was all over, I saw her. It was Peggy! She passed by my turning in silence and then started up again. “Stuart Certain is it!… Or, is it Simon!” she shouted, loudly. “This has got to stop….do you here me!… this has got to stop….now!” Then, more silence as she reappeared, walking back down Green St. Then, she began to mutter away to herself. I can tell you; I was genuinely scared. However, not withstanding that; I followed at some distance behind her. I realized that if she came back, then I would have to intercept her, as I couldn’t take the chance that she might call at my home. Not only that, I realized that she was in a vulnerable state of mind and I determined that I would keep watch until she had returned safely home. What a nightmare! Poor Peggy! I had some serious thinking to do!

  12. Simon

    As I remember, it had been a sort of a nothing day. The clouds had set in over Enfield and the light had a certain dull glow to it. There was a heaviness to the atmosphere. All in all, I would say that the atmosphere mirrored my mood somewhat. My mind had entered a sort of neutral state. In truth, I had been a bit under the weather, what with my sore throat and all; and I had become slightly anxious, owing to the reason that I hadn’t seen the girls for over a week now. Realizing that I was entering a state of depression, I decided to take solace with a visit to my special place: the attic above the nave in St James church. The stillness there helped; I found.
    I left the loft-light switched off and sat, cross-legged, in silence. Then, I began the process of emptying my mind of all negative thoughts. It was a struggle. After what seemed like an hour, and making not much headway, I then decided to return home. I’d got to the church at around 4:10pm, so I assumed that it was no more than around 5:20pm, at the latest. I was surprised, therefore; to find that when I stepped out from the church; the sky was completely dark. Street-lamps were on and the traffic had headlights blazing. Reaching home, I went straight to my room, drew the curtains against the night-sky then sat on my bed, to ponder. ‘Surely, I couldn’t have spent that long a time there?’ I reasoned. Then, out of the blue; I heard voices that I recognized. They were some way off, I could tell, yet there was no mistaking the sound of Janet and Margaret! And, they were getting nearer! My heart leapt, as I heard them approach my turning and go by. Quickly, I grabbed my coat and rushed downstairs. Reaching the end of our road, I scanned left and right but could not see them. I determined that they must have passed the bend in Green St and were on their way home, so set off in pursuit. Rounding the bend in the road, I saw them; some way off and approaching Durants Park. I decided to run and got to about five yards behind them, before stopping. After a couple of breathers, I braced myself and said “Hello!”
    They nearly jumped out of their skins! On turning to see me, Margaret exclaimed “Oh, its you!……where did you come from?” I told them that I had heard them and then run down the road to meet them. “What do you mean….you heard us?” Janet asked, quizzically. I told them of how I had heard them from my room. “But,…..you couldn’t have done?” she went on. “OK, then…. from where did we come from?” I said that they had come along the Highway and that I had heard them first when they were there. They looked at one another in a puzzled silence before Janet went on, “You must have really good hearing, what with the cars and all that?” I told them that it was my psychic-hearing; that I was attuned to their voices. “You said that you were running” says Margaret. “What I want to know is, how you got so close to us without us hearing you?” “I don’t know?” I replied. “I expected you to turn around but; you didn’t?” She obviously didn’t believe me and said that I must have been hiding as they would have definitely heard me. She then accused me of playing games! I protested to her, without much headway and then decided to change the subject. “Anyway,” I said, “what are you doing out at this time of night?” Again, the girls looked at one another, quizzically. “What do you mean?” said Margaret. “Yes, what do you mean by that?” continued Janet, “its not that late!” She looked at her watch but had difficulty in reading it. “Try standing beneath the street-lamp,” I offered, “It’ll be easier there?” “Well, what good would that do!” Janet exclaimed. “Its easier in the light.” I said. “But,….its not on?” she responded. “Yes it is!” I said, “look!” “What are we supposed to be seeing?” says Janet. “Look!” I repeated. “I am looking!” said Janet impatiently, “its not on!” Margaret shook her head. “Its definitely not switched on?” she stated. We stood in silence for a while. I was totally confused and it was obvious that the girls were too; by my attitude. “But, do you not see how dark it is?” I tried. This time, they both shook their heads. “What are you seeing?” asked Janet, a bit more sympathetically. “Well, the sky is dark and the street-lights are on?” I replied, yet; less sure of myself. “Look,” I offered, “how far can you see across the park?” “Well,…all the way?”says Janet. “Right then,” I said, decisively. “I’m going to walk across the park and I want you to call out when you can’t see me?” “Come on Janet, lets get home,” said Margaret, “I’m tired of these games and… I want my tea.” “Just do this,” I said,”for me: please?” “I’ll do it” said Janet. “Well, I’m going home,” says Margaret, and starts to walk off. I then strode off across the park. When I’d gone about twenty yards, I stopped and looked back. “Can you see me?” I called out. Janet didn’t answer but was looking back and forth across the park. It was obvious to me that she couldn’t see me. I called out again and again I got no response. “Come on Janet!” calls Margaret. Janet turned to Margaret and called out, “Where’s he gone?” I could see Margaret looking this way and that, across the park. She couldn’t see me either! “He must be hiding!” said Margaret. At this, Janet starts to walk off towards Margaret. “But he can’t be hiding,” she says, “there’s nowhere to hide!” At this, I made my way back to the footpath and called out, “Here I am!” They both turned to look and were obviously surprised to see me behind them! As I approached, Janet asked, “where did you go to?” I said that I didn’t go anywhere. “Why didn’t you answer when I called out?” I asked. “I didn’t hear you!” Janet replied. “I would have heard, if you had called!” explained Margaret. “Look,” I said, “you had better go home and get some tea. I’ve got a lot to think about!” I left them and walked home in the darkness. Arriving home, I went straight to my room, removed my jacket and lay on my bed. ‘What a strange occurrence? I needed to do some deep thinking over this.’ Suddenly, I felt hungry; so went downstairs to the kitchen. Mother was there. “What time do you make it?” I asked. She replied that it had just gone 6pm. “Why is it so dark outside?” I queried. “What do you mean?” she answered, “its not dark, yet!” I looked at the sky through the kitchen window and could see that everything had changed. I then quickly opened the back door and went into the garden. I stood in the center and looked at the sky all around. It was light!…..light everywhere!

  13. Simon

    It was Saturday. A couple of days had passed since the day/night conundrum that I had experienced and, I’d had a bit of time to think things through. I’d considered all the evidence and had managed to dismiss all the rational explanations that I’d thought of, such as: had I been suffering a fever?……had I fallen asleep in the church, without realising?……had the girls been pretending as regards the brightness of the sky? All these could be dismissed, I realised, as nothing seemed to add up. Why this should have been of such concern to me, I wasn’t sure, as; what with my astral- projection and everything, this was really just another strange stitch that was being woven into the weird tapestry of life in Green Street, at that time. Thinking back, I realised that this incident had not been too dissimilar to another incident I had had, a couple of miles along the road, at Waltham Abbey. On that occasion, I had been involved in an altercation with someone whom I later realised to be none other than Thomas Tallis! That incident I had determined to be of a dimensional nature and it was this solution that I finally accepted as regards the latest events. So, when on my way to the shop to buy some matches and happened upon Janet and Margaret, I was in a rather conciliatory mood. I need not have worried, as upon seeing me, both girls smiled. “Hello Simon!” greeted Janet. “Hello Simon!” said Margaret. Pleasantly surprised, I said ‘hello’ to them both and then attempted to explain my strange behaviour, a couple of evenings past. However, I didn’t manage to get further than saying sorry, before Janet interjected with, “Are you feeling better now?” “Yes, are you OK, now?” says Margaret. For a moment, I thought that they were making fun of me. Their demeanour, however, belied that suspicion. The affection that the girls were showing towards me was palpable. I felt really good. “Yes, thank-you!” I responded. “How’s your throat?” asked Janet. “Much better, thanks. Did I tell you about that?” “Yes”, replied Janet, “and you said something about having a fever?” “Did…I?”, I said. Margaret nodded. “Don’t you remember?” she said. “No, not really,” I said. “I’ve been thinking of other things and, I think I have a solution as to what happened the other night?” At that, the girls both looked at one-another. “You do recall, don’t you?” I asked, “about the street-light and so on?” Janet nodded. “Well”, I continued, “I’ve had a good think over this and I am pretty sure that you didn’t, actually, talk to me!” Again, the girls looked at one another. This time with puzzlement upon their faces. “What I mean is,….I wasn’t actually there!” At that, Janet struggled to contain herself from laughing. “So..who was it then?” she said, with difficulty. “Don’t laugh!” said Margaret in a light reproving manner, towards Janet. “Well, it was me, but then again….it wasn’t me.” I went on, “It was an astral-projection of me… from another dimension!” “What, like a ghost, you mean?” she asked. “Yes, that’s it!”, I answered. “But,….you’re not…dead?” she said. “No”, I replied, “when I astral-project, then I become like a living ghost!” “Look”, said Margaret, “we’re going to the library now.” “Yes”, said Janet, “Why don’t you come with us…. We can talk about it on the way?… Its really interesting!” After determining from them that they had to do some research, for their school-work, I declined the offer: saying that they should concentrate on matters at hand. We could talk about this at another time. So, we said our goodbyes and went our different ways. The girls to the library: me, to the cemetery where I could have a quiet cigarette, amid the overgrown gravestones.

  14. Simon

    Guy Lyon Playfair – Psychic Investigator.
    Psychic Investigator???.. Really??? Sure; that is how he likes to portray himself. In fact, he will defend his position and bandy his SPR association at the drop of a hat. Or, should that be at the drop of a marble? Remember this: he is someone who lost his temper with Janet and Margaret for calling him a ghost-chaser. Janet, aged 12. Margaret, aged 13. Remember that fact. It is hard to think of a single positive contribution that he made throughout the whole time he spent on the Enfield case. A time in which he inveigled his way into the Hodgson household and took over a much needed bedroom for his own accommodation. A time in which he did nothing, much, except gather information to facilitate his own selfish ends, regarding his prime aim, which was to write a book on the subject. A time in which he had, at an early stage, made his mind up on the cause of the phenomena. To him, the cause was nothing more than Janet and Margaret playing tricks. Oh yes. Don’t be fooled by his protestations otherwise. In truth, he didn’t care about the girls. He wasn’t concerned about how matters were affecting their schooling. How it affected their mental well-being. If he were genuinely concerned: then he would have left the scene at an early stage. But no. He had to get his book out. That required time. And a closeness to the action. Remember, he was someone who spent much of his time trying to get marbles to bounce. He still calls this a strange phenomena. What a joke, he is. Let me state here: Marbles Don’t Bounce. Why should they? They are, after all, just lumps of glass. There is nothing intrinsic in them that would cause them to bounce. When I threw marbles at the inside walls of our house, they didn’t rebound. They would hit and then fall perpendicularly. It would have been of far more scientific interest if he had devoted his time to understanding where the marbles were originating from. He never, even, counted the marbles that Billy had. He just assumed that they were the same ones. What a joke. The fact that he has used his influence and intelligence to work on Janet over the years since: to convince and persuade her that she was the originator and perpetrator of the phenomena, is something that is not widely known. Of course: once she considered that, somehow, he was right over this and had her doubting her own experience on these matters, then; he had complete influence over her. He could then manipulate her to his will. Such an occasion happened a few years ago, when he contacted her to appear along-side him in a TV debate (Good Morning.) His one aim, on this occasion, was to reignite public interest in the case as it was his intention to sell his story to Sky: which he succeeded in doing and which this article is about. I saw them both, (remotely) sitting upon a sofa, with Guy putting the suggestion to Janet that she only had to keep up the pretense and he would give her some monies on top of appearance money. How much he finally gave to her, I don’t know. What I do know is, Janet was very uncomfortable with this, for two reasons: she wasn’t sure if she was the real instigator of the phenomena, as GLPlayfair had tried to convince her of. Secondly; it made her feel that she was a co-conspiritor. The Janet that I knew was anything but a liar. She and her sister were both honest and trustworthy (and beautiful) as were the whole family. The fact that she ultimately agreed to go along with his wishes, just shows to what hold he (Svengali) had obtained over her. Bastard.

  15. Simon

    When Mother asked me, one morning, what I had been doing in the night; I thought it unusually pertinent of her; so it was with hesitation that I answered “Nothing;….why?” She then opened the palm of her hand, upon which sat two marbles. She said that she had found one in the front room and the other in the kitchen. I told her that; yes, they were mine; that I’d had them for years and I was pleased that she found them and that they belonged with the others, in a box in my room. Apart from telling me that she thought it odd that I should be playing with marbles at my age, she expressed concern that it was dangerous to leave them laying around as someone could tread on them and fall over. I agreed with her and then fibbed that they had fallen out of the box which I had brought downstairs and, whilst sorting out paperwork; that I’d forgotten they were in there and that it wouldn’t happen again. She was satisfied with this. I though; was puzzled? This was not the first time that I had lost marbles. These useful aids to Astral-Projection I often dropped, owing to the way that they needed to be held (within the fingertips) as I tapped out a rhythm upon my bedroom walls. Usually, the ones dropped I found again. Occasionally though; they appeared to have vanished; as I would search every inch of my bedroom floor, on hands and knees, in a vain search. To have them suddenly appear downstairs was strange, to say the least. Matters got more awkward when, one late and dark evening, and whilst going through my rhythmic routine, Mother called up the stairs for me to come down, as she thought that someone may be trying to break in. I quickly rushed downstairs where she explained that she had heard a loud bang emanate from the kitchen. I went to check; including the garden and found nothing untoward. I asked her to tell me if it happened again. About ten minutes passed, and mum was calling up to me again. Same thing: same noise! This time she accompanied me into the kitchen. After doing the usual checks and reassuring her once more, I suddenly caught sight of a marble, sitting upon the kitchen table. My first thought was that Mother had found it and put it there. But no! She had no knowledge of how it got there. Looking at the floor, near to the table, I then found two more. One had actually smashed into fragments! Mother demanded to know how they had got there and I; having no rational explanation to tell her, confessed my worst fears. “They’ve fallen through the ceiling!” I told her. “What are you talking about?” she asked, incredulously, “how can they fall through the ceiling?” “I’m not sure?” I replied, looking upwards for holes. There were none. “Hold on”, I said, “I want to try something”. I then took a marble, stood upon a chair and held the marble up close to the ceiling and, over the table. The table was a laminate-top affair, with tubular-metal legs. “What are you doing?” mum said. I asked her to resume sitting in the living-room and to tell me if this was the sound she had heard? As soon as she was seated, I let go of the marble. The noise it made when it hit the table, made even me, jump! “That’s it!”, Mother exclaimed, “that’s the exact noise that I heard!” I watched the marble as it rolled a little, owing to the slight unevenness of the floor, before it stopped at the edge. “Well, that’s it then; there’s your answer” I said, “they are definitely coming through the ceiling!” “I don’t know what you are doing?”, she replied, “or how; but you are to stop this game right now!… I’ve had enough tricks for one night!” “Yes mum”, I said. Back in my room, I pondered: Sometimes, it is better to accept the lie; for to tell the truth needs a lot more explaining.

