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Dodie's Dream World - Complete Chaos! xxx
All True Tales



TRUE TALES
THIS IS ANOTHER TRUE STORY - PAINFUL BUT TRUE

I INTRODUCE YOU TO MRS ELENE HUMPHREYS


Elene Humphreys


         Drinking - the flower water When I was 21 I gave birth to my daughter, Lisa Elene Jackson and a week after her birth I was discharged from the maternity unit.

Unfortunately not long afterwards I was readmitted to the psychiatric ward in Billinge, near Wigan, due to a severe illness* where I purported to have had a vision of a cross in the bath water and claimed that I could turn water into wine and guess wining horses by looking at the newspaper and on top of everything else I claimed I was Jesus Christ himself!

 My stay in hospital as a psychiatric patient was no picnic, I can tell you and Lisa had to be cared for by grandparents, although they did bring her in to see me on occasions though apart from that, life was just horrible. 

Later when Lisa was 3 months old she developed bronchial pneumonia and nearly died as a result. She was rushed into the children’s ward in the Wigan Hospital in an ambulance with sirens sounding and me and my sister Lillian in attendance.  Happily with drugs and a spell in an incubator Lisa recovered and achieves good health to this day.

  For years everything went quite smoothly. Myself and my husband, Les divorced, and shortly afterwards I married my soul mate, Bob – the most wonderful man in the world!

  Around the Christmas of 1977 however, Bob experienced ruptured kidneys in a friendly football game and ended up in hospital for two weeks. I went into shock and we both ended up spending Christmas in hospital that year.

I was admitted to Winwick psychiatric hospital with acute, yet familiar symptoms, only this time I not only thought I was Jesus, I was convinced I was Jesus Christ and that I possessed special powers.

The special powers I didn’t get to use but I was given electro-convulsive therapy just in case I really did possess them! 

 My stay in Winwick was more than unpleasant and the only light at the end of a very, gloomy tunnel was that I had several wonderful visitors, including cousin Edie who was the assistant matron there and her sister, Beth, who was then a C.P.N.

 Time passed, my severe illness remained and in later life the now defunct, Mental Hospital at Denbigh was to become my bête noir, which became apparent during my constant visits there.  I have a recollection of drinking the water from a flower vase on one occasion when thirst over-whelmed me and on another occasion when I literally sat or lay there pulling my hair out!

 How I endured this dreadful place I will never know, many I was plagued with nightmares, locked within an acute ward that went by the name of Bryn Golau, where every door was locked after an inmate went through it.

I recall circling the main area with a self-confessed murderer on my arm,  wearing dirty knickers, as clean ones hadn’t been supplied to me, that my mother or Bob, my husband brought in.

So many memories, I recall an incident when a crazed inmate set fire to the premises resulting in the attendance of the fire brigade to the ward. Drinking - the flower water

One of my sharpest memories concerned a family holiday in Malta with Bob and son, Michael, together with in-laws, Ann and John with their son, Neil.

They were all to leave Malta without me as I was admitted to a venue run by nuns and stayed for 6 weeks only able to converse with the staff and one of the patients. 

This was to prove the last time I experienced electric shock treatment which affected short term memory loss, it seemed to work with me every time and it stabilized my mood. I had had a handful of experiences before this.  The episode in Malta seemed to be triggered off by sheer happiness and strangely enough I experienced a similar feeling in Spain last year, though happily the attack was just a mild one.

My journey back from Malta was a solitary one but I was cheered after meeting Bob, Lillian my sister and her boyfriend at the airport on my return.

In the eighties Bob and I moved to North Wales to a village called Treuddyn, near Mold and I immediately succumbed to the manic side of my illness though I was lucky enough not to warrant admission to Bryn Golau once again although I did have I had a propensity for removing my top and bra in the twinkling of an eye.  Embarrassing yes, more for the observers I think, though one day when Bob and his mother came to visit me and I disrobed in front of them. It was so funny if not complimentary when Jean, Bob’s mother, remarked on the firmness and attractiveness of my breasts!

 As the Denbigh Hospital closed, so the Wrexham Hospital loomed large before me, and I spent many hours on the wards there displaying my usual traits so much so that I was physically restrained Wrexham just as I was in Denbigh. I actually sent for the police on one occasion but it came to naught when they realised I was just a nutter at large. There was a time however when I became the victim of a rugby tackle to the tarmac by burly hospital staff, ruining my trousers and shoes and just because I had foolishly made a remark about wanting to kill myself.

 *Before I forget it was only in Malta that mention was made of the fact that I was a manic depressive and now we hear of bi-polar regarding certain mood swings.

 I guess you are wondering who ‘is this woman. Some kind of nut case we hear about everyday. But you see I don’t see myself as just a woman. I would rather be known as a person who suffers a dreadful illness, that isn’t visible to the naked eye, as it is contained within this persons mind.

With that little thought off my mind I would now like to refer to my background.

Drinking - the flower waterI attended Shevington junior school to the age of eleven, where I had a Christmas Carol published in the Lancashire Evening Post and Chronicle when I was 10, it was sung at the school assembly and I was very proud when my teacher compiled an anthology of my poems at around that time.

 I then went to Upholland Grammar School but did anything but shine there, leaving at 16 with only two G.C.E.’s, Economic history and domestic science.

  On leaving school however I decided to attend Wigan Tech to train as a shorthand typist. I worked hard and attained Commerce and English language as G.C.E’s. actually I am also proud to say that I now possess certificates for six ‘0’ levels law and English literature, plus 2 “A” levels – English literature and Psychology. 

When I reached the age of forty, I had my first book published in Lancashire dialect poetry and I now have 2 further books in Standard English, in print.

