The Water Maybe’s? (Lethmachen, Various Locations – Friday,19th April 2013)

The tide recedes, leaving folklore flotsam and jetsam in its wake…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The floods have finally subsided, and it is time to take stock. In all, we have received 32 emails, phone calls and letters; an astonishing amount. Each relates to an incident so strange that, in any other town, it would have possibly led to national press coverage. Yet, as always, even the media claiming an interest in unexplained phenomena have studiously avoided taking up the thread.

By far the majority of the incidents relate, in some way, to Lara Lee (passim.), now firmly re-established as ‘The Siren of Lethmachen’. We received 10 sightings of a woman standing waist deep, unmoving and with her back to the towpath the runs through the town centre. The woman did not heed any call to her, and, we are informed, when a man identified as Patrick Nightingale waded in to reach her, the Lethe rose about him, knocking him from his feet. When the water calmed moments later, the woman had disappeared. The police called to the incident could find no evidence of her. A further 9 sightings relate to an untraceable voice heard singing near areas of the town that had been particularly affected by the flood, especially where defences had been breached, or where individuals found themselves in danger. A number of reports make a connection with the legend of Lara Lee, although, to our knowledge, the siren has been silent in all previous accounts. Three reports, however, connect the singing to Teri Ann Miller (passim.). Are we witnessing folklore in action, with two Lethmachen icons in the process of forming a composite figure? Or perhaps the one has always been the other? Or is this simply a sobering reminder that ‘hard is the fortune of all woman kind’, especially when young, beautiful and confined to town as small as ours? It is not, perhaps, surprising that more than one female spook should issue a plaintive song…

Related to this, a final, and intriguing, set of sightings are concerned not with Lara Lee, but Oliver Brooks, one of her supposed victims. A man fitting Mr Brooks description was seen by numerous witnesses drinking in The Green Hive, a town centre pub. He looked ‘tired and half-drowned’, and did not speak, even when addressed by name. On hearing this, Gary Poole, a friend of Brooks, had the wit to request a copy of the relevant CCTV footage from the camera set up outside the pub to deter trouble-makers. His request was met with an apology: ‘Due to the flooding, CCTV cameras in this area were not able to function. We return your request fee, and will attempt to ensure that this technological failure is not repeated.’ We contacted technology expert Jon Hawkes, who noted that such faults have never been reported in any other area of Britain during the last 10 years. The water outside The Green Hive had risen enough to warrant sandbags, yet Gary Poole estimates it could not have been more than a few inches deep.

A very strange incident in Lethmachen Public Baths. The water in the pool was seen to rise during the flood, leaving the pool-side an inch below water. No explanation could be found. But (unfortunately?) Sleepy Simon (passim) was slumbering fast; no reports concerning him were received.

We have unconfirmed reports that police received numerous phone calls from parents who had found their children soaking wet in their beds in the morning. No surprise there, one might think. The parents were, however, shocked to discover the now familiar detritus from the flood amongst sheets and pyjamas: silt, twigs, paper and assorted rubbish. The children seemed distressed, but this was put down to the temporary closure of their school due to damage from the Lethe.

Finally, we have the incidents at Flinchley, the nearby Cottingley residence, and The Rise in Lethmachen itself, as reported above.

Full details of sightings, and names of correspondents who do not wish to remain anonymous, will be sent out on request.

As always, we will keep you informed of any developments….

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After The Snow, The Flood… (The River Lethe, Lethmachen – Monday, 4th February 2013)

Still waters run deep. And dark….

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lethmachen has at last caught up with the rest of England, in the matter of seasonal flooding at least. The Lethe, once the subject of affectionate mockery from locals for the modesty of its size and rate of flow, revealed its power last Monday night, breaking its banks at ten o’clock, and causing much damage and distress in the dark hours that followed.