  16. Simon

    Strangely enough, anxiety can be a motivating force; when the need arises. St Valentines day, 1978 was, for me, one of those occasions. My anxiety, on this occasion, was conducive to my needs for this special day, as I felt an overwhelming need to express my love to Janet. I’d considered the idea of dropping a couple of anonymous Valentines Day cards, (one each; for Janet and Margaret) through the letter-box at 284; yet, somehow; I felt it inappropriate, considering their ages. Not only that: there was a chance that I might be discovered, in the act, which would leave me with a lot of explaining to do; to Peggy. So I decided against it. Yet, I still desired to do something for them. This needed some quiet thought, so I made my way to my special place; the loft of St James church. Once again, this paid off; for within thirty minutes, I had a solution. In fact, the idea that I came up with, was so good, so fantastic that; I couldn’t contain myself. “Yes!”, I spoke out aloud, “that will do, wonderfully!” Suddenly, I heard a muttering of voices, emanating from the nave, below. “Did you hear that!” in a woman’s voice, was followed by “Yes!”, in a man’s voice. “What do you think?”, the conversation went on. “I’m not sure?” “You don’t think….do you?” “I’m going to see the vicar!” said the male, “what are you going to do?” “I’m going to stay here!”, replied the woman.
    ‘Oh No!’, I thought, ‘that’s it…I’ve been discovered!… I’d better leave; before the vicar arrives!’ I quickly broke my statue-like posture and prepared to exit through the loft-hatch, when I heard the woman start up again. This time, it was in a more muted tone of voice and, talking rapidly. I suddenly realized that she was; in Prayer!’ I couldn’t resist it. “Don’t worry!”, I said, in my deepest, most sombre voice. “Everything will be fine!” The woman’s voice stopped for a few seconds and then started up again; this time, louder and with more energy. Judging that I’d spent enough time up there, I then quickly removed myself from the scene. Walking back home, I felt pretty good with myself. Not only had I come up with a solution to my problem; I’d also answered someones prayers! Soon, my thoughts turned to matters at hand for, I had some preparation to do. For, today was a special day and; tonight would be a special night. For, tonight: I would marry Janet!

  17. Simon

    ‘My dear dear Janet, what can I say
    Shall I compare thee to a summers day?’
    There’s no doubting that I was in a good mood as I waxed lyrical, in the bath. Everything, basically, had been prepared. I’d pressed my charcoal-grey flares; polished my shoes; ironed my shirt and had laid my old school tie, (the only tie I owned) out upon my bed. This had to be done right, after all. I’d spent much of my time, (since returning from the church) deciding upon how, exactly, I was to conduct the ceremony. I’d settled upon a short, quick service, preceded by a rendition of the Lords Prayer (to which I’d added and amended somewhat – to address my needs) and was confident that, as long as I could attain a state of Astral-Trance, then that should be enough. Well, in truth it would have to be, as I reasoned that I may not have much time. I guessed that sometime between 9.45pm and 10.30pm would be best, as it was probable that the girls would be in bed by then. Upon leaving the bathroom, I checked with Mother; the time. “Nine Thirty” she replied and then remarked that I was leaving things a bit late, considering that I had to catch the bus. I’d told her earlier that I was meeting some friends in Enfield Town for a drink. I hated lying to her but, I couldn’t really tell her that I was off to get married! How the time had flied! I quickly rushed upstairs and got changed. Looking out of my bedroom window, I could see that the light rain which had been falling earlier, had stopped. The omens looked good!

  18. Simon

    To anyone that is following this ongoing article, I offer my apologies. I had been hoping to push on with my revelations. Unfortunately, I have been subject to an ongoing psychic attack since my last contribution. I have the distinct feeling that someone or some organisation is trying to perform a remote exorcism of myself. I suspect that Mr Playfair and/or maybe, the current priest at the church of St James, Enfield Highway are responsible. If it is not them, then I them offer my apologies. Whoever it is; I ask you to please stop. This is not a joke. You are making me unwell. I am having difficulty accessing the church and the surrounding environs. You must allow me to continue. If you continue with your attack then you may kill me. You may, also inadvertently kill Janet. I make you aware that Janet and I are psychically linked. What you are doing has ongoing consequences. I know that you mean well. I know that you are trying to sever the psychic link between myself and Janet. This cannot be done. We are linked forever. It is a consequence of my psychic-marriage to Janet. It cannot be undone. I ask you to think of the risk to Janet, and I ask you again; please stop what you are doing. 11.35pm SC

  19. Simon

    “You’d better hurry,” said Mother, “you’ll miss the bus!” “Yes mum,” I replied, “are you sure that the knot is alright?” I’d asked her to check my tie. I admit that I was slightly nervous, as I left the house, for I realised that what I was about to do was; commit myself totally and wholeheartedly to Janet. I’d never been married before. In fact, I’d never been in love before. I suppose that was the reason for my butterflies? Anyhow, I quickly made my way to the bus-stop and the bus duly arrived shortly after. The conductor wore a look of impatience as he waited for me to step on; then annoyance, when I said that I would wait for the next one. I waited for the bus to make its turn, onto the Highway and then walked hesitatingly back to my turning. I peeked around the corner, to check that Mother wasn’t looking from the bay-window of our house and, then strode off purposefully, along Green Street and to my destination; the house at 284. I could, I suppose, have performed the ceremony at home but; I was anxious to see some sign that I had been successful. What that sign would be, I wasn’t sure; yet, I felt certain that something would present itself to me. I already had the location in mind, for it had to be near the girls home, yet somewhere that I couldn’t be seen. This last consideration was very important as I was concerned that if anyone should see me, performing my shamanic-beats, then they may well call the police; the ambulance; or both. There was a definite possibility that I could be certified, on the spot! My nerves were definitely coming on strong as I neared my objective. I reached for my cigarettes and; shock!, horror!, I realised that I’d forgotten the marbles! I couldn’t return home for them now! Drawing heavily, upon a cigarette, I determined that there was no retreating now. I would have to improvise. Actually, this wasn’t so much of a problem as, in the early days of my astral-projection I had used my knuckles to rap upon the walls. (I had switched to using marbles when I realised that I was doing damage to my fingers.) Nearing 284, I looked over to my right and to where the entrance to the nursery-school was; which was just beyond the entrance to the junior-school. It was as I expected. A deep shadow had been cast, due to the light from a street-lamp, across the recessed entrance. It was there that I was to perform my ceremony. This was ideal as it was directly opposite 284. A slow stroll past the house, just to make sure that everything was in order and a quick scan of the street, to make sure that no-one was walking nearby and I would be ready! However, the sound of rather loud pop-music just ahead, was an annoyance as it was harder to attain a state of trance in those circumstances. My spirits sagged further when I realised that the music was actually coming from 284! It sounded like a party was going on! Tonight of all nights; I couldn’t believe it! I nearly gave up at that moment but the sound of Janet’s voice and others, brought me back to my senses. I spent a little while listening and it was obvious that they were enjoying themselves. Actually, it was good to hear Janet in a happy mood and, for a moment, I wished that I was in there with her. I suddenly felt reinvigorated. I had one more check, to see if the coast was clear; threw down my cigarette and strode off towards the shadows, opposite. Once there, I examined the walls of the school and determined that, owing to the roughness of the walls (compared to my bedroom walls) that I would have to ‘pat’ the walls with my palms. I had never used this method before, yet I couldn’t see any reason why it should be less effective. Satisfied, I turned to face 284; clasped my hands together and began my specially adapted Lords Prayer. [ For reasons of sensitivity and a duty of probity; I have chosen not to relate what words I used in my prayer.] Once I had completed my solemn prayer, I then turned sideways and began my rhythmic patting upon the wall. Normally, as an aid to concentration, I would think of some music that I was fond of and concentrate my rhythmic-beats to the main beats of the music. In the early days, this consisted of the main beats to Ludwig van Beethoven’s 5th symphony (first movement) which I knew by heart. These were in a series of four, (4).

  20. Simon

    I decided that, owing to the importance of the occasion and, not wanting to take any chances, to launch straight into Ludwig’s 5th. Up and down and left and right I went, with my palms hitting the surface in time to the beat. Down and up, right and left, backwards and forwards, with an intense concentration knitting my brow. A couple of minutes of this and I could feel the first beads of sweat upon my forehead. I quickly glanced towards the house, yet; everything was as before: lights on downstairs; upstairs remained in darkness. I became aware of the coolness of the night-air and realised that this could take longer than expected. I went back to it with a renewed vigour. More pounding of the wall; another glance at the house; still nothing. Suddenly, the sound of footsteps, to my right, and I withdrew completely, into the shadows. I waited and watched as a woman walked past, completely oblivious to my presence. Once I had determined that she had gone beyond earshot, I quickly resumed my beating of the wall; this time with a renewed energy. I could ill-afford any more interruptions. A few more beats and still nothing! ‘This was no good?,’ I thought; ‘nothings happening!’ Quickly; I changed sides and began upon the other wall. Still nothing! This called for drastic action! I dropped Beethoven and went quickly into J S Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D minor. Three beats – break – single beat – break – three beats, then two and two. Over and over I did this, until I thought; ‘what the heck!…. just go for it!’ I then immersed myself into a complete rendition of the piece, all notes included. Goodness knows what I looked like whilst I did this? Probably; like some mad music-conductor? And then, with my heat-levels rising and my forehead starting to drip sweat; there came a sensation that I recognised. A lightness of my head and, a feeling that my soul was rising to my outer-being. I knew that I was entering the state of trance! I halted my beating and stood still. My experience of this state had allowed me to control the depth to which I wanted to go to. It was very similar to; being able to enter and control ones dreams. ‘This was it’, I decided, ‘its now or never!’ I turned to face the house and, with my arms at my sides, raised my head and concentrated through half-closed eyelids, upon the girls bedroom.
    I stood like that for probably a minute and then, suddenly, a light came on! ‘This could be it?….It must be it!’, I wished, anxiously. The curtains were closed, so I was unable to see into the room. However; within about thirty seconds, a shadow appeared in the window; to the left. It appeared formless, as it slowly reduced in size and then vanished. A few seconds later it reappeared in the window to the right. It then seemed to grow longer and slowly stretched to an elongated shape as it moved from right to left and reappeared in the left window, about halfway up. Then, as before, it shrank in size and disappeared. Once again, the elongated shadow reappeared in the window to the right.
    Suddenly, and with joy, I realised what was occurring. It was the sign that I had been waiting for! Janet was levitating! On her next pass, across the left window, her foot must have caught-up within the curtain as it was pulled to one side, leaving a diagonal opening through which I could see into the room! I just had a glimpse of her as she went on her circular path around the room. Then, once more, the shadow reappeared to the right; made its way to the left and hovered halfway up. ‘That’s enough,’ I determined. ‘It is done!’ With that, I watched as Janet gently lowered towards her bed. As she reached the level of the window-sill; suddenly, I heard Margaret. “Janet!” she shouted, loudly. “Janet!” she shouted again. It was obvious to me that Margaret had just entered the room. “What?,” said Janet, in a sleepy sounding voice. She had gone from my view and was now resting, I suspected, upon her bed. “What’s been happening!” said Margaret in an anxious voice. “Have you been floating….you have, haven’t you!” “What,.. I think I must have been sleeping?” responded Janet. Margaret then called out for Peggy. “Mum!….Mum!” she called out; apparently, down the stairwell. A short while after, I heard Peggy, who was now in the bedroom. “Well, what’s been going on here then?”, said Peggy. “She was levitating, mum. I saw her!” exclaimed Margaret. “Janet; what’s this then?” said Peggy. “I don’t know?” replied Janet. With that, I crossed the road and crept up to the front-door of the house. Crouching low, so as not to be seen through the door-glass I put my ear to the door and tried to hear what was occurring downstairs. “Janet’s been levitating again!” I heard Margaret call out. A male voice, (it sounded like Maurice Grosse; I’m not sure?) called back; “Come on Janet. Don’t play about now…..we need you down here!” “But,…its not me!” protested Janet, as I heard her make her way downstairs. I quickly re-crossed the road and stood again, in the shadows. It was just as well that I did, for a face appeared at the window and appeared to be scanning the vicinity. It could have been Margaret; maybe, Peggy; I wasn’t sure. Anyhow, they closed the curtains. Then the bedroom light then went out. I waited for maybe a minute and then walked slowly off, towards home. As the stillness of Green St closed around me, I became acutely aware of the cold night-air. I was also, exhausted. Upon reaching the park, I made my way to the park-bench and sat there, to recuperate. ‘It had been a long day, yet an interesting one,’ I mused. I replayed the days events over in my mind and then came to the consideration that I may still have been in a state of trance! The thought came to mind: I wonder what I look like, while in this trance-form? I wrapped my arms across my body, to keep warm, curled forwards and attempted to see a reflection of myself upon my polished shoes. A few spots of rain then fell upon them. ‘Oh, well?’, I thought, ‘I’d better get home. I wonder what the time is?’ As I stood up, I realised that it wasn’t raining, at all. I put my hand to my forehead, yet could feel no sweat there. I then put my hand to my eyes and could feel moisture. I struggled to understand. “I don’t get it?”, I thought, “this should be the happiest day of my life?” In truth though, I knew that in this dimension I still had a long time to wait. About six or seven years, I reasoned; and as I had previously said to Janet, although, of course, she had no understanding of what I was really referring to.

  21. Simon

    To those that may be thinking; ‘hang on a minute’……’surely, a prayer followed by some beating upon a wall is hardly likely to produce the phenomena; such as the levitation of Janet?’; I offer a word of explanation. It had been my initial intention to reveal the details of the ceremony which I performed, between the prayer and my shamanic-beating upon the walls. However; I had a rethink over this. Due, in part, to the psychic attacks to which I have been subject to, recently; I decided, at a late stage, to omit those details; for two reasons:
    (1) There is a chance that others may attempt to try something similar themselves.
    (2) There is a high probability that, by revealing those details; an attempt to unpick the spell may occur.
    As I have no wish for either of those scenarios to occur; I concluded that the best (and safest) option would be; for those details to remain secret.
    Sorry about that, but; I am certain that I took the correct decision over these matters.