  My job, well I became a Crown Court shorthand writer, I held this position for nineteen years with hardly any absences, albeit having to be hospitalized 25 times, and not always on a voluntarily basis I must add.

                 Thinking back again, there were a couple of times that I ran away from Denbigh Hospital, though I didn’t get too far. But it reminded me of an episode of prisoner where Patrick McGoohan couldn’t escape a huge white ball only in this instance a hospital car would pick me up and take me back.

Once after a visit from Bob I lay in front of the car in a desperate bid to stop him leaving me but to no avail. But I did manage quite a good escape once. I managed to get a taxi in Denbigh with 2 strangers and ended up in a pub, The Colomendy which Bob and I frequented, of course I had no money but the landlord bailed me out until Bob arrived when he reimburse him.

 Another time I recall was during a stay in the Wrexham Hospital, things were different this time though I was equipped with money plus debit and credit cards, and I ended up at the Beaufort Palace Hotel in New Brighton. Very soon I was sipping a cider in the cocktail bar when I spotted a familiar figure, or so I envisaged.

 “You look just like Jane McDonald” I retorted.

 “I am Jane McDonald.”  She replied rather frosty..

 Well after a good nights sleep I took myself down to breakfast. Jane was there and I took it upon myself to Drinking - the flower waterpress a poem to the table cloth of the table where Jane and I believe a couple off her aunts were sitting. The small poem referred to Bin Laden, and I do believe neither she nor her aunts were very amused!

 I should have mentioned, whilst in the hotel bedroom two police officers came to check on me.  What was all that about? I have no idea.

 To continue my escape, after the stay in the Beaufort Palace I caught a train from Wrexham and ended up in a B and B on the outskirts of the town.

During those 2 days Bob had no idea where I was. This was such a selfish illness!  I was a smoker at that time and got through about 30 cigarettes per day when I was high, normally 15 was my average.

When Les and I split up, rather than messy court hearings etc., I decided to leave the children in his care, as he had always been a marvelous father. At first he said he’d never take the children from me but quickly changed his mind and said he’d fight tooth and nail to get the kids, as you can imagine this killed me in its operation!

Lisa and Michael were to come every other weekend to us and every Wednesday.  Every other weekend was something to long for and I tried to make sure there were no transcripts worked on by me during the time they were with us. I yearned for such times they were to spend with us.

                 On Sundays Bob would take Michael and Lisa to swim at Ormskirk baths and I would prepare a hearty breakfast whilst they were gone. My children would see Nicola sometimes and they got on really well on most occasions. 

Bob’s daughter, Nicola, lived with us at first in his matrimonial home in Brooklands Grove then later went to reside with her mother, Eileen, and stepfather, Bernard. Bob was not happy with the situation but there was absolutely nothing he could do about it! 

At that time Nicola had a boyfriend called Timmy but some time later she met the love of her life, Tony, who worked as a buyer for a local firm. They married and went to live in a small detached house in Newburgh which was quite impressive for a starter home. Sometime later Nicola and Tony moved to our former property in Brooklands Grove, and we moved to Treuddyn, North Wales. 

This move was prompted by Bob’s move from Liverpool Crown Court to the Chester and North Wales Circuit.  He was to find himself very busy there, with regular trips to Welshpool and Mold which is close to where we live now, and Caernarfon where I worked myself quite often when he was around and went out for meals there on  a regular basis whilst staying at a local B and B. 

       Then tragedy struck – my adorable mother committed suicide by easing herself from an upstairs window at our home, of course this triggered off my illness and I ended up once again in hospital, this time I recollect very little I don’t think I was even in the picture at this juncture.

 My mother had always experienced mood swings in later life and suffered from Reynard disease and Schlermaderma which meant she wasn’t a well person.  She had parts of 3 fingers amputated as a result of the Reynaud syndrome.

My Dad wasn’t so popular with the masses, as was my mother where individual popularity was concerned.  He died with chronic obstructive airways disease at Liverpool Teaching hospital and my mother was bereft at the news.  Prior to his death his kidneys failed and he was on dialysis for a little while. This sounds an awful lot to bear for one person doesn’t it, looking back that is.

 Drinking - the flower water

Mother had threatened to throw herself through the window soon after my father died, 5 weeks previous to her demise but I joked with her saying she couldn’t possibly do it.  How wrong I was!

I will never forget the last words she said to me before she died, “are you going to the post office?”

I replied “No, mum, it’s a bit late now.” Though, obviously I changed my mind. 

On my return from the post office there was a stranger in the garden so I too had a feeling of foreboding.

Mother didn’t leave a note, and I know that this was obviously not the act of a selfish coward, but one of a brave resilient individual, as was later to be reported in the local newspaper!


Isn’t it strange this life we all lead? Bob had gone shopping and was tannoyed in Tesco’s ask him to return home immediately so he realised something was entirely wrong!  He did, Bless him

  Here is a small poem for Edie, a true friend.

Edie:

You have beauty in your soulDrinking - the flower water

So recognise the day

When you met husband, Brian

So much more I have to say

Just such a splendid person

With all of us to love

Just how we’ll miss our cocker

Heaven – just the sky above


Edith Elene Humphreys.


DODIES DREAM WORLD - ALL TRUE TALES

 THIS TALE COMES FROM RUSSIA AND I FOUND IT IN THE  "SEARCH  LIGHT"  MONTHLY OF 1892 -93.  THE TITLE GRABBED MY ATTENTION RIGHT AWAY AND THEN WHEN I READ IT THROUGH I THOUGHT "WOW THIS IS DEFINITELY INTERESTING."   I JUST HOPE YOU AGREE WITH ME.

THE GRAVE - DIGGER'S DAUGHTER.