We will be covering this story in some detail over the coming weeks, as it has led to an unprecedented number of emails being sent to us. The many sightings of ‘The Lethmachen Siren’ will be dealt with in a subsequent report, as the vast majority of the correspondence relate to its appearance. Other strange things have risen to the surface, however, not least that witnessed – or rather felt – by Mrs. Leigh Garden, of Monmouth Rise in Lethmachen. Mrs Garden writes:

“I would first like to point out that I have no interest in your sort of supernatural thing, but I have been so frightened by this experience, and have met with such disinterest from both the police and the hospital, that I have decided to take up my son’s recommendation of sending this email. My experience relates to the flood, in which the house we live in together was severely damaged. He was out with friends that evening, and tried to make it back to me as soon as he had word about the Lethe. He didn’t come back till one in the morning. I never thought the water would get as far as Monmouth Rise. We knew the river was filling up, of course. And I was even told the banks had broken early on – about ten-thirty, I think. I saw no danger, and apart from phoning my son to tell him, I just prepared myself for bed.

Shortly after eleven there was a banging on my door. It was my neighbour, in a state of extreme agitation. The water was already lapping round his shoes. I looked down The Rise, in the direction I knew the Lethe to be. The water was coming at a great speed, even though it was at first just a thin stream. It stopped at the end where the little hill begins on The Rise, and then it swept back as a wide, if shallow, wave. I went inside, rang my son again, and getting no answer, began to collect my most precious things from the downstairs rooms. I got duvets and blankets and stuffed them behind all the doors. Even as I was doing this, I caught a glimpse of the road outside, and saw the great wave approaching. I have never, in my life, been so scared. I thought of running to the roof there and then, but no – I had to save what I could. As the wave passed, water began pouring in through the doors. There was no let up after that first breach. At one point, I saw a car float by, turning round and round. Everything seemed totally out of control.

Within half an hour, the water was above my ankles, and I still had all my books, and photos, and all of my son’s CDs and videos to go. It was about then that I felt the first touch. I had taken my slippers off, of course, and had rolled up by pyjama bottoms. My feet were cold – at the hospital, this is how they explained it, by the way, that I had lost the feeling in my feet – but I felt something colder on them, something precise and hard. I thought it was a picture frame, or a CD, already taken by the water, I suppose. The next time, I thought it must be a mouse, or even a rat, so I ran to the stairs. I gave a little shriek, I must admit. But then, as I did so, I felt, around my ankle, the firm, frozen, and unmistakable grasp of a little hand. Oddly, I didn’t scream then, but stopped. I think my heart had stopped too. But I leant over, and put my hands in the water. I couldn’t feel anything. As I walked to the stairs, however, there it was again, once more, just as unyielding, but less of a holding, more of a simple, pointed touch. I shiver at the thought even now. The police assure me no one is missing, and when the water subsided, it left nothing but a mess. I would dearly love to know if this makes any sense to anyone else.”

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A Shot In The Dark (Lethmachen Museum, Lethmachen – Saturday, January 26th 2013)

An unexpected donation baffles Museum Curator

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ian James reports an inexplicable occurrence at Lethmachen Museum, where he is Head Curator. There are many strange objects on display in its two, small upstairs rooms, although none are singled out as such. Amongst the favourites of Mr James is the ‘elf-shot’, a Neolithic-arrow head that, between the end of the middle ages and the birth of the Early Modern era, was thought to have been fired from an elfin bow. The elf in question is not to be confused with its name-sake in contemporary fantasy. Fickle, vengeful and carriers of disease, they were otherworldly, demanding of respect, and all too human in their relationships; awesome beings, in the old sense of the word.

When cleaning the museum displays over the Christmas holidays, Mr James was shocked to see the single specimen of ‘elf-shot’ accompanied by two additional examples. According to the police, called to the Museum soon after the discovery, the glass case the original resided in had not been tampered with. The brief description that sat alongside the find had also undergone a transformation, now addressing itself to a plural object. Despite this, no tangible alteration had occurred; the paper was of the kind always used, and both this, and the ink upon it, showed identical weathering to their contemporaries. When we ascertain from where this shot was fired, you will be the first to know…

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The School For Absent Children (The Lethmachen Marches – Friday, 18th January 2013)