  22. Simon

    The day after our psychic-wedding; as I remember; started fairly brightly, weather-wise. I should really have been in good spirits, yet; I couldn’t shake off the feeling of depressed realisation that had set in, the night before. Eating some cornflakes, from a mug, I decided that I really needed a break, away from Green Street:…somewhere completely different. I thought of my grandmothers place in central north London and asked Mother if she thought that Nan wouldn’t mind if I stayed there for a while. “Just for a couple of days.” I explained. I had other depressing considerations on my mind; the main one being the interview that I’d been asked to attend, at the Employment Exchange. I needed to galvanize myself for that! Anyway; Mother said that she would check and, when she returned with the shopping, she said that she had phoned Nan and it would be alright as she (Nan) had no plans on going away anywhere; just yet. So, after breakfast; I packed a few things together and I was off, via train and bus, to Grandmas place. Whilst at my Nan’s, I took the opportunity to visit some old areas that I used to frequent, as a child. Alexandra Palace (ally-pally), Highgate Woods, Hampstead Heath and Parliament Hill fields to name a few. By far my most favourite place, though, was Highgate Cemetery. During my school-holidays, I would get endless pleasure from roaming around the Gothic mausoleums and gravestones; full of wilde flowers and birdsong. In those days it was free entry, for me; so was disappointed at the realisation that I had to cough-up to get in. I contented myself with the free part of the cemetery; which had a beauty of its own. It brought back a lot of memories. None more so than how I used to talk with an invisible spirit (ghost) from a grave tucked deep in the undergrowth. I wish I could remember his name. He seemed a pleasant fellow. An old sailor, as I recall. He would often engage me in conversation. No luck this time though; maybe he’d moved on? Maybe he didn’t recognise me after all these years? Anyway, I wished him well, wherever he was. After a couple of days had passed, I felt somewhat better about things. Thinking back to the wedding, I couldn’t see how, in truth, things could have worked out much better. Not only had the ceremony gone well; the fact that Margaret had managed to witness part of it, was an added bonus. Janet was now my psychic-wife and Margaret, I determined, had been a psychic-bridesmaid! So, all in all, I couldn’t complain. Arriving back in Green St, and stepping off the bus, I heard Margaret’s voice. “There he is!”, she exclaimed. I looked a short distance along the road and there was Margaret; pointing towards me. Janet was looking this way and that until she finally caught sight of me, amid others getting on and off the bus. I received a big smile, which was nice, as they walked up to me. “We’ve been looking for you!” Janet said, rather excitedly. “Oh really?” I replied. “Yes,” said Margaret, “we need to ask you something?” “Whats that?” “Have you received anything…. lately?” she continued. I hadn’t been around for a few days and I’d just returned back; I told them. I was intrigued. “Anyway, what do you mean?” I asked. “He doesn’t know?” said Margaret, looking at Janet. “Billy told us that he’d sent something to you!” said Janet. “What do you mean?”, I responded, “sent something to me?…sent what,..and by post, you mean?” “Well,…sort of?” replied Janet. “He wouldn’t tell us what it was.” The girls were quite obviously amused. I was more perplexed, than anything. “Couldn’t he have given it, whatever it is, to you two…to give to me?… Did you put anything through my letter-box?” “No,” explained Janet, “Billy said it was a secret?” “Are you joking with me?”, I asked them both. “No!” they replied, almost simultaneously. I couldn’t imagine Billy sending anything to me; the whole idea seemed rather odd, to put it mildly. When I got home, the first thing I did was ask Mother if there had been any post for me, whilst I was away? “No,” she replied. “What, nothing at all?” “No!”…..I told you?”, she repeated. “Odd?” I said. “Why? were you expecting something?” Mother asked. “I don’t know!”, I replied. After a mug of tea, with Mother, I took myself and my bag upstairs to my room. There, I threw down my jacket and sat upon the bed. ‘What, on earth, had the girls been talking about?”, I pondered. ‘Obviously, this was some sort of private joke they were having?’ As I went to remove my shoes, I saw, just to my left and in the middle of the floor; a marble. ‘Must have rolled out from somewhere’, I mused. ‘I wonder where from?’ Picking up the marble and looking at it, I suddenly realised; it wasn’t one of mine! Mine were all regular marbles; this one was different? I took a closer look. Instead of the ordinary blue, red and yellow colouring of mine; this one had what looked like gold, inside! Gold paint, I determined and with a slight umber look to it, as if it had been subject to a high temperature and had slightly burnt! I quickly rummaged around in my cardboard-box and brought out one of the marbles. Comparing them, I could see that it was also larger and with a few small nicks in the surface! It looked older than the ones that I had. I quickly rushed downstairs and spoke with Mother. No, she was adamant; no girls had called around and asked her to place a marble in my room! She then remarked that maybe; it would be a good idea for me to stay at Nan’s place a bit more often!
    I let it go.

  23. Simon

    Before I move on with my recollections and; before I forget: just a quick word to Mr Winter; should he be happening to follow proceedings.
    I understand that it must be a shock to you; after all these years; to realise that Janet was, actually, already married.
    But, hey!…….the Earth keeps turning?

  24. Simon

    The girls were in an unhappy mood, when I next met them. “What’s the matter?,” I asked. “Nothing,” said Janet. “Yes, its nothing,” echoed Margaret.
    Their demeanour told me otherwise. “Come on,” I urged, “something’s the matter…….is it something I’ve said?” “No, its not you,” Janet replied. Margaret looked concerned. “Is it those ghost-chasers?” I asked. “You’d better tell him,” Margaret said, to her sister. “You mustn’t call them ghost-chasers!” Janet remarked. “Why not?,” I asked, in a perplexed voice. “We’ve been told not to call them that. Mr Playfair got really angry about it!” “Did he!” I exclaimed. Margaret nodded. Apparently, he’d lost his temper with them both and shocked them, somewhat. Both Playfair and Grosse were irked by the use of the term and M. Grosse had asked them not to use it, although; in a pleasant manner. This was different. I had good mind to go along to their home and punch Playfair on the nose. My sense of anger must have shown on my face, as Janet said to me, “Don’t worry,…its not that bad!” “Well, I can call them ghost-chasers if I want!,” I said, “it doesn’t apply to me!” “But, if you call them that,..then I’ll forget!,” Janet said. I realised then, that any further discussion about the matter, would only make things worse. I changed the subject. “Look, I’ve got some news for you!,” I said to them both. “I did receive something from Billy!” At this, the faces of Janet and Margaret lit up. “What was it,?” Janet asked eagerly. “I can’t really tell you?,” I replied, “as its a secret.” “But, you can tell us?,” pleaded Janet. “Yes,” said Margaret, “I think I know what it is, anyway.” “You do?,” I responded, “what then?” Margaret then became quite guarded over her comments and wouldn’t say. “Billy said you could tell us,..anyway, he needs to know if you received it?” said Janet. That seemed logical, to me. “An egg!,” I declared.
    “An egg?,” Janet exclaimed. She looked doubtful. Margaret looked perplexed. “You’re having a joke?,” she said. “No, I’m not!,” I replied, “and a very special egg!” “Well, what then!,” asked Janet. I looked at them both, for dramatic effect. “A golden egg!,” I pronounced. The girls looked at each other, with a mixture of puzzlement and amusement. They fell silent for a while, as they contemplated this. “What did you think it was?,” I asked. “Well, I thought it was a marble?,” said Janet, “and Margaret thought it was a Lego brick!” “I thought,…it might be?,” Margaret qualified.
    “But,…Billy hasn’t got any golden eggs!,” Janet exclaimed, showing amusement in the idea. I had to laugh. “You’re very clever,” I said to Janet. She thought for a bit and then exclaimed, “it was a marble….wasn’t it!” I nodded. I asked them to say thank-you to Billy, from me. Janet said that I could come back, with them, and thank him myself. However, I didn’t trust myself in the presence of the ghost-chasers and told them that I would do so, yet, at another time.
    That night, I lay in bed and looked at the marble; the golden egg upon my window-sill. “Goodnight, Janet,” I whispered. “Goodnight Margaret….and goodnight….son.”

  25. Simon

    Actually; the marble, or golden egg as I called it, could easily have been female. I realised that and sometimes referred to it as my daughter. It didn’t really matter. What really mattered to me was that it re-emphasised the success of my psychic-union with Janet. As far as I was concerned, we now had a psychic child, and so; the family was complete. To me, it was not only symbolic: it was real. It showed that; the powers that be had listened to my incantations and had given me a sign; a sign of what may be, if I could stand the test. It was interesting to me that, those ancient powers – the powers of enchantment – had worked through Billy in order to achieve this end. I’d thought of asking the girls if Billy wouldn’t mind sending me some more, but then thought better of it. It was far better to let things take their natural course, I decided, rather than try to influence matters further. I was happy with the way things stood and didn’t want to jeopardise the situation. That’s not to say that I wasn’t interested in how Billy had achieved his feat. After all, it was a pretty impressive act on his behalf. And, this is probably the strangest thing of all: my ability to be able to project myself upon an astral-plane and manifest within the Hodgson household; my remote viewing; my interruptions to the psychic flow of words emanating from Janet; the sometime-duality of events occurring at both our households; the triumvirate of psychic thought processes and sometime-conversations that occurred between the girls and myself; my disagreements with ‘Bill’ – the ghost that had latched onto the girls at the graveyard – ; the levitation’s; other, decidedly strange, happenings that I experienced throughout: including an encounter with a ghost at Chingford Mount Cemetery and a somewhat-altercation with the visible spirit of Thomas Tallys and an unknown monk; my near-death experience of ball-lightning and now; the hitherto unknown and impressive psychic abilities of Billy: the really strange thing was, how we just accepted these psychic happenings and took each day as it came. It was as though, the elements and the forces of enchantment had entwined with our metabolic makeup and we somehow understood matters as being natural to us. Strange days, indeed.

  26. Simon

    To those who may be following this article and are interested, yet maybe concerned that I am about to veer off-course with my recollections: please don’t be alarmed. I understand the remit of this article and will confine myself to the issues of the Enfield Haunting. My last post was only in order to provide a broader picture of how matters played upon my mind, at the time.

  27. Simon

    “Would you like our settee?,” Janet asked me, unexpectedly. “Why, are you getting rid of yours then?,” I answered, stupidly. “Well,…of course…. I wouldn’t say, otherwise!” Margaret tutted and gave me a look of disdain. “So, you’re getting a new one then?,” I continued. “No…well, I don’t think so?,” Janet replied, looking at Margaret; as if for confirmation. “I’m not sure?,” said Margaret. “Well; what do you mean then?,” I asked. I then had a sudden panic attack. “You’re not moving?…..are you!, I exclaimed, anxiously. “No, well… I don’t think so?,” Janet responded. “No, we’re not moving,” said Margaret, which helped, tremendously. Janet went on to explain that Guy Playfair had bought a couple of new armchairs for the front room. They were rather large and there was not much room left, with the settee. Peggy had talked about getting rid of it. They were very nice chairs apparently. ‘Well; that’s something at least?,’ I thought. As far as I could make out; Playfair had been living there, rent free. “Whats it like?,” I asked, referring to their sofa. “Well, you should know!,” said Janet. “You’ve knocked it over a few times!” Which was true of course, although, and as I had told the girls, previously; I wasn’t really paying attention to the furniture when I came Astral-calling; except, in order to avoid it. “Remind me?,” I asked. “Well,…its dark blue and looks very much like the one you’ve got, except…ours hasn’t got any leg’s missing!,” she explained, with something like a smile. This was also true. In fact, it had amused the girls when they saw our settee roll forwards and land upside-down; when I arose from it. Both front legs were missing and it was supported at the front by two pillars of my, and my sisters, old school books. Sitting down wasn’t a problem: it was the getting up. “That’s exactly the same as what happens to our one!,” Janet had remarked, obviously amused, when she first saw it happen. On that occasion, the girls had been standing in our living-room. Mother had gone shopping with my two younger sisters. The girls had called; asking for some pins. “What sort of pins?,” I had enquired. “You know…PINS!” Janet had explained. “Well, do you mean drawing-pins?…..safety-pins?…what sort of pins, exactly?” “Well,…its not for me, its for her,” she answered, gesticulating with her head, towards Margaret. Something seemed odd to me, but I couldn’t explain it. “Just normal pins,” said Margaret. I rummaged around in Mothers knitting-bag and came up with a packet of pins. “That’s it!,” said Margaret. “Are you doing some dress-making then?,” I asked. Both girls smiled broadly. “You see…I told you he was funny!,” said Janet, to Margaret. I didn’t get it, and told them so. “Do we look as though we do dress-making?,” said Margaret, wryly. “I do crocheting…sometimes.” said Janet. “Well,…you do; yes!,” Margaret answered her. “Well, what do you need them for, then?,” I asked, “a school-project or something?” “Well, a sort of project, yes,” said Margaret. This wasn’t getting anywhere, I could see. The girls were keeping matters quite secretive; that much was obvious. In the end I had given them half of what pins there were, and determined that I would find out what they were up to at a later date.
    When Mother asked me, unexpectedly, that evening, if I had seen any pins laying around as she had fewer than expected; I gulped and said no. I followed up with; “By the way; we may have a new settee coming!,” “What do you mean?,” she asked. I explained the situation to her regarding the circumstances at 284. “No we’re not!,” she exclaimed forcibly. “We’re having nothing from that house!” “But, its only a settee mum,” I pleaded, “its not as though its haunted, or anything?” “You’ve got a lot to learn!” she said, decidedly. “I said NO and, that’s the end of the matter!”
    That night, when Mother had gone to bed, I arose to let Minstrel out for the night and, over went the settee. ‘I wonder if the same thing has happened at 284,’ I mused. ‘And what, exactly, were the girls up to with those pins!’
    I had a profound sense of unease.

  28. Simon

    There were, actually, only two (2) entities involved in the Enfield haunting. One of which was me, obviously. The other was Bill. Whether or not that was his real name, I never knew. I suspect not. He was not the ‘Bill Wilkins’ that so much has been commented about. That is a complete red-herring. I doubted that ‘Bill’ was his real name for, he seemed unsure of himself when I addressed him as such. Yet; he pretended to be, when asked by others. He pretended, also, to be several other characters. Whether any of those other characters actually existed or not, it is hard to say. They may have been other spirits that he met in the afterlife. Just as easily, he could have made them up. Making up names and changing ones persona is a necessary process when one is trying to hide ones identity, whilst upon an astral-plane. I found that much out myself, when being questioned by Maurice Grosse. That he; ‘Bill’, hi-jacked my astral plane; only complicated matters. I could have done without it.
    I explain further: The Astral-Plane is a plane of TRUTH. When upon it, one is obliged to tell the truth. Therefore; when M. Grosse questioned me as to my name, it put me under extreme pressure. I felt obliged to tell him my name. Yet, of course, I didn’t want to. The only option left, in those circumstances, is to alter ones persona. That is; to alter ones character. This can only be done by adopting a different attitude and treating everything as though it were a game. That is the only way to avoid the truth: by making it a game. There is no doubt that ‘Bill’ adopted those same tactics. That is why the spiritual conversations with M. Grosse, went off on a tangent and became, in turn, childish and/or, nasty. To ‘Bill’, it became a game and because it was only a game then; he could be as childish or as nasty as he pleased. That way, he could avoid answering in a truthful manner and, more importantly, it enabled him to stay in control.
    Of course, there is another way out and that is; to become silent. This is where Bill and I differed. Bill obviously felt the need to talk and enjoyed his persona changes. I, actually, didn’t want to talk; yet felt obliged to do so, in order to thwart Bill. It wasn’t very nice to hear Bill’s utterances emanating from Janet. I was determined to put a stop to it. I could only do this, at first, by joining in. Later, I adopted a sterner attitude with Bill and threatened him with expulsion from my astral-plane, if he continued. Of course, I was bluffing. I didn’t know if I could expel him or not! Still, it worked for a while at any rate as things quietened down a lot; especially the profanities that he was want to come out with. There is no doubt that ‘Bill’ gained his information about Bill Wilkins from the plane of truth, for; not only is one required to tell the truth, when upon it; one is also able to call upon the limitless repository of truth that pervades its astral-cloud. There are no books here. Instead, one only has to want to know the truth and it comes to mind, instantly!

  29. Simon

    Spells and Incantations became an integral part of the shamanic ritual that I would perform in order to achieve Astral-Projection. Together, with the rhythmic-beating upon a surface; I found that they helped to speed-up the process. Yet, I possessed no book of spells. Instead, I would make them up as I went along; often taking inspiration from recent observances of the world around me, although; they had to be pertinent to my objective. As an example: if I had seen Janet and the sky was red; then the spell would become: ‘Red sky at night, Janet’s in sight’: repeating.
    Indeed; that was an actual incantation of mine that I would repeat and, I found it to be successful. Over time though, they tended to diminish in power and necessitated the need to find fresh ones. For obvious reasons; the shorter the spell, then, the better. Another, successful spell that I used, was: ‘Two and two make four; four and four make eight, which go’s between the two and four and; I am at the gate’: repeating.
    Beats, or raps were also subject to diminishing power, although they could be regenerated by a change of surface. Generally speaking, a hard surface I found to be the most conducive.

  30. Simon

    Apologies to anyone waiting for the next set of reminiscences from the Enfield Poltergeist. I will continue as soon as able.
    Mother passed away.
    Passed ‘over’ as some may say.
    If this hadn’t been so shocking, then; it would have been rather surreal, for; I was speaking to her over the telephone at the time.
    I dont know how unusual this event is; the telephone bit, I mean.
    We all have to depart at sometime, I suppose.