          A Rattle of musketry came from the direction of the village. The old grave-digger, Boloski wakened by the noise, sat up on his miserable pallet, listened a moment to the sharp, quick reports then called allowed - "Milena ! Milena !"

"Coming father, coming ! she answered, and already her feet showed themselves upon the rungs of the ladder which led from the loft.

"Did you hear them, Milena ?" he cried; "the sounds of the gun shots ? They are fighting in the village." A violent attack of coughing interrupted his words, and another rattling volley. Milena had descended just as she quitted her couch of straw, -- a young girl, tall and vigorous.

"It is true, then !" she said, leaping the last steps -- "it has come at last ?"

"What my child ?" demanded the sick one.

"The Revolution has broken out tonight, which has been expected so long "

"Yes, and a great misfortune it is too," mumbled Boloski, and he crouched again upon his couch. Milena, meanwhile, hurriedly arrayed herself in a wadded petticoat and her father's long boots, Binding a scarlet handkerchief about her abundant locks, she went out to learn what was passing.

          The cemetery was situated upon a hill, surrounded by a low earthen wall, with the hut of the grave-digger standing at its gate. it was an excellent post of observation,  yet Milena did not stop there, but passed on into the darkness, beneath the bare branches of the willows, upon which the ravens were already croaking, and with a single careless glance upon the piles of tombs, with their leaning crosses. Below in the heart of the valley, the village had delivered itself up to the strife and bloodshed, yet here upon the sacred ground all was peace. A large close rose in the middle of the inclosure, to which was attached the figure of the dying Saviour, -- icicles pendant from the thorns which covered his crown and from the nails which pieced his hands and feet.

          Milena listened intently, -- not a murmur for the moment broke the stillness.  She stopped and gazed up at the heavens, the vast blue vault which seemed to her a satin canopy, retained in place by the golden nails which sparkled and scintillated above her, while beyond, on the other side of the forest, rose the red disc of the rising moon.  All at once a gliding, crouching form passed her like a flash, a pair of glowing eyeballs glared into her own.

The Grave-digger's Daughter

 "A wolf !" she murmured, and, with an energetic movement, wherein shone all the savage strength of this child of nature, she seized a stone from the neighbouring wall and hurled it forward. A low howl responded to the stroke of her arm, and the hungry beast was gone asit had come - a shadow - through those files of tombs and spectral crosses.

          A fresh crash of musketry sounded in the distance, another and still another. Milena traversed at a run the slope of the road which led to the village, and, at the beginning of the first houses, met a neighbour and a wounded man, the wife, whom she knew well, supporting her husband, whose blood dyed the snow at every step.

"What is the matter ?" demanded Milena.

"The peasants of our village," replied the man, "and of Mikonloff are struggling with the insurgents down by the cafe and the little wood. All goes well, however; the scythes are sharp and do their mowing; the heads fall like grain !"

"So !" said Milena; and she aided the peasant woman to place her husband in his bed and to bind his wounds. Then she retraced her steps to tranquillise her father.

An hour later a loud knocking sounded upon the gate of the cemetery.

"See what it is, Milena," said the grave-digger again; and Milena, obeying the command, opened the wicket obstructed by frost, to find before it a row of sledges encompassed by horsemen, the barrels of their muskets and the blades of their sickles sparkling in the rays of the moon.

"Come, open the gate, old mole ?" shouted a voice from the crowd; "Open the gate and open quickly. We bring you a score of distinguished guests ?"

"But I want no guests," replied Boloski from the interior. "I am ill, as you know well,  I dare not go out in a night like this."

"Ill or no," cried the voice again, "the work must be done.

"Well bury them yourself, then." 

"We cannot - we have not the time."

"In that case," said Milena, brusquely, shutting the wicket end to the discussion, "t'is I who shall bury them for you." And she went out to open the gate for the four loaded sledges, bearing the dead bodies of the insurgents, and to the conquerors, armed with their bloody sickles and gleaming scythes. "Throw them there upon the snow," said she to the mayor of the village, who greeted her as she appeared with a friendly nod; "I'll start the business for you at the rising of the sun."

"No," said the Mayor, "that would not be Christian - the wolves and ravens are already waiting to do their work - they must be buried now. You will receive for the job the usual sum; in addition to that two quarts of brandy, and, for your back, a new **pelisse. Is it a bargain ?"

"A bargain," she answered. "I'll begin when you say"; and with arms akimbo and robust fists upon her hips, she regarded the defile of peasants and sledges rapidly discharging their score of dead. Her beautiful face remained impassive;  pity seemed a stranger to those hard features, and yet what charm, what passion in those great black eyes, in that sensitive nose, in that firm, severe mouth!

The mayor counted the money into her hand, put the bottle of brandy on the snow beside her, and the sledges slowly drew on again, the peasants following in their wake as silently as they had come. "But the pelisse ?" demanded Milena.

"Tomorrow, when the work is done." And the mayor also quitted the cemetery, and Milena took up her spade, and with a great swallow of brandy commenced to dig the first trench, crooning as she worked the words of an ancient grave-diggers song.  The sad melody, monotonous and slow as befitted the song of the dead, was accompanied by the dull ringing of the iron upon the frozen ground and the distance howling of the hungry wolves. Another swallow of brandy, another swing of her muscular arms, and so it went on till the trench was done, and Milena, waiting a moment to regain her breath, gazed on the corpses.

"Twas doubtless you," said she to an old man, with long white curls, clad in a rich cloak, trimmed with **zibeline, and in whose girdle sparkled a superb **yataghan," twas doubtless you who led the band. Well this time too, you shall go before !"   And she took him in her arms like a little child, descended into the trench herself and gently laid him on the ground. With the others she was not so ceremonious, an arm a leg, a shoulder - anything, in short, that helped to lift and toss them to their bed in the ditch, served her purpose.