Sometimes things occur that are beyond our register

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Monday evening saw the inaugural meeting of the Society for Paranormal Observation and Detection. The primary item on the agenda was the discovery of ‘The Feint Register’, as it has already become known. Does this recently unearthed artefact finally lend credence to what has always been considered a cautionary folktale? Could such a place as ‘The School for Absent Children’ really exist? Anyone who attended secondary school l in Lethmachen will be aware of at least one version of the legend, its telling an integral part of the initiation. Somewhere out on the borderlands, most commonly pinpointed as The Letmachen Marches, stands an old school building. ‘The Lethmachen Marches?’ a pompous child will mockingly interrupt ‘Why would anyone build a school on a swamp?’ Because the architect had gone stark raving mad, of course, only the school governors did not realise until it was too late. Inevitably, beginning with the foundations, the school was fated to sink. Within a few years it was abandoned like a shipwreck. Deserted; left at the mercy of the weather, the red bricks weatherworn and the windows staring lifelessly. Yet word got round that some children still went to school there. Children who had died; or misbehaved; or had simply moved away without explanation. Any child who fell within the story’s catchment area.

So it was all merely a legend? A moral lesson perpetuated by parents and teachers to encourage obedience? ‘One more word from you and we’ll send you to The School for Absent Children’! Just a few weeks earlier, the tale may have been confidently dismissed as folklore. However, now such assertions had been thrown into doubt by the emergence of ‘The Feint Register’. The Society for Paranormal Observation and Detection had more than a passing interest in this development, as the two boys who had retrieved the Register from the swamp not only attended the same school as all the members, but were also in the same class. Currently, the circumstances of the discovery remain a little vague. The thirteen year olds allege they were exploring the Lethmachen Marches when they made the find, partially submerged in the boggy undergrowth, close to one of those ruins often identified as The School for Absent Children (although there is no evidence it ever acted as a school). When the nature of what they had unearthed dawned on them, the boys claim they realised only one group of people could decipher such a mystery. Who else but their classmates, who they had heard belonged to a club investigating the supernatural? Thus the society was handed what appeared to be a school register book, the pages inside yellow and brittle, the ink of the handwriting and margins an identical faded blue. Overleaf were columns of names, listed in alphabetical order by surname, ticks or crosses marked against their attendance. Most of the names, although curiously not all, would be familiar to any long term Lethmachen resident. This was a register of children who had died in the town, stretching back over the decades. This was a register for absent children.

Beneath a bare light bulb, perched on garden chairs and cardboard boxes or whatever seating could be salvaged from the flotsam and jetsam of a parent’s garage, the Society for Paranormal Observation and Detection debated the crux of the matter. Could this register be verified as genuine? I lurked in the shadows by the door, having only received a reluctant invite and then only following much persuasion; my younger brother acting as secretary for the organisation. It was clear that none of the members present held the boys who had found the register in much respect, and apparently no love was lost between their opposing social groups at Seven Whistlers Secondary Modern. So was the document they tentatively passed around a fraud, a hoax meant to discredit them? On the other hand, would anyone really go to such lengths and devote such an inordinate amount of time to researching and creating such a convincing document, merely to undermine and embarrass their peers? As each member examined the register in minute detail, the others discussed various aspects of the story, which has apparently continued to evolve organically over the years. Does anyone remember that boy who started at Seven Whistlers, but left after only a term? From the first day he seemed to be gradually fading away and there was a rumour he had previously attended the School for Absent Children. And was it true that teachers looked sad at their retirement ceremonies because they knew in reality they were being transferred to the haunted building out on the Lethmachen Marches? The school had a moat didn’t it? And a library in a dome, stocked with books on history but nothing else. The pupils there are supposed to forget their names after a while, and they spend all their spare time seeking the registers that the staff keep locked away. And they had such strange names for their houses, didn’t they? Names like that made you feel more disturbed than proud. It was becoming apparent that no firm conclusions regarding the register would be reached that evening.