  31. Simon

    At the age of eleven, I had a chat with GOD. That HE chose to speak with me was novel and, naturally; unexpected. I was busy occupied with blowing puffball-spores to the wind. HE asked me to refrain from doing so, as I had already cleared a large swathe of these from the disused-railway embankment upon which we, as children, often played. Apparently, HE wanted me to save some for others to enjoy. Who is to know the ways of HE? Still, I had a problem with HIS request. It occurred to me that there must be millions of these plants with which to amuse others with? Still; HE insisted. To me, the request seemed rather illogical and, as a result, I doubted the origin of the voice that spoke. I had to make sure. So, I proceeded to question HIM. I asked that HE should prove to me that HE was, indeed, GOD. HE, in return, said for me to ask HIM a question, about anything; and HE would tell me the answer. I thought for a bit and then asked; how many puffball-spores there were, in the air at that moment? I, obviously, had not made my request clear enough for, a second later, HE answered with a figure in the low thousands. I, thinking myself clever, denounced HIM as a liar. HE, after a silence that grew ominous with every second that passed, asked me to be more precise with my request. HE had taken it as meaning the amount of spores that I had released, and were still airborn. No, I explained, I wanted to know how many were airborn at that precise moment; upon the surface of the whole planet! Another silence followed and lasted so long that I began to feel fearful. It began to dawn upon me that whatever figure was mentioned; I would not know if this was accurate or not. I attempted to call the discussion off. I said that it doesn’t matter as I couldn’t prove it, anyway. Suddenly, HE spoke again. HE asked if I had faith. Yes, I replied. HE then asked me to wait for a few seconds, as HE had to do something. I waited. As I waited, I became aware of a sudden stillness in the air. The birds had stopped singing. The sound of traffic had come to a halt. The breeze stopped rustling the leaves upon the trees. A silence had fallen, like I had never experienced. All that remained was my thoughts and the soft warm glow, from the afternoon Sun. And then; HE answered! “””Are you following?””” HE asked. “””Are you ready?””” Yes, I was ready! The figure that followed was so large and with so many noughts that it was incomprehendible. All I remember is that it began with 284, then a multitude of zero’s, followed by, 197 and then 7. “””Well, what do you say?””” HE asked, as I struggled to comprehend. I thanked HIM for his answer and stated that HE had proved to me that HE was , indeed GOD and that I’d like to go home now; please. With that, the stillness lifted and I was aware of the everyday sounds of life, returning. As I walked home, a feeling of happiness and of apprehension alternated within my my mind. GOD had spoken with me and for that I was pleased,but; I had the distinct impression that HE hadn’t finished with me, yet.

  32. Simon

    Ectoplasmic pools of distilled vapor can sometimes form as a result of astral-travel. If they appear in conjunction with other ‘phenomena’ such as unexplainable raps and movement of objects, then one can be fairly sure that someone or something, has called; visited from another dimension. They originate from within the astral-clouds which pervade in an endless panorama, in every direction. This is the realm of the astral-plane; an equilibrious state which exists between two dimensions. With practise, I was able to remain within this plane and observe the soft-pink clouds as they slowly turned and twisted in their never-ending ‘dance of the vortex.’ The movement of these clouds can be felt; as the most gentle caress, if one is minded to want. Otherwise; these movements remain oblivious to the sensation of touch. Sound also, has no boundaries and can travel as far as one wants. A call into the void will wrap itself within a coccoon of plasma and swirl onwards and outwards, into the pinkness and finally beyond hearing and recall. There are no echoes. Likewise, the drops of astral-plasma that form and drop within another dimension will not reveal themselves with the ‘plip-plop’ of rainfall, but fall silently as if made of snow. It is impossible to see the end of this plane. On and on it goes, with nothing else in sight. One is unaware of temperature, feeling neither warm nor cool, yet enveloped within an ambient glow as though upon the cusp of an equi-distant sunbeam.
    Equilibrium; the realm between two dimensions and, where ‘Bill’ attempted to kill me.

  33. Simon

    It began with a tapping upon my bedroom window. Well, more of a vibration really and very intense; as though someone, or something, was trying to annoy me. Annoy me it did; as it would start up just as soon as I was about to fall asleep.
    This had been going on for a few nights now and, my cursory inspections of the window had failed to discover the cause. I had assumed that a loose pane of glass (of which there were twelve in total) had been absorbing the impact of traffic-noise or, maybe, from some unheard aircraft; passing within a few miles. A daylight inspection had revealed nothing, however. All panes were firmly fixed, with no ‘play’ and all the putty was ‘sound.’ What made it more annoying, was that it would stop as soon as I had got out of bed to investigate. Except; once. On that occasion I managed to trace the vibration to a single pane. The strange thing was; even with the open palm of my hand pushing against it; still, it continued. I could feel the vibration running through my hand, as though it were being subjected to a mild electric stimulus.
    Matters took a stranger turn when, one evening, I decided to sort through some ‘paper-work.’ I removed the elastic-band from a roll of note-paper and placed it upon my bed, upon which I sat. After a short while, immersed in some of my attempted ‘poetry’, I felt suddenly impelled to look towards my bedroom door, which was closed. As I sat and looked, something fell down, perpendicularly, from the ceiling-height and landed about a foot from the door. Thinking it to be a spider, I arose and crossed the short space towards it; whereupon I discovered it to be the same elastic-band which I had placed upon my bed!
    The combination of these ‘incidents,’ got me thinking. The vibration or, tapping upon the window was perplexing, for sure; but the elastic-band scenario seemed to have an intelligence behind it? It was as though someone, or, something was trying to get my attention. Maybe, they were linked? It was that thought which played upon my mind, that night. And, a sleepless night it was too; once I had concluded that these incidents were a realisation of my worst fears. ‘Bill’ was back!
    Either that, or, some other ‘entity’ had decided to pay me a visit? Both scenarios had an element of dread about them. The second from a fear of the unknown. The first, because I thought that I had managed to give ‘Bill’ the slip. In truth, I had played a rather nasty trick upon ‘Bill.’ He had this habit of ‘riding my coat-tails,’ as it were. Not that he needed to, for he was quite capable of visiting 284 on his own and; often did so. That he was able to do so, was due to an error on my behalf. In my haste to absorb the instructions regarding how to astral-travel, I had overlooked the fact that, upon ending ones journey, that is; once returned from ones destination; one should close the astral-gateway.
    This simple oversight was, actually, the whole reason why the events at 284 got out of hand and lasted for so long. ‘Bill,’ obviously, could come and go back and forth as he pleased. It also explains why some events originating in my house-hold were being replicated along the road, at the ‘Hodgson’s.’ The astral-plane was continually open to anyone who wished to jump upon it! The fact that ‘Bill,’ and I were the only ones to use it, was a blessing. Things could have been a whole lot worse. Still, I had a desire to get shot of him. He was grumpy and, foul mouthed to boot. More importantly, he was the reason why the ‘ghost-chasers’ or, paranormal-investigators as they prefered to be known, were there for such a long time. Which irked me a lot. I could hardly get any time to myself, with Janet and Margaret!
    So, when and after a brief sojourn to 284; instead of returning home almost instantaneouly, as I usually did; I decided to remain upon the astral-plane and take solace amongst the swirling clouds, it wasn’t a complete surprise to me when ‘Bill’s’ voice came out of nowhere and asked me what I was doing. “I’m going for a wander,” I answered. “I feel the need to explore.” “But, you’ll get lost!” he exclaimed, in a rare show of concern. “I’ll be alright,” I went on. “I know my way around.” “But, it all looks the same!” he rasped. “Not to me,” I answered. “I know where I have to go.”
    It was obvious to me, then, that he himself was afraid of becoming lost amongst the pink clouds. “Do you?” he asked, in a tone of wonderment. This was very unusual of him and, to me, it revealed his insecurity. “I don’t know?” he went on. “I think we should get back?” By this, he was referring to our own dimension. “Well, you can go back,” I ventured, “but I’m staying here for a while. You know your way back, don’t you?” “Not from here!” he admitted, “I’ve only ever followed you on here!”
    I took my opportunity. “Can you see me?” I asked. “Well, no!” he answered. “I have hold of your jacket!” “Right then!” I said. “I’ll call out in the direction you have to go and you can follow my call!” “Are you sure?” he uttered, anxiously. “Of course I’m sure!” I said, confidently. “Well, if you say so?” he answered. I took a breath and called “HEY!” into the void. A snowball-like ball of plasma hurtled off into the clouds. “Off you go then,” I said. “And you’re sure thats the way?” he asked again. “Yes, Im positive!” I stated. “Look, I’ll do it again!” I called again, in the same direction, and another ball of plasma flew, at some speed, into the void. “Go on then!” I urged, “and call out so I know where you are. I’ll call again to make sure you stay on the correct path!” “Ok then, I’m going” he said.
    About ten seconds passed by and then a ball of plasma came hurtling towards me. As it hit and broke upon me, Bills rasping voice shouted, “I’m here!” “Good! Thats It! Keep going!” I called back and watched three plasma balls fly off in the direction of ‘Bill.’ Another few seconds passed by and some more balls came, hurtling back. “I’m here now!” he had called. “Thats it. Not far now!” I called back. I then willed myself back home, to my bedroom.
    Things quietened down after that. I’d got rid of ‘Bill,’ I was sure. He’d gone back to the graveyard of St James Church. Although; in another dimension. Yes, I was pretty pleased with myself. And then, unexpectedly, a week later; the tapping started.

  34. Simon

    I’m really sorry about this. I was hoping to continue with the next episode; concerning my dispute with ‘Bill.’
    I am under attack once more. I need to enter the graveyard of St James, but; I’m being prevented from doing so. It would appear that the church and its environs have had a ‘special’ blessing. It must be the priest. He must have taken advice over this. Probably, from the ecumenical council of England. This is a real problem now. Bear with me, please. I need to find a way around this matter. I will get back on subject as soon as I am able. I am not sure how long this will take. It may be hours. It could be days? I’m convinced that Playfair has something to do with this. I shall keep you updated as to how matters are progressing. For now though, I have to leave you. Back as soon as possible. SC 05:28am.

  35. Simon

    Right. Things are looking up. I had a good think and I believe that I’ve found a way around this.
    I’ve had to go to the ‘eighth’ book of Moses (something which I didn’t want to do) and I’m feeling much better about things. I should be able to get something posted tonight/early morning. Yes, everything looks sweet.
    Sorry about the delay.

  36. Simon

    I was under no illusions. If I were to get another nights sleep, then; this situation with ‘Bill,’ had to be dealt with promptly. I actually considered asking the vicar of St James for his advice and help but, decided against it. How I was to explain myself to the priest, I had no idea. Whats more, the consequences of that situation I didn’t dare contemplate.
    No; that would have to remain an action of last resort.
    I decided that I would have to speak with ‘Bill’ and try to persuade him that I thought that I was acting in ‘his’ best interests. I could tell him that I’d had advice from the ‘Astral Council’ and the ‘Court of Equillibrium’ and that they had suggested that; I should attempt to encourage him to return within another dimension, as things would be much more pleasant for him there. There was a fair chance that could work. After all, I’d used those same ‘apparatus’ before, although, in a different context. On that occasion I’d threatened ‘Bill’ that I would complain to those ‘esteemed’ organisations, in order to get him evicted from my astral-plane, if he didn’t quieten down his ‘antics.’
    That he had never heard of them, helped. That he never considered that I may be bluffing, helped also. And, as a result, that ‘threat’ had proved enough to be successful. This time, I realised, I would have to be more conciliatory towards him. So, with my plan of action in mind, I was washed and dressed and on my way to the graveyard.
    I can tell you now; a damp and gloomy graveyard at half past six in the morning, is not a pleasant place to be.
    As soon as I left the highway and entered the church grounds, I began my hushed calling. I had to be careful, as there were houses that lay just beyond the trees and thick undergrowth that occupied the area to my left and a chance that I would alert those inside. “Bill,” I called, “Bill, are you there?” I waited in silence for a response, but nothing. I tried again. “Bill,… are you there. Its me,… Simon?” Still nothing. I then made my way along the north-side of the church, stopping occasionally and calling out as I did so. It was so dark along there that I could hardly see where I was going. Still, no response. Running my hand along the church wall as I walked, I came upon the north-east corner. Here, it was less dark as the graveyard opened out into a spacious area. I scanned, with some difficulty, across this space and the head-stones, calling out as I did so. “Bill, its me….Simon. I need to speak with you…Its important!” I waited and waited, before trying again. Yet, still there was no response! This was serious. If he didn’t answer, then the prospect of a meeting with the priest grew ominously closer. I tried again and waited before retracing my path, back towards the highway; calling and waiting as I did so. Nothing! Not even a murmer! I’d now tried all the places where I had spoken with ‘Bill’ before. There was nothing for it but, to return home and have a rethink. Which I did. I decided that I would try again; that afternoon. I did so and, again, that evening. Still, ‘Bill’ was nowhere to be heard! These were desperate times. I couldn’t speak with him at home as my sisters or Mother might overhear. There was, however, no tapping upon my window that night. Yet, I still could not sleep. I had nightmare visions of my being forcibly strapped to a chair, whilst various priests took it in turn with bell, book and candle to rid me of my demon!
    I picked up my bible and prayed.