"But God help me !" she cried, suddenly, as before her in the snow lay stretched a bleeding trunk. "God help me if it isn't the Lord of Kamiez, that vile Turk and the oppressor of the poor !" And she struck the face of the head that lay beside the trunk a blow which sent it rolling like a ball to the depths below. Another swallow of brandy, a new body in the hole, then the grave securely closed, Milena was ready to begin the second.

In the meantime, the moon, rising higher and higher in the heavens, wrapped in its wan light the silent graves, the crucifix, the roofs of the now sleeping village, and the and the vast and soundless plain.

     And again, the second trench ready, the grave-digger's daughter approached another group of dead. The face of the first one was covered with blood which had run from a cut in the head. At the same instant she heard a sigh - a long, shuddering breath that came from this body. Milena drew back hastily ; courageous as she was, she felt her hair rise upon her head.; and soon she saw that rigid body begin to stir.

He still lived, then. There was no longer a doubt of it! She caught him in her arms in order to succour him, rubbing with snow the face begrimed with blood and powder, and chafing his frozen hands. In a moment his eyes unclosed.

"Save me, Milena," he moaned, stretching his arms piteously towards her.

She pushed him from her brusquely, thrust him from her and rose to her feet. "Save you!" she said, with a calm more terrible than either rage or the joy of a glutted vengeance - "When it is God that had delivered you ito my hands !  You have betrayed me - you now belong to me !

Pray to your God Valerian, perhaps he will be merciful, but from me expect no pardon !"

"You have forgotten then, Milena, forgotten how I loved you !"

"No, I have forgotten nothing; but you, what have you done with all those vows ? You ! Who in spite of everything, left me for another ! I shall not spare you - be sure of that , Valerian, be sure of that !"

"You will not kill me ? groaned the unhappy one.

"Kill you ? No!" she smiled with a glacial irony which made him shudder. "I shall only do my duty - I shall bury you as I received order !"

"Bury me !" cried Valerian, "Bury me living ?"

"Why not ?" Responded Milena, with a burst of cruel laughter. "I must earn the sheepskin for my back which the mayor promised me."

"Have pity Milena, for God's sake have pity !"

"Did you have pity on me," she answered sternly "you who have vowed me to sorrow and to shame ! This for your beautiful love - behold it."  And she seized him by the shoulders and sought to thrust him in; but he with that frightful death before him had risen to his feet, and a furious struggle began between them.  - a hopeless struggle, too, for soon Valerian renounced all thought of wrestling himself from the embrace of this savage creature. From loss of blood his strength was gone from him - he was but a child in her cruel hands.

 "Mercy Milena, I beseech you - mercy !"

She responded with a disdainful foot-thrust which sent him rolling into the gaping hole. A last time he struggled to his feet, his arms outstretched, and clasping her knees with supplicating gesture. But his prayers only rendered her even more ferocious still. She caught up her spade and struck his hands - their grasp relaxed, she struck  again, a second, a third blow - he fell !

And Milena ?

Milena with one hand clenched upon her spade, the other doubled upon her hip, stood there and heard him groaning - stood there and contemplated him with cold, fierce eyes and voluptuous pleasure.

"Now," said she, "now, Valerian, are you mine."

Then she began to crumble the earth between her fingers and to fill the ditch, to fill it and stamp it down, as she had filled and stamped the first, her voice firm and as clear as ever, rising always to the chorus of her sinister song, and always accompanied by the sound of the clods falling one upon the other by the ring of the spade, by the cawing crows circling hungrily above the heap of the unburied dead.

And in the East, the first grey lights of the coming morning slowly spread themselves across the heavens, pale and cold as the smile upon the faces of the frozen dead.

GOODNESS ME, MAY THIS BE A LESSON TO ALL THOSE YOUNG MEN OUT THERE. nEVER TAKE THE DAUGHTER OF A GRAVE-DIGGER AS YOUR GIRLFRIEND AND THEN JILT HER. YOU CAN NEVER TELL WHAT THE FUTURE MAY HAVE INSTORE FOR YOU. XXX

A few of the strange words in text.

**Zibeline can also refer to either the sable (Martes zibellina) or its pelt, which ... Zibeline can also refer to a heavy silk fabric with a twill weave.

**The yatagan or yataghan (from Turkish yatağan) is a type of Ottoman knife or short sabre used from the mid-16th to late 19th centuries.

**pelisse (p -l s ). n. 1. A long cloak or outer robe, usually of fur or with a fur lining. 2. A woman's loose light cloak, often with openings for the arms


