Mysterious Timeslips

This apparent time slip case from south-west England highlights one of the most interesting problems of such reports. While many people will no doubt regard such experiences as essentially subjective, there remains the problem of explaining exactly where the witnesses go during their sojourn.

In August 1941 two young sisters, aged twenty and eighteen, got off a bus at St. Mary Road [pseudonym] in order to walk along the very familiar road to Upper St. Mary [pseudonym] where a dance was being held in the village.

It was 6.20pm when they set off along a road which they had cycled along many times. It was a pleasant summer evening, and they were anticipating an enjoyable night out with friends. They were country girls used to walking distances even at night and kept up a brisk pace. Ahead of them lay Home Farm [pseudonym], and they could hear the barking of the rather nasty farm dogs they usually outran on their bicycles at other times. It was then they made the fateful decision that would haunt them for the rest of their lives. They would leave the road at this point, circle round the farm inside the hedge, and rejoin the road beyond the farm and the noisy, threatening dogs. They estimated the time as being about 6.40pm as they walked past a hayrick in the first grass field, entered the second, green field, and headed back to the hedge to rejoin the road. They climbed what they thought was the hedge by the road and dropped down .... into a ploughed field. It is at this point that what I like to refer to as the 'Brigadoon factor' set in. Both sisters agree that, although it was about 6.45pm on a late summer's evening, from the moment they dropped down into the ploughed field it appeared to be dark. Except that there was a very large red moon which, totally out of character for a harvest moon, both dazzled them and threw long, dark shadows from trees and hedges. They both felt an overwhelming sense of foreboding or evil as they climbed hedge after hedge, always dropping down into ploughed fields with no gateways. They were always aware of the position of the road because they could see the tall trees of Home Farm and hear the dogs still barking - also the very occasional vehicle went past (there were few privately owned vehicles in 1941). Eventually they found a gap in the hedge and found themselves on marshy ground where they could hear a stream, but could not see it for the alder trees growing along the bank. Importantly, as we shall see later, they insist they did not cross it. They headed back through the gap in the hedge and saw a previously unnoticed gate. In the hedge near the gate was a tall white pillar or stone, unusual for these parts where grey granite is the norm. Equally unusual and frightening was the loud squeaking noise that was coming from the pillar at regular short intervals. Remember, these were country girls. As they insist, they were used to animal and bird noises at night, and used to lonely country roads. In their own words,'we were not town girls lost and scared in the countryside'. Taking the plunge, they dashed past the white pillar and threw themselves over the gate into the unknown road.

Four and a half hours had elapsed since they had set out on their three mile (5km) walk from the bus stop to Upper St. Mary.

On their left was a cottage on the opposite side of the road. It had a gate fronting onto the road and a path which led up to the front door, on which they knocked in order to find their way. They were surprised at the rapidity with which the man, in his late forties, answered the door. He was lean in build and dressed as a workman (their impression rather than an observation). He was carrying a dimly lit paraffin hurricane lamp. They were not surprised, as blackout regulations were in force. They were also not surprised at his heavy local accent. He held the lamp down to their legs, observing their torn stockings and bleeding legs and remarking, 'What have you girls been up to, you're in some state'. They were embarrassed by this and asked for directions. He asked where they had come from. They said St. Mary Road. He said, incorrectly 'Why, that's two miles (3km) the other side of Cardford [pseudonym]'. They found this strange. However, he then correctly directed them to continue along the road where they would find 'a crossroads, (now a roundabout) turn right and you're in Upper St. Mary'. When they got near the crossroads they recognised where they were. At a later date they also realised that to have reached that road, which continues eastwards, they would have to have crossed the stream in the fields. And they had not done so, despite emerging a linear mile (1.5km) from where they originally left the road. They also pondered over the fact that the feeling of evil or foreboding had vanished the instant they fell over the gate and saw the cottage.

Marriage and the war dictated events and moves which split them for a while and put the incident into the background. It was not until fairly recently that they discovered the cottage was no longer in evidence. They assumed it had been destroyed in the war, due to its proximity to Broadfield [pseudonym] military airfield and Castle Moor [pseudonym] airstrip.

x

Both independently visited the spot and found no evidence of a cottage ever having been there. Consequently both women, now in their sprightly seventies, decided to investigate the matter further and checked maps, including one dated 1879, at a local library. There is no building shown at that spot or even existing on that side of the road, as I have ascertained for myself. They did find the exit gate which has been altered to face the road squarely instead of at an angle. Unsurprisingly, they do not intend to explore the fields.

In conclusion, I found both women to be intelligent and forthright, and they assured me they would still be riding their bicycles if it were not for modern traffic. They constantly asked me for an explanation of the house mystery - the fields episode they laughingly put down to being 'pixilated', as their grandmothers would have said. I pursued the question of crossing the stream. Could they, during the missing four and a half hours, have crossed beyond the stream approximately one and a half miles (2.5km) away to where it sourced out on the Holland Moor [pseudonym] marsh? No, they assured me, at all times the road position was visible and the dogs were barking - they just could not reach it. They agreed the moon was not usual, it was 'enormous' and they found it unusually dazzling. They were unable to remember the phase of the moon previous to, or following, the incident which is unfortunate. Information regarding phase identification may have shed more light on the matter. Further, they did not see the moon rise, it was 'just there'.

On the morning of 18th June1968, and elderly lady, Mrs Charlotte Warburton, went shopping with her husband in the town. They decided to go their separate ways for a while and to meet up later. That morning, unable for find a particular brand of coffee from her usual grocer she went into a supermarket in Calverley Road. As she entered the shop she saw a small café through an entrance in the left-hand wall. She had never before realised that there was a café there. It was rather old-fashioned with wood panelled walls. There were no windows and the room was lit by a number of electric bulbs with frosted shades

There was at the time, she thought, nothing especially odd about the scene. 'Two woman in rather long dresses were sitting at one table and about half a dozen men, all in dark lounge suits, were sitting at the other tables further back in the room,' she said. 'All the people seemed to be drinking coffee and chatting ... a normal sight for a country town at eleven o'clock in the morning.'