  37. Simon

    Before I continue re: my fight with ‘Bill’ and as I have access to the graveyard, then I thought that I may as well take this window of opportunity to take you back to the beginning. To the meeting with Janet and Margaret and the Ouija-board. In effect; this is the very start of the ‘events’ in Enfield, as I will now show.
    Wednesday was signing on time for me, at the employment exchange in Ponders End. I had left those premises in rather an abject mood, having had an argument with the employment adviser who had shown his disapproval at my receiving benefit. I think that he must have been ‘smarting’ from the putting down that he had received, from those in higher authority. After all, it was his recommendation that I should sit a psychometric test; to prove my ‘readiness’ for work. A week earlier, I’d been summoned to Enfield Town to attend a meeting with a Psychologist and it was there that I sat the test; a rather simplistic word -association paper, followed by an interview. I had left there not knowing what the result of that test had been and, I suppose, half expected to be given a dressing-down by the adviser at Ponders End. I’d imagined his ‘smug’ face as he had pleasure in informing me that my benefits were to stop. We didn’t get on. Probably a clash of personalitys? Anyhow, the relief that I felt when he informed me that I was to continue receiving benefits was offset somewhat by his sneering attitude and offhanded comments. The fact that I smiled at him seemed to make matters worse, so it was with a sense of relief that I actually escaped from there. Still, I was not a happy boy. At twenty-two years of age, I should really have been looking forward to the prime of life, yet I had never been able to shake off the sense of crushing despair that had haunted me for a number of years. I’d never been able to quite get to grips with my mental attitude. Maybe, it was something to do with my experience of seeing someones brains fall out from the side of their head, as the result of a car accident? I was nine years old at the time. Still, whatever the reason, I had problems in adjusting to the requirements that life as an adult required. One strange psychosomatic outcome of my attitude, was my youthful appearance. In stature, I was approaching six foot in height and of a slim build. To all intents and purposes; a normal young man. My facial features, however, belied that fact. I looked sixteen, maybe seventeen at most. My appearance would sometimes draw comments, from those that knew me. Someone once said that if I didn’t start aging soon then, I would look ridiculous. Maybe, they were jealous? Anyhow, to me it was just another hurdle that I had to overcome. Peggy, the girls mother, said to me a few months earlier, that she thought I was fifteen! That was pushing it a bit, I felt. Still, my looks had no impact upon my ability to enjoy more adult ‘pleasures’ such as alcohol or cigarettes. No; in that respect, it was just my lack of money that proved a problem. So, it was with a sense of need that I began my walk back along the Hertford Road to Enfield Highway and home.
    The weather was rather cool, although sunny and a few clouds kept taking away from any comfort that the sun provided. So I decided not to venture into the cemetery at St James Church, which would have been my usual custom, for a cigarette. Mother didn’t approve of my smoking at home. Therefore, I felt rather put out when, as I passed by the entrance to the church grounds, a voice called out. I ignored it at first, as it sounded to me as if issuing from a drunk. A public-house sat just across the way. However, it grew more insistant as I walked alongside the railings and thick undergrowth. “Oi, you!” it called out, again. I glanced to my right. “Yeh, you!” My eyesight was so poor that I couldn’t discern anything through the foilage. “I need help!” This is all I need, I thought, resignedly. Some old drunkard had fallen over, or had passed out and then awoken in the church grounds and needed help in getting to his feet. “Yeh, you……you’ll do!” it went on, as I strained to see anything. “What’s the problem?,” I called out as I made my way hesitantly, back to the entrance. Stepping onto the church pathway, I looked to my left where I half expected to see someone sprawled out amongst the greenery. To my surprise, I could see no-one there. I went over for a closer look and yet, could still not discern anything unusual. Puzzled and, rubbing my chin, I looked over to my right and towards the Church entrance. I stayed like that for a few seconds as I mused upon matters. ‘Whats this?’ I thought. ‘Am I hearing voices, now?’ I was aware that I had certain problems yet, this would have been something new. ‘Or,’ I speculated, ‘am I hearing a Ghost!’ At that last thought, the voice suddenly sprung up again, “Can you see me?” it rasped. It sounded as if belonging to an elderly man. “Well,…No!” I replied, cautiously. “You’re looking straight at me!” it went on. All I could see was the Church and the bright-blue entrance, which was closed. “Come on then…..follow me!” it called out. I had a quick glance to my left and right and began a slow walk towards the double-doors. ‘Must be someone calling from inside the Church itself?’ I mused. ‘Maybe, they were locked in?’ Reaching the entrance, I pushed against the doors which opened easily. “Where yer going?” the voice called, from my left. I turned to look. “I thought that’s where you wanted me to go?” I replied. “No,…this way!” it answered. I retraced my steps along the path and, seeing nothing, turned right; where the path ran alongside the north side of the Church. This part of the Church grounds was always rather gloomy, owing to its northern aspect and a line of tall, overhanging trees that edged alongside the left-side of the path. I began to walk along there. “Thats it…. this way!” the voice spoke out again. The urgency in the voice of the ghost (for that is what I now realised it to be) was obvious. What I was letting myself into, I had no idea, yet; was now determined to follow this unexpected adventure. “Thats it….come on!” it urged impatiently, as I followed. Nearing the north-east corner of the Church, I heard some low voices just ahead. It spoke again. “That’ll do!” It said, decisively. I stopped and waited. “Well?” it asked, questionably. “Well,…what?” I replied. “What can you see?” it asked. I looked about me, but could see nothing. “Not there,…up ahead!” it pleaded. I took a step forward and scanned with my poor eyesight, across the open space of the graveyard. There appeared to be movement, amid the headstones, a few yards further on and almost in a direct line with the end of the pathway. I stepped back. “Well,” I said, “there’s movement up ahead. Probably a family,….attending a grave. I can’t be sure?” “Can’t you see then!” he replied, doubtingly. I then explained to him the problem with my eyesight. A silence followed and then, he spoke again. “Where d’ yer need to get to, to see clearly?” I looked ahead. “Over there, just under those trees, would give me a better view,” I said, pointing to a small clump of trees, ahead and to my left. “Wait a minute?” he asked. Then, suddenly, he spoke again. “Go on then!” he urged. I walked in the direction of the trees and stopped beneath the low overhang of branches. I now had a viewpoint between the gravestones. There were, what looked like, two girls attending a grave. There didn’t appear to be anyone else, in the vicinity. I made my way back to the corner of the Church. “Well then?” he asked, when I returned. I told him what it was, that I’d seen. “Well, whatever they’re doing…. get them to stop!” he pleaded. “I can’t do that!” I pleaded, back. “They’re attending a grave….. anyway, what’s it to you?” “No, they’re not doing that!” he stated, assuredly. “They’re up-to something and….I cant get to sleep!” “What do you mean?” I asked, “do you sleep, then?” “Well, I was…but…they’ve woken me up!”
    “Oh…I see!” I responded. I felt somewhat amused by the thought of a ghost, sleeping. But, I decided that I may as well humour him. “OK then,” I said, “I’ll see what I can do. Tell me when?” “Go on then!” he said, impatiently. I walked back over to my viewpoint, beneath the branches.The sun-light threw a quickly changing ‘dappled effect’ across the graveyard, as a flotilla of small clouds scurried overhead. The girls, I could see, were situated either side of a grave, upon which something was placed. They both appeared to be kneeling. I braced myself and then called out.
    “Hello!” I pronounced, firmly.

  38. Simon

    I see it, now! What an idiot i’ve been! I’ve walked, slap bang, into a trap! It would appear that the intention was; to allow me to enter the graveyard at St James and then, once there, to keep me confined! I cant believe it? I let my guard down, for one moment, and here I am; trapped! Forgive me, if I show my shock at this developement. I just can’t believe how stupid I’ve been! It would appear that I’ve underestimated the scheming, underhand, manouverings of Playfair and the Priest! This is outragious! I mean no harm. Just to relate my reminiscenses; thats all. And now, I could be here amid the gravestones, forever! AAAaaagh!!!
    Sorry about that outburst. I needed to get that off my chest. Well, if they think that they can confine me here, forever, then they can think again. I’ll show them. And then, they had better watch out!
    Dear God, help me, please?
    Anyway, for now, I will continue with the episode of the Ouija-board. There’s more to tell, except, anyone waiting will have to excuse me if I rest for a while. Its the shock, you see?
    If I dont say more before morning, then I promise that you will hear more by tomorrow night. And then, I’ve got to see about finding my way out of here.

  39. Simon

    Instantly, at my call, the girls stopped what they were doing and turned to look in my direction. That they couldn’t see me was obvious, as they both then began to look towards the path and back again. “Did you hear that!” the girl on the left exclaimed with surprise. On the other side of the grave, the second girl nodded her agreement. “Where did it come from?” “I’m not sure. I think from those trees, just there?” answered the second girl. They both stared, intently, at where I stood and. I was sure that I’d been seen; but no! “Can you see anyone?” said the first girl. “No!” replied the second, and then, “come on, I think we should go!” “Hold on….ask it something!” “I think there’s someone in there?” said the second girl, “come on, lets go!” “Are you sure there’s someone there?” “Well, no…but the voice must have come from somewhere?” “But…this may be it!…this could be it!” pleaded the first girl, excitedly; “go on…ask it something?” “Well,…what?” “Oh, it doesn’t matter, i’ll ask.”said the first girl, impatiently. She then turned upon her haunches, to look directly in my direction. “I hope you don’t mind my asking,” she said, politely, “but…are you a ghost?”
    I wasn’t sure what to say to that? Here was a chance for me to do the ghost’s bidding, but; something about the girls ‘struck a cord.’ I had the impression that I knew them from somewhere but, couldn’t be sure? I decided not to lie. “No,” I said, “I’m not a ghost!” “Well, what are you then….a spirit or something?” “Yes, are you a spirit then?” asked the second girl. “No, I’m neither a spirit nor a ghost,” I replied and then, parted the branches and walked out into the sunshine.
    If my eyesight hadn’t have been so poor, then I would have recognised them instantly. As it was, it wasn’t until the look of recognition from the girl’s and then a broad smile from the first girl, that I suddenly realised who they were. There was no mistaking that smile. It was Janet! And the other girl was Margaret! “Oh, its you!” they both exclaimed, almost together. They both got up from their kneeling positions. Margaret then said, “Why didn’t you say so earlier?” “I didnt recognise you. I can’t be certain about anything, with my eyesight?” I explained. “What did you say?” asked Janet. “I can’t see anything, with certainty?” I further remarked. “How long have you been standing, there?” Margaret asked. “Not long,” I said. “But , how did you get there?” “I walked, from the pathway; from over there,” I answered, pointing towards the Church corner, “But, you couldn’t have done?” she said, “I’ve been keeping watch on that path and, I would have seen you?” I then retraced my steps, to show the girl’s where I’d walked from. Margaret was still doubtful. “Have any of you heard a voice, like an old mans voice?” I asked, of them. Both girls, after looking at one-another, shook their heads and answered, no. They then questioned me as to what the voice said and, where I had heard it. Both girl’s showed puzzled-amusement as I related to them what it was, that I heard. “Do you think its a ghost then!” asked Janet. “Well, I suppose it must be?” I answered. “Maybe, that was it then?” she then asked of her sister. Margaret made a questioning…..’hmm?’ “We may as well tell him?” said Janet and then turned to me. “Have you heard of a Ouija-board?” she asked. I told her that I had, at which point she said to me, “Well, we’ve got one here!” She then resumed her kneeling position, next to the grave, and Margaret followed suit. I think that my jaw must have dropped open; as Janet asked, “Whats the matter?” “Er,…..nothing?” I replied, with difficulty.

  40. Simon

    Now, I suppose that many of us may have dabbled with a Ouija-board set-up, at sometime in our life. I recall doing so myself, when younger; in my late teens. I know how easy it is to exert pressure upon an up-turned glass and surreptitiously push it through the ‘legend’ of roughly torn squares of paper which contain the alphabet. I know how unsettling it can be when that glass makes its way, unnervingly, directly at the recipient. Of course, no-one admits to actually pushing it. That is normally followed by: “Do you have a message?”
    In those that I participated in; the message would normally be a warning of some kind; just to make the intended recipient feel that much worse. Yes, I still have happy memories of those candle-lit evenings. However, this was different. Firstly; this supposed ‘toy’ had a creepiness all of its own. Secondly; Janet and Margaret seemed (to me) to be rather on the young side, to be dabbling in such matters. Thirdly; I’d never heard of, nor come across anybody suggesting that this contraption should be placed, directly, upon an actual grave. There is no doubt at all, that the girls were set about their ‘task’ with determination. Apart from that, the really unsettling aspect to me, was the complete aura of calm that they possessed, as they did so. Truely; to stand by and watch ‘angels playing with fire,’ concentrates the mind, somewhat. So, when the girls asked me if I would like to join in, I gently declined, saying that there was not enough room. My feeble excuse not to get involved, was quickly put under pressure when Janet and then Margaret stated that one or the other would shift position so as to give me room. “No; its OK,” I said, “I’ll just watch on this occasion, thanks.” “Well, you can’t just stand there?” Janet said, in a disapproving voice. “Why not?” I asked. “Because we won’t be able to concentrate!” replied Janet. “Yes, this isn’t easy, you know?” said Margaret. “Well, where would you like me to stand?” I asked. “Somewhere where we can’t see you!” stated Janet. “But, then I won’t be able to see what’s happening?” I complained. Janet let out a sigh of exasperation and then said, “I’m not sure if this is going to work now, anyway?” She then asked me if I knew what the time was. I said that it was probably about half-past four. The girls then had a short discussion before deciding that they had better start packing things away. Margaret explained that they had to get home by five o’clock, or mum would get anxious. I said that I may as well walk back, with them. At that, Janet suddenly exclaimed “Oh, I know what we can do!” The girls then had another discussion before Margaret asked me to go back and stand in the exact place, beneath the branches and where I had first spoken from. “She’s going to give you a psychic name!” she explained. Janet replaced the Ouija-board upon the grave. I protested that I didn’t need to go back beneath the branches for her to do that? Anyhow, I was eager to see how she was going to go about this, with the board. “No; you must go back to the exact spot!” insisted Janet. “You have to do what she says,” Margaret followed, “otherwise this won’t work……she doe’s this really well!” As I resumed my place beneath the branches, Margaret then asked; “Have you any money, on you?” “Er…no?, I lied; “do you need money for this, then?” “She normally charges to do this!” explained Margaret. They then had another short discussion before Margaret said, “You’re lucky, she’s going to do this for free!”
    “Right, you must be quiet!” began Janet, “now, let’s see. Are you sure you are in the exact spot?” “Yes,” I assured her. “Now; you are standing: there,” she said, whilst raising an arm and pointing towards me, “and, the corner of the church is: there,” swinging her arm across, to the left. She did this three times and after each time, she leaned over the board as if making calculations. It was obviously some sort of triangulation process.
    “FRED!” she exclaimed loudly. I was confused. “That’s it,” said Margaret, “you’ve now got a psychic name!” I wasn’t too happy with this and told Janet so. I suppose that I had expected something a bit more ‘exotic’ sounding? “Whats wrong with Fred?” Janet asked, quizzically. “I’m not ‘Fred Flintstone’!” I explained, indignantly. “Well,….alright then” Janet said, after some thought; “I’ll try again, but if it comes up as ‘Fred’ again, then that’s the name you will have!” She then began her triagulation process, once more. Three more times, she went about pointing at myself and then the church before leaning, once more, over the board. I waited, anxiously. She then sat back, upon her heels, and began laughing! “What is it….what’s the matter, now?” I asked. “It’s no good. I can’t do this, now!” she answered. “All I can think about is, ‘Fred Flintstone’!”
    At that, the girls began putting things back into a bag. I emerged, once more, from beneath the branches. “Well,…..what about my psychic-name then?” I complained. “I’ll have to do it later,” …Janet replied…”I haven’t got time now; but, I can remember the readings and…I’ll do it later, at home.” “But, I was hoping to get it, now?” I moaned. “Well; you’ll just have to wait!” Janet exclaimed. I looked at Margaret; hoping for her support. She shook her head; “We’ve got to get back,” she explained. “Don’t worry, the next time we see you, then, you’ll have your name!” “That could be an age away?” I moaned, again. “It probably won’t be too long a time?” she offered, by way of consolement. “Yes, we’re bound to see you…sometime soon!” Janet offered, putting on her coat.
    As we walked back along the path, towards the front of the Church, Janet questioned me again about the ‘voice.’ By this time, I’d virtually forgotten about it, but Janet wanted us to stop at every place I’d heard it and relate exactly what had been said. We spent so much time doing this that the girls suddenly got more anxious about the time and left the Church grounds in a hurry. “Aren’t you coming then?” Janet asked, as I held back. “No,” I said, “I’m staying behind, to have a cigarette.” We said our quick goodbyes and I turned to make my way back, to the graveyard. I’d gone about five paces when the sound of footsteps, running behind me, caused me to look back. It was Margaret! “Janet wants to know that word, that you said?” she asked. “What word?” I asked, in return. “When you were talking about your eyesight?” she went on. I had to think. “What; you mean when I said ‘I couldn’t be certain’ of anything?” “Yes, thats it!” Margaret said. I explained to her the meaning of the word, ‘Certain’ and then offered to spell it for her. “No, it’s all right….she just wanted to know what it means….she likes words!” “Oh,…OK then,” I said as Margaret turned and rushed back; out of the Church grounds. Coming, once more, upon the graveyard; I lit a cigarette and looked over the scene. I then stood near the corner of the Church and asked, rather quietly, “Are you there?” There was no response. I tried again as I walked, back and forth along the path. Total silence ‘answered’ me. “Well, thats nice!” I thought, “this is all the thanks I get?” I finished my cigarette and walked home. And that was that. Wednesday, 17th August 1977. Signing-On day. Ouija-board day. And, to those who may be interested in such matters: exactly 365 years; to the very day, since the beginning of the Pendil Witch Trials.

  41. Simon

    I wish to state, here and now, that I DO NOT consider Janet and Margaret to be ‘Witches.’ No way; never have done; never will. My analogy regarding; the Pendil Witch Trials, should be viewed as an example of how those ancient forces: the forces of Enchantment, enact upon our dimension so as to bring Order to Chaos. To calm the storm. And, ultimately, to Heal.

    Dr Who?

  42. Simon

    I’ve just had a look back, over my comments and noticed some errors in my spelling.
    Of course, I mean Pendle and not Pendil.
    It’s just as well that my spells were incantations, as opposed to written majyk.
    If I had to rely on the latter then; who knows what would have happened?
    Janet may have ended up on the roof!
    Which brings me back to matters at hand.
    I’ve got to find a way out of this graveyard, before I can continue.
    I will have to find a suitable spell.
    ABRAXAS, here I come!