Dodie's Dream World - Complete Fantasy
All True Tales
Is it a tale or maybe just a story - But it's dashed good whatever it is XXX Dodie
Angel and ChildHer hair was up in a pony tail, her favorite dress tied with a bow. Today was Daddy's Day at school and she couldn't wait to go. But her mummy tried to tell her that she probably should stay home, cos the kids might not understand if she went to school alone.  But she was not afraid, she knew just what to say.  What to tell her classmates of why he wasn't there today. But still her mother worried for her to face this day alone.    And that was why once again she tried to keep her daughter at home.
But the little girl went to school eager to tell them all about her dad who couldn't be there on her special day. In the classroom all the dad's stood at the back of the room, whilst in the front all the kids were squirming in their seats awaiting the teacher to begin calling them forward so they could introduce their dad to everyone else.
      The  seconds slowly passed then at last the teacher called her name.  Every child turned to stare. Each one of them  searching for a father who wasn't there.    'Where's her daddy at?' She heard a boy call out. 'She probably doesn't have one,' Another pupil dared to shout. And from somewhere near the back.  She heard a daddy say, 'Looks like another deadbeat dad, too busy to waste his day.' The words did not offend her, As she smiled up at her Mother and looked back at her teacher who smiled and nodded for her to carry on.   Then with hands behind her back, slowly she began to speak, and the words of her child spoke strong and unique.
     " I am sorry to say that my Daddy couldn't be here today, he lives so far away. But I know he wishes he could be here to share this special day with all of us, since this is such a special day. Now I know you can't meet him but I would like to tell you all about my daddy, and to let you know how much he loves me. He loved to tell me stories, and he taught me to ride my bike. Once on my birthday he surprised me with a rose and he even showed me how to fly my kite.  We used to share fudge sundaes and ice cream in a cone when we went to the park. And another thing, although you cannot see him. I'm not standing here alone cause my daddy is always with me even though we are so far apart I know because he told me he will always be in my heart'
      With that, her little hand reached and she touched her heart with her chest chest. Feeling her own heartbeat beating  beneath her favorite dress. And here amidst the crowd of dads, her mother stood in tears. Proudly watching her daughter, who was wise beyond her years. For she stood up for the love of a man who could no longer be part of her life, not in person anyway. She was doing it right, doing what was best for her, and then as she dropped her hand back down to her side, she continued to speak, this time with a voice so soft, she addressed the crowd yet its message clear and loud.
       'I love my daddy very much, he's my shining star, and if he could, he'd be here but you see heaven's just too far for him to make it back in a day. You see he is a Brittish soldier and he died  just this past year when a roadside bomb hit his convoy. Sometimes when I close my eyes, it's like he never went away.' And then she closed her eyes, and saw him there that day, in a room full of other daddy's and to her mothers amazement, she witnessed with surprise a room full of dad's   and children all  standing with their eyes closed.
      Who knows what they saw before them.  Who knows what they felt inside. Perhaps for merely a second, they saw her father at her side. 'I know you're with me Daddy,' To the silence she called out. Yet what happened next made believers off those once filled with doubt.  Not one in that room could explain it happening for each of their eyes had been closed. But there on the desk beside the young girl was a fragrant long-stemmed rose. And a child was blessed, if only for a moment by the love of her shining star and the knowledge that with the gift of believing Heaven is never too far away.
Life does not end with death it is just another extension on the other side of a great divide, one that will shorten when the time is right. Make the most of this short time we are able to share together. It may be a long, long time until you get he opportunity again.  God bless!

Dodie's Dream World - Complete Fantasy
All True Tales

Ghost Girl Photo Mysteries Amid the glow of Fire Finally Revealed



Mystery of a photograph depicting the ghost of a little girl standing in the middle of the flames, which later became a headline in a foreign newspaper finally revealed.

Amateur photographer Tony O'Rahilly took the picture during a fire at City Hall, Shropshire on 19 November 1995. O'Rahilly claims that the photo captures a picture of a little girl with the use of old clothes was standing in the midst of flames and stared at the camera.

O'Rahilly, who died in 2005, had denied that the photo engineering. The photos were eventually named Wem Wem ghost or ghosts, and made headlines in all newspapers around the world.

Residents believe that the ghost was even an appearance of Jane Churm. 14-year-old girl was deliberately set fire to the Town Hall in 1677.

But the sharp eye of Brian Lear 77 years, finally solved the mystery for 15 years was buried. He sees similarities girl who looked at the photo, similar to a postcard that he had.

The postcard was printed by the Shropshire Star and describe the street in Wem in 1922. A little girl standing in front of the shop door on the left side of the postcard is very similar to the images in the photo Wem Ghost.

"It is interesting to compare both pictures. Clothes worn like a girl once, "said Lear, a retired mechanic and taxi driver, from Shrewsbury, Shropshire. As reported by the Telegraph.

During this time, Wem Ghost has become a symbol that is placed in the town hall. Wem as many residents call "Ghost Town" or City of Ghosts. But the mystery that just attracts hundreds of tourists to visit the city each year.

m

Dodie's Dream World - Complete Fantasy
All True Tales

Japanese Ghost Mystery 4 Types A Love Appears

Surely you're all contacts already at the lovely (horrible & mysterious) Sadako. He is a famous ghost icon sakura country, and his story even re-released Hollywood film industry with the name of the character of
A Small Japanese Mystery
Samara.

In Japanese tradition known some spirits, such as:

1.Onryou

Onryou is a vengeful ghost to others in his lifetime and after death he will usually haunts to get revenge on these people.


Onryou sightings are usually described as follows:
1.Rambut long and curly.
2.Memakai white kimono.
3.Pergelangan hands hanging down.
4.Biasanya invisible foot planted on the ground.


Ubume

2.Ubume
Public confidence in Japan, Ubume is a ghost who died when it contains (and then gave birth to the dead), leaving a son who was a baby and the ghost is always returned to care for their children to bring candy.