Stood beside me was a slightly older boy, his robust appearance at odds with the surroundings. From what I could gather, he had not really been invited and denied he was a member of the Society. In fact he had only turned up in the unlikely event that there might be some girls present. When I asked him what he made of ‘The Feint Register’ his reply was disarmingly frank. ‘I don’t believe in any of this Harry Potter rubbish. It’s for squares innit? School isn’t magic, teachers aren’t magic, and if you think they are then you’re a moron!’ Nevertheless the contributors to this site are proud if we have had any influence on younger generations, and inspired them to disinter and document the phenomenon of Shire Horror. We can only encourage the formation of S.P.O.D and hope others will follow in their, and our, ghostly footsteps.

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Do You Believe In Summer Lane? (Lethmachen, Various Locations – Saturday, 30th June 2012)

A road that appears every summer? A story that certainly does

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As we wait, poised on the eve of another mythical Lethmachen summer, it will come as no surprise to those who listen that the first whisperings of Summer Lane are drifting our streets. Like May Day celebrations or the end of the school term, these annual rumours have become part of the ritual heralding summer, although not all find something to celebrate. Yet for better or for worse, we can lay claim to our own version of Brigadoon, although its appearances are conveniently more frequent. For the benefit of non-residents, some further explanation is probably required. Summer Lane is said to be a winding, tapering (capering?) thoroughfare that appears and disappears from various locations across town during the summer months. Most typically it takes the appearance of a leafy byway on the rural perimeters of Lethmachen, although occasionally it masquerades as an alley way off the lower high street, or a footpath running as quietly as a stream behind flowering suburban gardens. Whichever form it chooses, it rarely remains in the same place for more than twenty four hours, and no sightings have ever been reported during autumn or winter. You will not find a ‘Summer Lane’ in the local A to Z, and it is likely that many of its manifestations pass unnoticed. Some even doubt its existence. However, those who have experienced the phenomena, and have returned to tell the tale, swear that they remember the name of the street, that there was a sign as they left the main road intending to try a short cut.

What lies along Summer Lane? As you would expect, recollections are hazy, opinions differ. In fact witness accounts tend to be incredibly diverse, prompting the suggestion that the personality of the individual involved may have a significant impact on the nature of the experience. Certainly it is generally believed that, as in purported cases of spontaneous human combustion, a specific combination of elements have to be present if Summer Lane is to materialise. Temperature, time of day, quality of light, patterns of weather; all must be in perfect synchronicity. Sceptics may be surprised to learn quite how many of the local population are willing to offer firsthand testimony of stumbling upon, and sometimes venturing down, Summer Lane. On interviewing the latter it soon became apparent that often their experiences included variations on a familiar theme. Overlooking all the minor discrepancies, and ignoring some of the more fantastical contributions, I soon recognised echoes of the old fireside tales concerning The Fairy Folk and their hidden tracks and secret places. Whether drawing consciously on these legends or not, frequently characteristics were shared, from the sense of timelessness to the heightened surroundings, complete with strange music filling the air like pollen. It is worth noting that the recurring reference points were childhood and dreaming: ‘It was like I was young again, with not a care in the world’; ‘I thought I was sleepwalking, remembering this beautiful place I had forgotten’. This sudden, soporific feeling of content was common, a pleasing sensation mingling assimilation with resignation, ‘like walking home, tired but happy after a long day, the sun winking at you all the way’.

Perhaps they stepped out somewhere unexpected, nowhere near where they thought they were, yet the majority of those who walked the length of Summer Lane returned home with no more ill effects than a slight headache and a vague sense of disenchantment. However there are murmurings of darker outcomes and mysterious disappearances. Friends who were ‘not the same’ after encountering fellow travellers who had no right to be there. Neighbours who entered the lane too late in the season, when summer was on the turn and the fruits in the hedgerows had grown sour, and everything fades away. ‘Don’t let autumn catch you idling! That’s what my grandmother used to say!’ warned Mrs Devise, 83, of Chattocks Road. Confused folk memory or genuine, unexplained phenomenon? If the more sinister stories are to be believed then Summer Lane could prove to be Lethmachen’s answer to the Bermuda Triangle. Neither has corners.

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