  43. Simon

    And who art thou? Yes, who art thou to keep me here?
    I speak the truth; yet what is it that thou do hear?
    Should I stay my mind and with my mind, my words stay silent still?
    Do you wish me ill until my death draw near?
    Would you if you had the chance me kill?
    So many questions as to what the truth may be
    And truth itself may seem a lie even though it seeks to heal
    When ones mind can no longer steer upon a stormy sea
    For I once had a love though it would never be
    And that which was handed down I give back to thee.

  44. Simon

    So to ABRAXAS it is I confide
    Before me Michael
    Behind me Gabriel
    At my left hand Oriel
    At my right hand Raphael
    That I do no longer in this place abide

  45. Simon

    I’M OUT!
    HA! HA! HO! HO!
    Yes, it will take more than the likes of Playfair; to keep me confined.
    Forgive me, please, if I gloat awhile.
    I haven’t felt this good for ages!
    Yes, now were we? Oh yes; my fight with ‘Bill’!
    Yet, I must rest awhile. And then I shall continue.
    HA! HA! Happy days. Suck it up, Playfair!

  46. Simon

    Before I continue re: ‘Bill’, I think that I should probably say a bit more about Astral-travel and how I came to discover this ancient art. Especially now that the thirty-ninth anniversary of my first ‘projection’ into the Hodgson household has just passed. On that last point, I just say for the record, that the first ‘activity’ did not occur on the 31st August as is widely reported, but upon the previous night; that is: 30th August. Upon that occasion, Janet complained that her bed was rattling. The reason for this I will make clear, shortly.
    It is strange how ‘fate’ can work, sometimes. If I hadn’t missed the bus home, from Enfield Chase, then I wouldn’t have passed the time waiting for the next one by venturing into a newsagents and having a free read of the magazines on display. I say read, but really it was just a casual glance. I have tried hard to remember which ‘mag’ it was exactly, in which I came across this article and have whittled it down to two. It was either; NME, (New Musical Express) or ‘PLAYBOY’ Oddly enough, I have a strong feeling that it was actually the last named of these two. I seem to remember it being a ‘glossy’ mag. As I recall, it was an article of no more than half a page length and tucked away, deep inside. For obvious reasons, I read the article rather quickly and found it interesting and easy to follow. Mostly, it emphasised the importance of preparation, by fasting and then inducing a trance-state via a series of breathing techniques.
    It mentioned nothing about rapping upon walls. Rather, it claimed that one could achieve Astral-projection by just following the simple guidelines. It also had a warning, at the end of the article, about remembering to shut the ‘Astral-Portal’ when one had completed ones ‘journey.’ The whole piece, although serious in its own right, had an air of light-hearted matter-of-fact about it and had probably been re-hashed from some ‘flower-power’ publication. The actual date, I cannot recall, yet I believe it to be at least six months before activities got under way at Green Street.
    I was in no rush to experiment with this ‘phenomenon’ at the time, as I had plenty more things to think about, not least; my recent and fortunate avoidance of death from ball-lightning. It had been a strange year so far and it wasn’t until a couple of months had passed that I found myself at a ‘loose end.’ It was then, and whilst laying upon my bed one afternoon, that the article came to mind once more. I suppose that my attitude towards this was pretty much like most people would have been, that is; I was really quite scepticle towards it. The idea of being able to seperate ones inner-self, or; dematerialize and float with purpose to a location of ones choosing, seemed fantastical to say the least. Still, being of an inquisitive nature and having nothing else to do, I decided to give it a try. It was hopeless! Nothing happened, despite all my rythmic inhalations and exhalations, except; I fell asleep! A couple of days passed by before I decided to try again. Again; no good! I could not even reach anything like, a supposed trance-like state!
    Of course, I realised that I hadn’t gone about this in a wholey determined manner. I hadn’t fasted, for instance. Still, I was disappointed that I had nothing to show for my efforts. I then forgot all about it for a few weeks, until such time as it came to mind once more. This followed on from a period of prolonged depression. I guess that the desire to ‘escape’ out of myself, to which that depression had strongly induced, provided the motivation. Visits to my secret meditative chamber (the attic above the nave of St James Church) had failed to lift the gloom and so I set about my next attempt with an unaccustomed vigour. This was either going to succeed, or not, I determined. This time, I would leave nothing to chance. I then began a thirty-six hour period of fasting. Not only did solid food not pass my lips, but I also forwent my favourite drink, tea; limiting myself only to sips of water. No sweets either, not even chewing-gum. Mother actually got a little concerned that I hadn’t eaten, which led to me having to fib to her that I’d had something to eat, when out and about. Cigarettes though, I reasoned, were ok.

  47. Simon

    Well, I’m back.
    Apologies for the delay. It seems that I’ve been doing quite a bit of apologising lately. And, there I go again!
    This time, it has all been due to my dabbling in the mysteries of the ‘eighth’ book of Moses; reluctantly chosen by me, as I am sure you realise, in order for me to escape the psychic ‘trap’ into which I had ventured.
    There are many out there who do not wish for me to tell my secrets.
    Dangers abound for me, in many guises. Such is my fate.
    Still, I have escaped and am free to roam once more!
    The thing is, I knew that this would lead to something other than just my being set free. And so it proved. It wasn’t a simple release.
    My mind and body were cosseted within an extremely pleasant and alluring mix of comfort and heavenly music. Things being as they are, you can probably understand my reluctance to leave that ‘Elysian’ state of being.
    And that is the thing; an appeal to the authority of ‘ABRAXAS’ is taken far beyond ones most pressing desires. It became obvious to me that I was being offered the opportunity to not only escape my psychic confines, but also, my whole mental and physical presence upon this earth, completely and forever! Such a love and compassion is hard to deny.
    I then entered a stage of reflection upon my past thoughts and deeds.
    For some reason, I became immersed within my recollections of ‘Thomas Tallis.’ I spent some time with that, which has led me to a desire to learn how to compose music. I shall have to see if I can reach him. He owes me a favour. Still, that’s for the future.
    So, you can see; I’ve decided to remain and tell my recollections.
    But, not just yet. I have other, earthbound, matters to attend to.
    Yet, I will be posting soon. This coming week. See you then.
    SC

  48. Simon

    So, this was it, then. The moment of reckoning, as I saw it. If this didn’t work, then I might as well give up all together. The prospect of the continuing daily drudge of life lay just beyond this final attempt. This had to work…just had to? I had imbued myself with such a sense of belief in this process that failure now would seem as though the whole of existence would have no meaning for me. This was the sense of purpose to which I had come to. I had raised the stakes, mentally. It was all or nothing. I closed the curtains and switched-off the bedroom light.
    So, I lay back upon my bed and made myself as comfortable as possible. My arms, I rested at my sides and began the process of emptying my mind of all thoughts.
    I was to think of nothing, except nothingness.
    I closed my eyes then began the process of trance induction. Twenty, slow shallow inhalations and exhalations, followed by thirty, deep ones. And then, another twenty shallow inhalations and exhalations followed by more deep ones. The sound of a police car, zooming along Enfield Highway, did its best to interrupt my meditation, but I continued purposefully.
    This whole process was meant to take around twenty minutes, yet I had no idea as to how long I kept at it, repeating steps one and two, over and over. At the back of my mind, my desire to seperate my ‘inner-self’ and ‘float’; pervaded all. I became aware of the sensation of wishing to sleep and opened my eyes to prevent this.
    It took a few seconds for me to realise what had happened. Was I dreaming? The bedroom ceiling appeared close to my face! I raised my hands and pushed against the ceiling. I then floated back downwards, towards my bed where I hovered just above it! This was fantastic! I became full of experimental thoughts. I should like to rise to the ceiling again, I thought, and immediately I began to float upwards. I pushed against the ceiling once more and once again I descended towards my bed. This was incredible! I was so wonderfully happy! I’d actually done it! The thought occured to me that I may be able to venture outside? I then desired to hover outside my bedroom window and immediately found myself there, floating! I could look around. Beneath , I could see the back door and the garden. The night air was very cool. The street-lights and the roof-tops of Green Street stretched out before me. I turned and looked at the moon. I kept one hand against the wall of the house as I looked about me. I felt as if I was an astronaut upon a space-walk, yet without the safety-cord attached. I was beguiled and fearful at the same time. I then decided that I’d done enough for this first attempt and willed myself back to my bedroom. As soon as I did so, the trance broke and I found myself standing in my bedroom. It took a while for all of this to sink in. I thought of going downstairs to tell Mother of what I had achieved, but then thought better of it. She wouldn’t understand, I detemined.
    I sat upon my bed and decided that no, this was something that I would keep secret from everyone. I was too excited to feel happy. Everything was suddenly all-right with the world!
    My next experimental journey would take me to the house at 284.

  49. Simon

    You would , probably, have thought (as most would) that having once gone through such an exhilarating experience, that I couldn’t wait until I tried once again to ride the astral plane?
    Strangely though, it never happened like that. Maybe, it was my anxious disposition? It wasn’t so much a case of happily ‘resting on my laurels’, more: an inward fear that I wouldn’t be able to replicate that which I had already achieved. A fear of failure. So, instead of eagerly getting myself prepared for my next attempt, I spent a week or so just dwelling upon the matter. I told myself that there was no rush; I could pick this up from where I left off, anytime I wished. This thought process actually had a detrimental effect upon my confidence, as the longer I left it; the more I began to doubt my experience. I found my thoughts turning to other matters. Upmost in my mind was the ghostly voice which I had heard at the graveyard? That I was the only one to hear it (the girls had heard nothing) was something to which I had to think deeply about. I had to consider the possibility that maybe, after all, my mind was deteriorating into a schitzophrenic hell? Yet, this was something to which I was fearful of telling anyone else about (especially Mother) I didn’t want to worry mum. The prospect of my ending up in a ‘mad-house’ was an unwelcome consideration that I quickly pushed to the back of my mind. Then, of course, there was my interaction with the very real ghostly spirit at Waltham Abbey? So, taking everything into consideration, I settled on the conviction that no, I wasn’t going mad. These things were real and, I had really experienced them. Then, I had to consider the reason why it was that Janet and Margaret had not heard the voice? I hadn’t seen them since our encounter at St James, which was a disappointment to me: I was waiting upon my psychic name that Janet had promised me. For some reason, this meant a lot to me. I didn’t understand why that should do so? The thought came upon me that, maybe, they had moved home? I’d revisited the graveyard (no voice spoke to me) and had walked to their house and back several times yet, they were nowhere to be seen. I didn’t feel as if it was right for me to actually call at their home. So, anxiety built upon anxiety until I began to entertain the idea that, maybe, there was a connection between the voice and their absence? That maybe, the spirit which had spoken had somehow attached itself to the girls and they may be in some danger? Looking back, after all these years, some of these thoughts now seem ridiculous yet, at the time, they were very concerning to me. I had to do something, if only to prove to myself that my suspicions were unfounded. I decided then, that I would try once more my astral-travel and pay the girls an unofficial visit.
    On reflection, this probably wasn’t the best time to do this. I had the anxiety of another run-in with the employment adviser looming, plus I hadn’t gone through a proper fasting process. Still, at least I was attempting something positive about the situation. So, it was with an attitude of hope, rather than confidence, that I set about my trance-inducing meditation. That night, Tuesday 30th August, and at about nine o’clock; after donning my pyjamas, I settled myself once more upon my bed and began my rhythmic breathing.
    Things didn’t go to plan, well, not as expected anyway and I put it down to my lack of fasting. I was able to achieve a level of light-headedness yet, had difficulty in attaining the same level of conscious-seperation to which I had achieved before. I thought about calling a halt to my efforts, yet felt myself close enough to carry on. There was no floating, this time. I was stuck, well and truly, to my bed. I intensified my efforts, yet felt the need to do something else. I needed rhythm, I determined. So, in a half-stupor I clambered from my bed and made my way to a corner of my room, at the foot of the bed; then placed my hands upon the wall. Going once more through my breathing routine whilst standing, I began to pat the wall. One…Two….Three….Four, and then over again. A bit more of this and then, as my intensity rose, I switched to using the knuckles of my hands. On and on I went, rapping out my ryhmic beat until suddenly, I fell into the trance state to which I recognised from before. This was it; I was under! I pulled away from the corner and walked, my arms hanging at my sides, my head bowed, to the centre of the room. I willed myself to float once more outside of my bedroom; raised one arm towards the window and suddenly, there I was! I was floating outside, as before! I looked about me and then, with both hands against the side of the house, made my way up onto the roof! There, I crouched down and surveyed the scene. The streets were quiet of people, although a few cars went up and down the street. The night air was cool once more and with a sense of dampness to it. I was too exhilarated to let that bother me! There wasn’t much time for this sight-seeing, I determined. I had important matters to attend to! Anyhow, I had no idea as to how long I could remain upon this plane. I would have to learn as I went along. However, instead of willing myself straight to 284, I took the scenic route and willed myself along horizontally, over the roof tops. Soon, I could see the trees which were at the side of Durants park and made my way to them. There, I held onto the topmost branches and watched as a bus went by, on its way to Brimsdown. There were some people upon it, I could see. I watched as the bus came to a stop and someone alighted from it. ‘Should I continue now?’, I thought. What if they could see me! In truth, up until that point, I hadn’t considered as to whether I were invisible to others, or not? I made my mind up to continue, come what may and set out,this time with more speed, towards 284. To glide, like a bird, is a wondrous thing! I slowed as I reached my destination and quickly took my bearings from the school, opposite.
    Well, this was it then. Now, where-abouts exactly, were the girls? There was a light on, at the front of the house, downstairs, I could see. And, the hall and stairway light appeared to be on. Quickly clambering over the roof, using my hands only, I checked the rear of the house. Upstairs was in darkness, but a light appeared to be on in the kitchen area. Maybe, it was light filtering through from the living room? I did another complete sweep of the house before sitting upon the roof to determine my next action. Were the girls downstairs, watching television? The curtains were closed at the front, so I was unable to see. I then reasoned that there was a fair chance that they were watching TV. After all, they wouldnt be back at school yet, after the holiday? I decided then, that I would make my entrance at the top of the house and then slowly make my way downstairs, to the front room. Now, where to make my entry? Should I come in through the roof? Through the wall? Or, through a window? The roof I decided against, as it may be full of clutter. The windows, I was unsure of. Was there a chance they may break? In the end, I decided on a wall entrance. If that didn’t work, then I would try a window. Another consideration I faced was; would the family see me suddenly appear in their midst? That could be alarming for them? I was only there to check things out. I didnt want anyone to have a heart-attack! So, the wall it was then and, bit by bit until my head could pass through the inner surface. I could observe from there. This was risky, I was sure. I mean; what if I were suddenly to materialise. What then? Would I be melded, half in, half out of the wall? This could result in my death! And, I had my pyjamas on! What would the neighbours think? What would the Hodgsons think? In fact, the more I thought about it, the more dangerous and embarrassing the whole idea seemed! Still, I’d come this far. There was no turning back now! If I was to do this, then I may as well choose somewhere to which I was most at ease: the room which corresponded to my own bedroom. Rear, top right. So, I had one quick look about me, took in a breath of the cool night-air and then gently pulled myself over the roof and down into an upright position to the right-hand side of the window. The neighbours lights, to the right, were off also, I noticed. I closed my eyes and then began to push with my mind and body against the outer surface of the wall. This wasn’t a completely smooth operation, I found out. I was aware of some resistance and a feeling of being encased within a texture of some sort, yet it didn’t hurt me. I could feel no pain. It quicky became obvious to me that my original plan, to just put my head through the wall, wasn’t going to work. Probably, something to do with the double-cavity of the wall? In my mind, I held the thought that I just needed to get through the inner surface. That would be enough for me to see if the coast was clear, before I pushed on into the room, entirely. Suddenly, I felt a different resistance upon my legs. What was this? ‘I should be almost through by now?’ I reasoned. I stopped and then pushed harder. Suddenly, I heard a voice! “Mum!” “Mum!” it called. I quickly stopped and listened. “What is it?” I heard, a short while after. It sounded like Peggy! “The bed’s rattling!” the first voice continued. ‘That was Janets voice!’ I realised. Quickly, I willed myself out from the wall and made my way back onto the roof. My heart was pounding! It was obvious to me what had happened. By sheer chance, I’d come up against Janets very bed! And, whats more; she was in it!
    It took a while for me to gather myself and for my heart-rate to drop. When it did so, I contemplated what had occured. ‘Well, at least I know that they haven’t moved home!’
    Relieved at that thought, I left the roof and glid towards the trees at the edge of the park. There, I waited a while, whilst I had another look about me. Then, I willed myself to be back in my room and quickly found myself standing once more upon my bedroom floor. I sat and then lay back upon my bed. Immediately, I fell asleep……..Don’t laugh. This isn’t meant to be funny, you know!