If this kind of ghost in Indonesia with Kuntilanak or Sundel Bolong. Ubume similar sightings with sightings Onryou, only the story of their origins are different.
Funa Yuurie

Funa Yuurei is a ghost from the dead man in the middle of the ocean. They usually appear on the passenger ship and pretended to ask for assistance to the passengers, after which all the passengers died

Sightings Zashiki Warashi is like a child aged about 5 or 6 years. Crew cut and a red-faced. When Indonesia's ghost is called tuyul. Usually these children are ghosts wandering around the house and the ghost is looking for attention with a variety of ways, like leaving footprints on the floor, sounding music in the living room or suddenly sitting on the futon. This ghost loves to manifest themselves in young children. Perhaps because of their age peers.they will turn the ship so that all the passengers died. Zashiki Warashi is an intangible ghost children who are often mischievous rather than dangerous. Ghosts can also be called Zashiki-bokko. Zashiki can be interpreted as covering floors or tatami while Warashi is the ghost children.
Dodie's Dream World - Complete Fantasy
All True Tales

Bow Street Runners


     After the amazing success of the Pirates of Old, (over in Jody's Treasure at Diddilydeedot's Dreamland. I decided to look into the stories about the Highwaymen that waited on the country roads for the coaches full of rich lords and ladies, or even the not so rich, of whom they could relieve whatever bling and cash, they had on their person. 
     Many songs and stories appeared before my eyes and I honestly don't think I will be able to write down everything I found.....
     But I have chosen a few to start us off and who knows we may be able to turn this into a page of its own. xxx Dodie 




Don Williams, Johnny Cash, and many more
And just for you a little playlist with a little bit of this and that from some amazing country and western singers. some of whom were in the Country Group The Highway Men,
Unfortunately the two songs featuring the song The Highwayman is not allowed to be played in this country, but enjoy the other wonderful songs. and that's loosely it folks!

                    
Stories of 17th century highwaymen and women have become shrouded in romance and legend such that fact is very difficult to pick from fiction after nearly four centuries. However, clearly some lady, who was presumably thought to be well bred, preyed upon travelers on Nomansland common. In all probability, it will never be known whether the legends are true."Wicked Lady"

Lady Katherine Fanshaw (née Ferrers) (4 May 1634 – c. 13 June 1660) was, according to popular legend, the "Wicked Lady", a highway woman who terrorised Nomansland common in the English county of Hertfordshire in the 17th century before bleeding to death from gunshot wounds sustained during a robbery. The legend is fairly well summarised on a number of internet sites, such as this one, often told with an emphasis on hauntings by Katherine's ghost. According to the legend, the well-bred Katherine was forced into a marriage at a young age, and her husband, who was often away at war or imprisoned, had sold off most of the family estates. Katherine came into highway robbery with her accomplice (and, some say, lover), Ralph Chaplin, but was shot during a robbery and later died of the wounds. The story holds that she now haunts Nomansland common and/or the ancestral family home at Markyate. Children growing up in this area the have always sung a rhyme "In the Cell there be a well, by the well there be a tree, under the tree the treasure be". There is little dispute that the "Wicked Lady" did exist. Apart from robbery, a catalogue of mayhem which occurred during the period is also attributed to this well-bred woman turned to a life of crime; burning houses, slaughtering livestock, even killing a policeman (although policemen as they are understood today, did not arrive in England until two centuries later). Much of the supposed activity might be blamed on bands of brigands and the unrest relating to the war that raged about, but it is suggested that the mayhem and the robberies ceased with the death of the highway woman.
Stand and Deliver

"Jerry Abershaw"

Lewis Jeremiah Avershaw aka Jerry Abershaw seems to have been more discreet than most of his peers, for there are few anecdotes about hold-ups of famous people and dashing gallantry relating to him. He must have been highly successful though – the Newgate Calendar calls him an "old offender" though he was still only 22 or 23 when hung, and he had successfully evaded the Bow Street Runners for five years before he was apprehended. 

Abershaw was born in 1773 and started out as the driver of a post-chaise. It’s not known how old he was when he took to the road instead but by the age of 17 he was already the ringleader of a small band of highwaymen. Two of his favourite haunts were the Green Man Inn at Putney Heath and the Bald Faced Stag near Kingston. One of his partners was “Galloping Dick” Ferguson.

He was apprehended by two Bow Street runners, David Price and Bernard Turner, in the Three Brewers inn at Southwark. When the officers informed him of the nature of their errand Abershaw produced his pistols and fired them simultaneously. Price was killed, and Turner, though seriously injured, recovered to give evidence at Abershaw's trial. 

The trial was almost indecently short, with Abershaw being found guilty in a matter of three minutes, and asking, “with unparalleled insolence of expression and gesture, to ask his Lordship if he was to be murdered by the evidence of one witness." By all accounts Abershaw was quite the wit, and mimicked Judge Baron Pentryn when he put on his black cap to pass the death penalty. 

As he awaited execution, Abershaw allegedly asked for black cherries, using the juice to draw pictures of his escapades on the cell walls. On the day of his hanging he laughed and joked with the large crowd, keeping up an incessant conversation as the cart took him to the gallows, where he kicked off his boots, explaining laughingly to the crowd that he wanted to disprove his mother's prophecy that he would die with them on. He didn't make a dying confession.

The place where his body was gibbeted after his execution at Kennington Common is still known as Jerry's Hill.
  • Abershaw appears in The Romany Rye by George Borrow, alongside others such as "Galloping Dick" Ferguson.


Tyburn Gibbet

"The Gentlemen Highwaymen" There were some highwaymen who epitomised the devilish rogue of fiction and who captured the hearts and curiosity of the public. For example, the highway robber James MacLaine lived by day as a respectable gentleman in London’s St James’s, while his criminal accomplice, William Plunket, who was also presumed to be a gentleman, lived in nearby Jermyn Street.  James MacLaine was born in 1742, the youngest of a Scottish Presbyterian minister in the north of Ireland. Educated for a career as a merchant, Maclaine took his fathers inheritance to Dublin where, aged 18, he blew the lot of foppish clothing, gambling and whores. Shunned by his family, he moved to England, married an innkeeper's daughter and set up store as a grocer. When his gambling ruined the business and his wife died, he struck up the famed criminal partnership with bankrupt apothecary owner Plunkett. With stolen pistols and horses, and their faces hidden by Venetian masks, the pair had a short but highly successful career as highwayman. Despite rickety beginnings (Maclaine fled from their first robbery), the pair committed around 20 hold-ups during 6 months, often in the wilds of Hyde park. As a highwayman MacLaine listed Horace Walpole, Lord Elgington and Sir Thomas Robinson among his many wealthy victims. The robberies were always conducted in a restrained and courteous fashion, earning Maclaine the gentleman highwayman tag and giving him enough money to finally live the society lifestyle he'd always craved.

