First-hand accounts of strangeexperiences fromFTreadersduring the summer months.
One evening we werewalking
back from the pub on a lane
only partially lit by streetlights.
It must have been late August
or early September as itwas
dark. As wewalked towards the
lit end of the lane, we became
aware of someonewalking
towards us. As he drew closer
we could see that itwas a
man dressed in full spacesuit
including boots and helmet. He
walked straight past without ac-
knowledging us. The visorwas
up on his helmet, so we could
see itwas an adult male of
average height.We exchanged
quizzical glances andwatched
where hewas heading. When
he got about 100yards down
the road, heveered left through
a gate into a field before break-
ing into a run and disappearing
onto the moors, scattering
sheep as he went. Although
we had consumed a couple
of drinks over the course of
the evening, we were far from
intoxicated and we both had
clear memories of the incident
the following day. Itwas a very
unusual sight on a quiet coun-
try road just after last orders.
Jonny Forster
New Crofton, WestYorkshireShires. I have since revisited the
area at least twice and this pub
bears no relation to the one we
recall. As I said, memory can
be unreliable, but how canboth
of us be mistaken so wildly and
yet with such corroborative false
memories?
More than the possibility of
a phantom pub or a parallel
universe, what irks me is the
machinations of the brain and
the implications of distorted
or false memory. The former (if
they exist) areexternal, possibly
imposed or just somehow stum-
bled upon; the latter much more
troublesome, posing questions
about who we are, what makes
us tick and ourvery conception
and perception of the world.
Martin Firth
Hebden Bridge, WestYorkshireEditor’snote: for the wonder-
ful memorate of a vanishing
Armenian restaurant in Iran,
seeFT177:47.Yorkshire spacemanIn the autumn of 2012, my
brother and I were living in the
picturesque town of Holmfirth,
West Yorkshire, and would regu-
larly walk to and from the pubthe landwas different from what
I remember. I recall it being
more open and bleaker (if that’s
possible!). I realised then how
unreliable memory could be, but
I had recourse to two sources
of potential confirmation – my
friend, of course, and my diary.
I dug it out and,yes! there it
was, Monday 19thSeptember
1983 “1 Wilson’s B” ... but no
pub name! Aaargh! But at least
it confirmed that we had visited
a pub and the beerwas as I
recall.
When I spoke to my friend,
I was careful not to ask any
leading questions that might
influence his recollection.
Amazingly, his memories were
pretty well identical to mine–
pub up the hill, off to the right
along a short track, looked likea
farmhouse. I told him why Iwas
asking him but he didn’t seem
quite asexercised about it asI
was. We must have got it wrong,
he said.Well yes, but what are
the chances of us both having
identical wrong memories?
I pursuedvarious lines of
enquiry with the local council,
the localCAMRA branch, and
checked old OS maps, but all
to noavail. The only pub in that
area was, and still is, the ThreePub vanishes
Stories of people discovering
delightful restaurants in deepest
rural France and then failing to
find them or any trace of them
on revisiting seem to abound.
Here’s my Lakeland equivalent.
In 1983 a friend and I were on
a short break,walking to Raven-
glass via Wrynose and Hardknott
passes in the Lake District.We
stayed the first night, Sunday
18 September, in Ambleside.
The following morning, as we
approached the ascent to
Wrynose, I commented that we
hadn’t packed any food orwater.
Shortly afterwards, as we were
ascending the pass, we came
across a pub. I recall that it lay
off the road to the right, alonga
short track, perhaps 50yards or
so. It looked like itwas, or had
been, a farmhouse. Surprisingly,
it was open.
I don’t recall much detail of
the interior, but itwas basic,
probably from the 1950s or 60s.
What sticks in my mind, apart
from not serving food,was the
beer –Wilson’s bitter. I remarked
that itwas unusual to find that
Manchester beer around there.
It was also unusual to find such
a remote pub still in business.
We had a pint and carried on our
way. On reaching Boot we took
the Lal Ratty down to Raven-
glass, where we had booked in
at thePennington Arms.
About 12years later, I found
myself back in this area, ona
day out with myaging mother
and my brother. As we ap-
proached Wrynose my memory
was jogged and I told them
about the pub, pointing up the
hillside where Iexpected it to
be. I said it would probably no
longer be a pub. Not onlywas
there no building, but therewas
no track or any sign of a track
or building at all.We drove on
towards Hardknott as Iexpected
I had got the two confused and
the mystery would be solved,
but no.With a deepening sense
of frustration and unease, I in-
sisted we turn back and retrace
our tracks. Still no sign.
It’s fair to say that the lie of
IT HAPPENED TO ME...PAUL CHRISTON,CWCCFT383 77ABOVE: The ascent at Wrynose as photographed by the Cleveland Wheelers