  50. Simon

    Shall I blow puff-ball spores to the stars?
    Sweet child have your sweet dreams
    Life is not what it seems
    Saturn may be in line with Mars
    Yet the rain still falls and makes streams.

  51. Simon

    In case anyone following is wondering where I’ve got to; I’m still here. I’ve had to take things a bit easier of late. In truth, I never realised the extent to which my retelling of my reminiscences would leave me emotionally drained.
    I’m in need of an extended break. So, I will be away for a while; until early new year, when I will pick up the thread once again. For now, though, I have to say goodbye. I have much more to tell of these matters. So, until then, I take this opportunity to wish everyone a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. See you then, SC

  52. Simon

    I awoke in the night to a feeling of intense coldness. I lay upon the top of my bed in my pyjamas and they provided no comfort to the chill which pervaded my unheated room. The heat I had experienced on my return from 284 had dissipated and I could see the steam of my breath in the night-air. Quickly pulling my bedcovers across myself, I then began a self-appraisal of the nights events. Whilst I was pleased that I had managed to ascertain that the girls were still there, I was disappointed that I had not managed to see them. I cursed my misfortune at having been prevented from entering the house completely. On the other hand, I had managed to get somewhat close to my objective and took solace in that.
    Next time, I determined, I would be more thoughtful; more careful. I would enter the house at another point and avoid Janets bed. Not only that, I decided then that it was not a good idea to go astral-planing whilst in my pyjamas. There was no knowing what may occur?
    In that respect, the danger of my sudden materialization played second-fiddle to my concern of being embarrassed. With those thoughts playing upon my mind, I feel into a deep sleep before being awoken by a knocking upon my bedroom door. It was Mother.
    “Are you awake?” she called. Yes, I was awake. “What time is it?” I asked. “Ten o’clock.” “What, at night?” I responded. “No, of course not!” she sounded exasperated. “Whats up?”, I enquired. “I’m taking the girls to nan’s for a few days and we’ll be leaving in about an hour. Don’t forget, you have an interview to attend today.” Damn, I’d forgotten about that! “OK,” I said, “I’ll be up in a minute.” ‘This was all I needed,’ I thought, ‘another meeting with that brute at the employment exchange!’ Sitting in the kitchen with my mug of cornflakes, my mood lifted somewhat at the realization that I would have the house to myself for a few days. That gave me opportunity, not only to smoke at home but to explore my astral-projection on a wider scale. I could try from the living room. That would give me more room to express myself and I wouldn’t have to rap so gently, for there would be no-one but myself to hear. Yes, this presented a good opportunity and that thought gave me something to look forward to. Suddenly, my job interview didn’t seem so bad!
    In the bathroom, I touched and examined every part of my body. No missing parts! I was all still in one piece. This problem and danger of sudden materialization, I didn’t know how I would overcome. All I could do, I realised, was to be more purposeful; less hesitant. The quicker I entererd the house at 284, the better, for it would cut down on the risk.
    I was beginning to feel quite elated at the prospect of another visit to see the girls. This night, I determined. 31st August. Yes, there was no point in resting upon my laurels. I was going to go for this, big time!

  53. Simon

    Its been a long time since I last made a comment, I know. Believe me, I’ve needed it. These things cannot be rushed…they have a flow of their own.
    Still, the rest has done me good and I can feel my energies returning. So, I
    expect to continue with my recollections soon. Hopefully this weekend. See you then. SC

  54. Simon

    As soon as Mother had left for nan’s, I lit a cigarette and paced the front room purposefully.The nails were popping up from the floorboards again, I noticed. As soon as I’d finished my smoke, I found the hammer and spent the next half-hour walking around the house, knocking them back down. I wanted to make sure that nothing would distract me later, when I went about my trance induced walkabout. I might do this barefoot this time, I reasoned. Or, I may wear my slippers. I was, after all, still experimenting with my astral-projection. There were certain things that I was unsure of; one of which was; could I be heard? I didn’t know? I didn’t want to be heard whilst walking around 284. I wasn’t bothered about the temperature outside as I’d already noticed how warm I’d become when astral-planing. My body heat tended to offset the coolness of the night air. One thing I didn’t want to do though, was leave a slipper behind at the Hodgsons; that might raise suspicions. I had a count up of the marbles and noticed a couple were missing, probably under the bed? A quick search though, failed to find them. I laid the remainder in two rows; one upon my bedroom windowsill, the other row on the floor in front of the living-room chimney breast, for easy access. That was all the preparation that I had to do, apart from preparing myself, of course. I had the whole day to do this, although the interview that I was due to attend that afternoon was an unwelcome distraction. Minstrel had left another headless pidgeon on the back door-step, I noticed. She’d already had two that week. It was an unpleasant business disposing of them. Having done that and washed, I sat gingerly upon the unsteady settee and tried to clear my mind. I must relax now, as tonight might be a long one? I must have been more tired than I realised from the night before, because I then fell asleep.
    “Did you walk or, did you fly here?” said the man from the employment exchange.
    “Whaa…does it matter?” I answered.
    “Yes it does!” he went on, forcibly. “There is a flying restriction you know!….You can’t have any money if you’ve flown here; its against the rules!”
    I awoke in a sweat. Suddenly, I was aware of a change in the light, outside the window. I had a bit of a panic then as I wasn’t sure how long I’d been asleep. Quickly gathering myself, I rushed upstairs and looked at the alarm clock in Mothers bedroom. Quarter to three! I was fortunate to have awoken when I did, for my interview was for 3.45pm and it took about half an hour to walk to the employment exchange. Somewhat relieved, I made myself a cup of tea and had another cigarette before setting off along Enfield Highway towards Ponders End. Passing the entrance to the church, I stopped and had a quick scan along the path. ‘I wonder if that ghost is still about?’ I decided that, on my return I would have another walk around the graveyard. I might hear the’ voice’ again? Who knows….Janet and Margaret might be there? Strangely enough, this time I was almost hoping that they wouldn’t be, as it would then make my visit tonight almost redundant. Arriving at the employment exchange, I realised that I had spent so much time dwelling on tonights prospects that I hadn’t prepared myself properly for the interview. I became quite anxious. Taking a seat opposite the row of curved cubicle dividers, I awaited my fate with trepidation. The place was empty apart from myself. It didn’t bode well, I felt. After about a ten minute wait, I heard a noise from behind the cubicles and then the dreaded voice of the adviser calling my name.
    “Mr——!” he called. Yet again he’d pronounced my name wrong. This was despite my telling him about this on several occasions previously. He was obviously doing so, deliberately. On coming face to face with the podgy, bald headed 50 something, he smiled. “Hello again Mr——!”
    “Look, I’ve said this before, my name is not pronounced that way?” I asked.
    “Yes” he replied and smiled broadly. I dont know what it was; if it was my dislike of him or, my concern over other more important matters, but I suddenly felt my ire comng to the fore.”Right!” I exclaimed. There must have been some kind of recognition in my eyes, for just before I made a lunge with both hands across the broad surface of the counter towards him, he quicky dropped to the floor, out of sight. “Come on then, lets have you!” I shouted. He remained beneath the counter. I then stretched myself across the surface and could see his backside as he scurried along the floor behind the other cubicles! I stood back up and called out, “Come on then, you coward. I’ve had enough of you…. Get out here!” I then heard a door close, behind the partitions. “Where are you” I continued, “get yourself round here now!” I was left standing in the middle of the floor, cursing, until about a minute later the sound of a door opening and a female voice said, “Whats the matter..whats going on?” “Where is he?” I said. “Wheres who?” she replied. “That pillock!” I said. “He’s done nothing but wind me up ever since I’ve been coming here. I’ve had enough….get him out here, now!” “Calm down, I’ll see what this is about?” she said in a condescending manner. I heard her go back behind the door. About a minute later, she reemerged and called me to a cubicle. The rather pleasant disposition of the middle-aged woman had a calming effect upon me, although I was still angry. “I want to see the manager,” I said. I want to make a complaint!”
    “He is the manager!” she replied.
    “Whaa…well, I want to see someone above him…the area manager, then”
    “He is the area manager!” she responded. I’m sure a smile began to play upon her face.
    In the end, she told me not to worry; that I would receive my benefit and that she would deal with it personally. Which she did. When I left there, I was still so het up, that I didnt really notice the rain which had begun to fall. Of course, that meant that the graveyard was out, yet I didn’t even bother with a bus-ride home, but worked off my anger with a stiff walk home through the rain.

  55. Simon

    OK;…lets call it an intermission
    A short severance of the psychic cord
    Let me not be confined by the will of our lord
    If I am to make headway then I must be set free
    Over the rooftops I must soar
    Amid the gravestones I must roam
    Within the church my beating heart can sound an echo
    Of what came before
    And then you will see
    I am coming back for more
    Soon before
    The next full moon

  56. Simon

    Sorry….wrong video.

  57. Simon

    Edgy. Thats how I describe it. My mood, I mean. Edgy as hell. The confrontation with the employment adviser had left its mark. I was now full of thoughts as to how things would play out in future. I paced the living room in nervous anxiety. Then, went up to my room and lay down before returning once more downstairs. I lit a cigarette and looking towards the chimney breast saw that the marbles that I had left there, were now scattered across the floor. Minstrel, I determined, must have taken an interest and scattered them with her paws. I collected up the ones I could find and replaced them in a line where I had previously left them. Of course, she would have to be let out for the night. Opening the back door for her, I looked at the sky and considered how dark the sky had become. Jet black. I went into the garden and looking up and around, could discern no stars; no moon. Nothing above the glare of the street lights except a disturbing inkiness. At least it had stopped raining. I felt cold, though. Shutting the back door and locking it, I then made myself a mug of hot tea before getting myself psyched-up for what I was about to attempt. ‘I wonder what the girls are up to?’ Well, it was now approaching 8.45pm, according to the alarm clock which I had brought into the kitchen. ‘With luck, they may be watching TV.’
    I’d decided earlier to wear my slippers. After all, I may tread upon something sharp and give away my presence? I’d also decided upon my point of entry to 284. The same as before, I reasoned, although from the other side of the window. That way, I would miss Janets bed. Where Margaret may be, I had no idea? Being the eldest, I assumed that she must be in the other rear-bedroom. There was Billy, of course. Probably in with mum. Johnny, I assumed was away at another location. That had been the case when I had last spoken with Janet. So then, this was it; ready for take-off! Then, a thought. There was no point in changing what had proved successful before. Instead of attempting this from the living-room, I would leave that as a backup plan, and try once more from my bedroom. This time though, no pyjamas! I wore my jeans and a sweat-shirt. I switched off all the lights downstairs and made my way to my room. Laying down in the darkness, once more upon my bed, I began the process of trance induction. Things appeared to be going well as could be expected, for after maybe twenty or thirty shallow and then deep breathes I had the first feeling of light-headedness.
    And then, a shocking explosion of sound reverberating through the house! ‘Oh no!’ I realised, ‘the alarm clock!’… ‘it must have gone off in the kitchen!’ My concentration was in tatters. The alarm ran its spiteful course of noise, before I hauled myself from my bed and made my way downstairs, to the kitchen. I switched off the repeat function, found my cigarettes, lit one and sat in darkness at the kitchen table. I then considered the idea of abandoning my attempt altogether. The whole day; the vibes, they just didn’t seem right? Plus, I now had the making of a headache. What should I do? Should I push on? Or, abandon the idea for the night?
    Three cigarettes later, I decided to carry on. After all; there was nothing else doing.

  58. Simon

    Far be it, from me, to be needing to keep offering apologies. Yet I feel I must as it has been a while since I last posted. I do so and with an explanation.
    In truth, I have been in a dejected mood. Brought on, no doubt, by those forces of enchantment which seek to prevent me continuing with my recollections. I can honestly say that to relate my memorys has never been more difficult for me than at this time. It is as though to recall and tell of the events of that night is tantamount to crossing a psychic thresh-hold. However much I try, my mood grows darker. Yet, all is not without hope, for I can tell of a developement.
    Recently, (within the last few days) I have been having lucid dreams. In those dreams, Janet has been speaking to me. That is; Janet as she was then and; Janet how she is now. I feel that this is a sign. A sign of a reawakening of the psychic interplay between Janet and myself. That interplay which has for so many years, remained dormant. What this actually means and why this should be happening now, I am uncertain of. However, what I can say is that my mood has suddenly lifted and I feel that I can proceed with my recollections soon. For the moment though, I bathe in the warmth of the re-ignition of that psychic coming-together.
    I suddenly feel much happier about things. Better than I have done for a long while.