Maclaine was eventually arrested when he tried to pawn lord Elgington's distinctive coat (ripped off during a hold-up on Hounslow Heath). Such was his position among the fashionable glitterati that following his capture in 1750, his trial at the Old Bailey court was a social occasion, while he reputedly received nearly 3,000 guests during his imprisonment in Newgate prison. Reputedly a great many high-society ladies, such as Lady Caroline Petersham and Miss Ashe, clamoured for an audience with him in his cell. Despite calls for MacLaine to be saved from the gallows, he was hanged at Tyburn on 3rd October of 1750, as to have spared him could have been viewed as "setting a bad example". At his hanging he simply said "May god forgive my enemies and receive my soul". His accomplice Plunkett was smart enough to escape with both his money and his life.

Maclaine is widely accepted as the original model for Macheath the Knife, charming bigamist hero of John Gay's "The Beggar's Opera".

Tibbets Corner

"Galloping Dick" Ferguson

Richard Ferguson was a contemporary and partner-in-crime of Jerry Abershaw, by whom he was introduced to highway robbery. Ferguson was employed as a postilion at the time of their meeting -- he had had several such jobs previously and lost most of them by getting into various types of trouble, usually involving compromising positions. 

The circumstances of their meeting are interesting: Ferguson had taken up with Nancy, a rather high-class prostitute of expensive tastes, whom he kept unawares of his lowly social station. She had a goodly number of other gentleman callers, included some noted highwaymen, Abershaw amongst them. One day the chaise that Ferguson was driving was held up by a pair of highwaymen, one of whom was unmasked by the wind. Ferguson recognized the man as Abershaw, whom he had seen at Nancy's house. The highwaymen made their escape, but knowing he had been recognized, Abershaw waited for Ferguson at an inn where he was expected to stop to water the horses, and successfully bribed him to silence, arranging to meet him again the next evening. 

However, Nancy in the meantime had discovered Ferguson was only a common postilion, and when he called on her with his sudden wealth, she slammed the door in his face. 

Ferguson kept his appointment with Abershaw, and accepted an offer of partnership with him, in which he kept his job as postilion and imparted information about travelers to Abershaw who would then do the robbing part. All went well for a while, until Ferguson got dismissed from his job for unreliability. It was around this same time that Abershaw was arrested. 

Following Abershaw's execution, Ferguson actively took to highway robbery himself, and survived for another 5 years on the road, partly due to his skills as a horseman which gave him his nickname. He was finally apprehended by the Bow Street Runners, tried at the Aylesbury Lent

Assizes in 1800 and executed shortly thereafter.

  •  "Galloping Dick" Ferguson.appears in The Romany Rye by George Borrow, alongside others such as Abershaw


The Rise and Fall of Highwaymen

Bow Street Runners

          Bands of robbers roamed through Britain and Europe for many centuries. However, the peak era for the English highwayman was reached in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, whereas the outlaws of America and bush-rangers of Australia came into prominence in the nineteenth century. As a rule, English highwaymen of the first half of the seventeenth century were less violent than their later counterparts.     The main reason was that some were sons of wealthy gentlemen and landowners, having perhaps been indulged by their parents, and many had received a good education, as well as lessons in the finer skills of horsemanship. When they reached manhood, their allowances often proved insufficient to finance the extravagant lifestyles to which they had grown accustomed. Although many had expectations of wealthy inheritance, they could not wait patiently for it and instead sought excitement by fanciful living and gambling at the fashionable gaming houses in London. In Georgian England, huge sums were wagered and lost at the tables, especially at the many gaming establishments in St James’s Street, such as White’s, Boodle’s, Crockford’s and Almack’sThe Rise and Fall of Highwaymen In order to pay their debts, many young gentlemen took to the road to seek rich victims to rob. Some were disowned by their families because of their depraved and wild living. A few gained reputations as ‘knights of the road’ but the admiration shown for them by the poorer sections of the community was misguided, due entirely to their superficial social graces and their occasional show of charm towards ladies while robbing them. In reality, all were simply common criminals who were ruled by self-interest and who preyed on anyone if they deemed it profitable. Unlike the very poor, who sometimes turned to robbery to survive, they could not even claim social injustice as their excuse for turning to crime. There was a lull in their activities when the English Civil War broke out in 1642. Most remained loyal to the king because of their family and expectations of inheritance. Many therefore joined the army to fight for the Royalists against the Parliamentarians and gained commissions. After the war ended in 1651 in Royalist defeat, some resumed their former criminal activities as highwaymen; many of high social origin had few other options because their family estates had been ruined or seized. Moreover, they achieved a feeling of revenge by robbing supporters of Oliver Cromwell’s Parliamentarian cause. Army training had also increased their skills in the arts of concealment and ambush. Alongside them emerged a new class of highwaymen, consisting of army deserters and ex-soldiers. Born of poor parents, they had no education. In addition, many had been brutalised by the war and were uncouth, foul-mouthed and with a tendency to violence. Eventually, the majority met their inevitable fate at the hands of the hangman at Tyburn. Nevertheless, they were swiftly replaced by others and so the process continued throughout most of the following century.Research from  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lady_Katherine_Ferrers#Legendhttp://www.stand-and-deliver.org.uk/highwaymen/newgate_abershaw.http://www.criminals.lt/list.php?c=rise
Insert fresh copy.
 DODIES DREAM WORLD. ALL TRUE TALES

CONNIE

                 Connie had lived next door for as long as I could remember. She had faded yellow lace curtains on her windows and inside her hall and living room, the wallpaper was stuck to the damp walls with drawing pins.
               She did her washing every Thursday with a dolly-tub and mangle. Her back-yard was overgrown with weeds and stank of cats wee.