  59. Simon

    I should have known better. Really. One should always trust their vibes. I knew that it was wrong to proceed with my visit to 284, that night. It was a time for patience, not action. Things may have turned out differently and much better for me if I had resisted the temptation to pick up the marbles and tap out my astral-rythmn upon my bedroom walls.
    Yet, so needful was I for the company of Janet and Margaret, that I put my reservations to one side. What harm could it do, anyway, I reasoned? There wasn’t much to be lost, was there?
    Sounds now, like famous last words. If I had realised then, that in doing so I would be sowing the seeds of my own downfall; then I would surely have desisted.
    Upon returning to my room, and with the sound of the alarm-clock now but a ghostly echo within my conciousness, I opened the window and looked up at the night-sky, once more.
    It still had that strange unearthly inkiness to it, I noticed. I took in a few deep ‘lung-fulls’ of the cold night air, as if to adjust my inner temperature to the air outside, and closed the window.
    I then made myself as comfortable as possible upon my bed and began, once again, my process of trance-induction. Twenty slow shallow breaths followed by thirty deeper breaths. And then again. And again. And yet again. This was taking its time. Not the almost immediate sensation of light-headness as before. Maybe, I was too cold? Maybe, the breaking of my concentration had something to do with it? Maybe, and much more likely, I reasoned; my run-in with the employment advisor earlier on in the day was still playing somewhere at the back of my mind? Still, I persevered, and felt a sense of relief as a feeling of bodily separation at last made itself evident. As that awareness grew within, I slowly turned and sat with my feet upon the floor. Through half-closed eyelids, I reached across and took the marbles from the windowsill. A few moments later, I was on my feet, and began to rap gently upon the bedroom wall. It didnt seem to be making much difference. I then tapped across the low ceiling and even the floor, in a search for that final step onto the astral-plane.
    No discernable difference there. This sensation of remaining stuck, between two states of being, became rather frustrating. I had to push on, I knew. I decided then, that there would be no scenic tour of the rooftops of Green Street. No, not tonight. I would instead, take myself with willpower, straight to 284.
    I walked across to the corner-wall at the foot of my bed, and tried my luck there. Facing the corner, marbles in both hands, I rapped up and down and across two walls at the same time; dropping a couple of marbles as I did so. As I bent down to retrieve them, suddenly, there I was; once more upon the roof of 284! The sensation of wondrous relief at achieving complete astral travel in an instant, was amazing. Yet, considering my earlier difficulties, I was well aware not to hang about too long to admire the view. No, I had to push ahead whilst I could. This time, I didn’t bother with checking the front of the house but made my way down into a position to the left-side of the window, at the room where I had tried to enter the night before. Manouvering myself into an upright position, I then started to push, with mind and body, against the wall. I recognised the soft sponginess of the wall texture as I did so.
    With eyes closed, I pushed as before. Suddenly, I was aware of a similar resistence as to my prenightly attempt. There was something in the way, I realised. This was most frustrating. ‘Not again?’ I mused, despairingly. I pushed harder. And then, voices! “What?” – Janet’s voice, was followed by, “My beds vibrating now!” in what sounded like a boy’s voice.
    Immediately, I withdrew from the wall. I swore and cursed my misfortune. Opening my eyes, I found myself at the foot of my bed, facing the corner as before. I swore again. I couldn’t let this go now! I was detemined to gain entry, whatever the cost. I was finished with attempting entry from outside. Now, I would attempt transference straight from my room to Janet’s bedroom! I quickly gathered up some more marbles, including one from the floor and at once began rapping with more vigour upon the corner walls. Up and down and across, I went. Over and over; sweat now dripping from my brow.
    In attempting to move away from the corner, towards the door, I felt resistance against my left side. I pushed with my side against this resistance, yet it seemed immovable. Opening my eyes, I could observe nothing there. I was still in my room. I closed my eyes in concentration and attempted once more. Again, I came up against an unobservable resistance. This was now really annoying. I continued with my rapping using my right hand, and with my left hand explored the area where there should have been empty space. But, instead of emptiness, a solid object presented itself to me. With the flat palm of my hand, I then pushed, with some force, against the obstruction. The invisible weight relented somewhat. Beginning from the corner once more, I worked my way to my left side and yet again found my path blocked. I then became aware of voices, yet paid no attention to them. Running my hand along the side of the obstruction, I came upon what seemed like an edge. Grasping this invisible corner, I pulled outwards, with force against the obstruction.
    “Oh my word!” The voice was clear and unmistakable. It was Peggy’s voice!
    I immediately stopped my rapping and stood still, listening to the voices.
    “Right, come on then…downstairs!” – Peggy again.
    “What about Margaret?” – Janet, was followed by; “Yes, everyone downstairs!”

  60. Simon

    You know…it is strange how love can take hold of one and fracture our personality into something that we never understood about ourselves, before. Before we were, in love.
    How accursed we can seem to be. A feeling that takes hold and can sustain us with almost insane joy, yet render us with fear of purpose at the same time.
    When walking with Janet and Margaret, one early but dark evening, alongside Durants Park; I was suddenly overcome with an intense desire to tell Janet how much I loved her. Yet, how could I express myself in such terms, to one so young and beautiful as she? The whole concept seemed ridiculous; yet I was driven by love to express myself to her in a way that she had never seen of me before. I was at once happy and fearful. I needed to speak of love but fearful of the consequences. Love is like that. Sometimes, we just have to speak of love, because it demands of us to do so. We cannot hold the light of love under a bushel forever, and prevent it from shining. It demands release.
    “Janet,…I want to say something to you,” I ventured, hesitantly and cautiously.
    “Yes?” Janet replied, and then fell silent. The silence of that moment grew, as self-doubts engendered within me. “Well…what then?” she spoke, enquiringly; impatient for what I was about to say. I stopped walking and allowed them to get a little ahead of me. Glancing up at the sky, a full moon loomed large and bright. “Whats he doing?” Janet said, to Margaret. “He’s looking at the moon,” replied Margaret. I averted my gaze from the moon and repeated, “I need to say something to you, but…you need to come closer.” Janet walked up to me and said, “Well, go on then!” At once, fear gripped me and I again looked up at the moon. “Do you see the moon?” I began,”how bright it shines?” “Yes, I’ve seen the moon!” Janet responded, somewhat impatiently. “Do you not think that it looks pink, tonight?” I offered. “Well,..I don’t know, I’m not sure? she answered. And then, “Is this all you wanted to tell me?”
    “No,” I said, looking upwards. “There’s something more.” A silence followed, before Janet asked, “Why do you talk to the moon, when I am standing,… here?”

  61. Simon

    As I struggled to find words to explain myself, Janet walked off towards Margaret, saying; “I can’t hang around here…I’m cold…I want to get home.” “But,” I pleaded, “I haven’t finished what I wanted to say to you?” “Well, you’re not saying anything…are you?” she complained. Both girls then continued to walk off, towards home, which was a short distance away.
    I stood there, cursing my inability and trying desperately to find a solution. “Margaret!” I called out. The girls stopped and looked back at me. “I need to say something to you!”
    “What then?” Margaret exclaimed. “Come closer,” I said, “I can’t tell you from over here?” “Well..come over here then!” She sounded exasperated. “I can’t… Janet might hear!” I pleaded. The girls looked at one another, in puzzlement, before Margaret then shrugged her shoulder’s and walked towards me. “What is it, then?” she asked, upon reaching me. “I want to say something to Janet,” I explained, “but, I need you to say it for me?”
    Margaret fixed her gaze upon me. “Go on then..I’m getting cold standing here!”
    I leaned forward. “I’ve fallen in love with your sister!” I said, in a hushed voice.
    She remained silent. “I’m in love with Janet and…I need you to tell her, from me,..please?”
    Margaret’s gaze grew more intense, and a wry smile broke upon her lips. “Is that it, then?”
    “Yes, thats it!” I said.
    As Margaret made her way back to Janet, a realisation of my utter foolishness suddenly swept upon me.
    “Well, what is it then?” Janet asked of her sister. “I’ll tell you later,” Margaret answered.
    At that, both girls started to walk off, towards home. “No!” I exclaimed, “I need you to tell her,…now!” Margaret turned to her sister and said, “He say’s he loves you.. he’s in love with you!” They then had a short discussion before breaking into laughter!
    “Well, whats so funny, then?” I asked, in all seriousness.
    “What,….that!” Janet exclaimed, in obvious amusement; leaning forward as she did so.
    “We already know…..that!”
    I was stunned. Completely. Utterly. I think that my jaw may have dropped open.
    “He doesn’t know what to say..to that!” Margaret said, triumphantly.
    It was true; I didn’t. I had played my hand, and had then been trumped; completely!

  62. Simon

    Sorry, wrong video….again!

  63. Simon

    Please be patient;..the next part of my tale will come shortly. But, before I push on; I just want to say something:
    It has occured to me; there is a chance that some of those reading my comments may have come to the opinion that I may not be; completely sound of mind? That is unfortunate, yet; understandable. What I say is this: I think you may be correct?
    All I ask, is that you take into consideration how ones mind can become fragmented, having straddled at least two dimensions; and over a considerable period of time. One should also take into account; the considerable difficulties I face, in relating these paranormal memories to you. Of how I have to continually appease those forces of enchantment, in order to do so.
    If anything, this should serve as a warning to those who may think of dabbling in such matters. The cost to ones normal mental functioning is inestimable. So is the damage that can occur, to ones very soul. So yes, I concur; I am indeed, damaged goods.
    Mind you; having said all that, I do understand that my mind was not completely balanced, even before the activities at Green Street began. The reasons for that, I can only guess at. It may have something to do with my being subjected to several traumatic occasions in my childhood? I have already mentioned how I witnessed a terrible car accident, which occured barely a metre and a half away from me. Of how I thought the male driver’s hat had fallen off. And then realised that, it was not a hat but, his brains which fell from a wound to his head. How I walked around the car to the front passenger door, where a woman sat in silence, as if asleep, and then moaned that her arm was hurting, and as she did so; a myriad of blood streams suddenly spurted from her face. Yes, that was traumatic. Or, of how I saw the rider of a motor-scooter lose control as he rounded a corner, and become caught up, somehow, underneath the rear of a bus which had just passed by. How he began to scream as I ran downhill, frantically calling to the bus-driver to stop. How the bus did stop and the driver got out, yet only looked at the side of the bus and seeing nothing, got back in his cab and (to my horror) drove off again; the scooter and rider still trapped behind. When, about two hundred yards further ahead; I could see that the bus had finally come to a stop and a crowd of people stood around. I then made my way back home and as I did so, I noticed red smears in the roadway; went to investigate, and found a trail of blood and skin and brain matter, intermittently; along the roadway. That was traumatic. Yet, the most traumatic thing that I ever witnessed, put those incidents into some perspective. It was the matter and manner of my own death! Yes, I too suffered a fatal injury. It happened upon another dimension and, I tell of it here:
    The snow lay pretty-thick as I left home, dressed in shorts and wellington-boots, on my way to junior school. It was a distance of a couple of miles that I had to go, yet; being young and eager, it was a distance that I would, for the most part, run. The snow made not much difference. I was careful and took pleasure in the experience. We lived at that time, in one of two blocks of flats. I took my normal route to school, which was to exit our block; take the stairs down to the next block (we lived on a hill) and then, running along one side, jump from the raised embankment onto the footpath below. It wasn’t high, maybe four foot, from the top of the wall which held the embankment; to the pavement below. However, because of the snow, I was unable to see the top-edge of the wall. Still, knowing the route well, I approached at almost full pelt, readying myself to leap. Unfortunately, I misjudged the depth of the snow; caught my foot upon the top of the wall and plummeted head first to the pavement, below. To this day, I can still remember the split-second before my head impacted with the snow-hardened pavement. I can stiil envision the onrushing experience of the pavement hurtling towards me. What happened next, was quite extraodinary.
    My next recollection is of a realm of darkness. Of silence. Whether I had consciousness, or not; was of no consideration. I thought nothing of anything. Yet, something of conciousness must have remained, for I then heard a voice. A male voice. Soft and reassuring. It had a matter of factness about it.
    “Right then, let’s see?” the voice seemed to question, itself.
    A memory of sight then came to mind and I tried to open my eyes.
    “No, not yet?” the voice said. And then; “I need to do something, first.”
    Despite the reassuring tone, I became aware of a conflict; between my own willpower and the willpower of the voice. I waited and then tried again. “No, not yet?”
    I waited some more, before attempting, once more, to open my eyes.
    “If you keep doing this, then I won’t be able to help you?” the voice softly rebuked.
    “But, I want to see!” my own inner-voice complained. “Right then!” the voice said, rather impatiently. “Open your eyes!”
    I slowly opened my eyelids and looked out over the scene before me. It wasn’t what I expected. I was sitting against the base of the wall. About a yard away, a large red stain merged with the compacted snow. Cream coloured lumps of matter interspersed amid the redness. “Have you seen?” the voice enquired. “Yes,” I answered. “Close your eyes,” the voice commanded, “There’s more to do.”
    I closed my eyes. “What are you doing?” I asked. “I’m rebuilding you.” the voice answered, in a matter of fact, tone.
    “I want to see!” I pleaded. “Open your eyes, again,” the voice responded. I did so and noticed that the red stain and matter had somewhat diminished. “Can you see?” the voice continued, enquiringly. “Yes!” I answered. “Right,.. close your eye’s again.” the voice ordered. I did so.
    “Uhmm,.. I don’t think this is going to work?” the voice said, doubtfully.
    “Whats not going to work?” I asked, anxiously.
    “I’ve tried to rebuild you,” explained the voice, “but the damage is too severe. I’ve kept a part of you back, for future use.” “What do you mean?” i uttered, confused. “What part? A part of my brain, you mean?” I felt anxious. I then heard a sigh, before the voice continued.
    “Now listen!” the voice spoke decisively. “I’m going to give you a choice. Your choice is this:…”
    “You can have life, although it will not be quite the same as you remember it. Or, you can choose death.”
    This was a big question, for a nine-year old, to consider.
    “What do you mean?” I asked. “Am I not alive, then?”
    “I can give you life,” came the response, “but your life will continue upon another plane.”
    And then, as though interpreting my next question; “You cannot exist upon this dimension. The damage is too severe.”
    I became somewhat worried. “But what about me? What about my mum? Will I see here again?”
    “Yes, everything will appear as before, except that you will exist upon another dimension.”
    “But,… I’m not sure if I want to live in another dimension,” I said, concernedly. “I’m not sure?”
    “Well, you need to say what it is you choose. And soon. I cannot keep everything suspended, indefinitely.”
    “But, I have no choice?” I complained. “All that remains,… is death.”
    “Not quite,” the voice explained. “You could exist upon this dimension still; although you would have to take the form of a spirit.”
    “What do you mean?” I asked.
    “You have heard the term….. ghost?”
    “Yes,” I answered, “but I’m not sure if I’d like to become a ghost?”
    A pause followed, before the voice spoke again. “I’m going to give you a chance to see what being a ghost, is like.”
    At once, I found myself standing; looking at a group of people, including policemen, surveying the scene of my demise upon the pavement. “He must have fallen…or slipped, here?” someone said. I approached, in order to get a look at my lifeless form; but was warned by the voice, not to get close. “It’s not a good sight, for you to see,” the voice explained. “Well, what can I do then?” I asked. “Experiment!” came the reply. “You have a short while!”
    At that, I decided to climb back upon the wall and look around me. There were two policemen, tracking my footsteps, in the snow. “He must have come from this direction,” said one, as I stood next to him and looked down at the last tracks of my existence, in that life.
    I decided then, to climb the drainpipe which ran down the side of the flats, in order to peer over the balconey of a flat where a friend of mine lived. “There is no need to climb,” said the voice. “If you wish to get up there, then you can do so, by will alone.” “Oh..?” I considered. Then, my friends mother appeared at the balcony, just a foot away from where I was.
    In surprise, I jumped from a height of twenty feet, onto the snowy ground below.
    “She cannot see you,” came the voice. I looked up and could see her surveying the scene, from above. It was true! She hadn’t seen me! ‘Well, this was interesting, thats for sure!’
    “Look”, said the voice, “you have to make your mind up now. I can’t sustain this for ever.”
    I thought things over. On the one hand, as a ghost I could have wonderful adventures!
    “Are there other ghosts?” I asked. “I may get lonely?”
    “Yes, there are others, but I don’t want to tell you too much. You need to find things for yourself.”
    I then considered the life; the dimension I would be leaving behind. Did I really want to leave and commit myself to death? I was still so unexperienced in life’s ways. There was so much to find out. And, of course, there was Mother. That was the decider, for me. “No,” I said. “I don’t want to become a ghost….I want to live!”
    At that, a sudden darkness fell upon me. After a few seconds, I cautiously opened my eyes. to find myself seated against the foot of the wall. Looking across the snowy pavement; I could see no blood, nor anything else spread out before me. As I sat there and surveyed the scene, a couple of elderly women walked slowly by. One said, “What are you sitting there for? You’ll catch a deathly cold!” They walked on for a bit, as I remained sitting in silence. Then they stopped and one walked back to me and said; “You died..there! You died…just there!” They then walked off and turned right, climbed the steps to the chuch, and stepped inside.
    Arriving at school, somewhat later than intended, I was not chastised by the teachers. I think that they were just glad that someone had turned up. Only five from my class had braved the conditions, outside. The teacher asked me if I was alright? “Yes,” I answered.I feel ok,… why?” “You have a strange look about you?” the teached responded. “No, Im fine!” I asserted, raising my hand to my forehead as I did so. I felt something upon my forehead. At the break, I went to the boys room and examined myself in a mirror above the sinks. There, high up upon my forehead, a small graze was all that remained, of my death.

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