When she was a young girl of eighteen she had fallen in love with a sparkle eyed sailor who had his way with her and then sailed away to China.
For a while he had written , and she kept his faded letters pressed between two sheets in a bottom drawer upstairs.

                   One day the Council decided her house was too damp and unfit for human habitation, so they moved Connie into a brand new Old Peoples Residential Estate somewhere off Lodge Lane, with an intercom on every door and a security guard on patrol at night, all Very nice!
But Connie didn't like it much. She always came back to Aigburth Road to do her shopping and before the year was out, she had died.
 The Council renovated her house and moved in some young couple with a baby.
 Some times I would hear the baby crying through the walls at night as I lay in bed reading the Lord of the Rings or listening to Captain Beefheart on the stereo.
Sometimes Connie's faithful old cats would reappear from nowhere to take up their customary places on her backyard wall, and yowl in the silvery moonlight.
Did you ever meet your sailor again, Connie?
Sailing some old junk over the starry bosom of the Milky River - what could you possibly have had to say to each other... I wonder?

Willowdown©
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A TRUE STORY BROUGHT TO OUR SCREENS
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Oh you have your father's nose,
So crimson in the dark it glows,
If you're not asleep when the boozers close,
You'll get a belt from your Dad.


You look so scruffy lying there
Strawberry-jam tarts in yer hair,
Though in the world you haven't a care
And I have got so many.
It's quite a struggle every day
Living on your father's pay,
The beggar drinks it all away
And leaves me without any.


Although you have no silver spoon,

Better days are coming soon
Our Nelly's working at the Loom
And she gets paid on Friday.
Perhaps one day we'll have a splash,
When Littlewoods provide the cash,
We'll get a house in Knotty Ash
And buy your Dad a brewery.

Oh you are a mucky kid,
Dirty as a dustbin lid.
When he hears the things that you did
You'll get a belt from your Dad.
Oh you have your father's face,
You're growing up a real hard case,
But there's no one can take your place,
.... Go fast asleep for yer Mammy.

Here you go; don't ask I shouldn't have said he was witty!

Q.      What's grey and has a trunk?

A.      A Mouse going on holiday!

Q.      What's brown and has a trunk?

A.      A Mouse coming back off holiday!

Sorry about that folks, but at 55 tomorrow I am hoping his wit will get better.

Image

These Classic Treasures are taken from;

The Value of Happiness
edited by Mary Minerva Barrows. 1909

They who bring sunshine to the hearts of others, cannot keep it from themselves.
       J. M. Barrie.

J M Barrie - Happiness
My fairest child, I have no song to give you,
      No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray;
Yet ere we part, one lesson I can leave you
                            For every day -
Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever;
     Do noble things, not dream them, all day long;
And so make life, death and the vast forever
     One grand sweet song.
                               Charles Kingsley.
J M Barrie - Happiness

True Happiness, (if understood) consists alone in doing good.
                                                                                              Somerville.. 
J M Barrie - Happiness

Happiness is a wayside flower, free to all who will pluck it, not a rare orchid only to be purchased by the rich. There is a bit of joy in every floating, fleecy cloud, every golden sunset tint in each day's evening sky. There is music in the free winds of heaven if hearts are a tune to catch the harmony. And, best of all, there is the thought of our Father's approving smile, that sunlight of His presence so sweet, so invigorating, so marvelous that we may learn to rejoice even "under the shadow."

M. G. Woodhull

J M Barrie - Happiness
Hurt no living thing:

Lady bird, nor butterfly, nor moth with dusty wing,
Nor cricket chirping cheerily, nor grasshopper so light to leap,
Nor dancing gnat, nor beetle fat, nor harmless worms that creep
.

Christina G. Rossetti

J M Barrie - Happiness

NOW If you have hard work to do,
Do it now.

Today the skies are clear and blue,
Tomorrow clouds may come in view,
Yesterday is not for you;
Do it now.
If you have a song to sing,
Sing it now.
Let the tones of gladness ring
Clear as song of bird in spring.
Let every day some music bring;
Sing it now.
If you have kind words to say,
Say them now.
Tomorrow may not come your way,
Do a kindness while you may;
Loved ones will not always stay;
Say them now.
If you have a smile to show,
Show it now.
Make hearts happy, roses grow,
Let the friends around you know
The love you have before they go;
Show it now.


J M Barrie - Happiness


 What is Treasure?
What is The Classic Treasury?


HERE IS A LITTLE BIT OF CLASS
JUST FOR YOU.

It is the sort of story that you never forget, or a film you will watch over and over. Me I have that many I would run out of room on "YouTube". I already have 79 playlists there that I have made, some for the little ones and well, allsorts. So my first bit of  Classic News, if you want to go and look at some of the playlists I have made. You will find them under the name of Seligor and they are all available for copying.
Well that's it for now. I am going to write for you now a very Classic poem, it is by a guy you may have heard of called Alfred Lord Tennyson, and it is entitled, The Lady of Shalott
 Another classic is this same poem sung by a fantastic lady called "Loreena McKennett," Canadian and Fantastic. I shall place the song below the poem..


A Little bit of Martial Artistry just for you, it is encompassed in the soundtrack of one of my favourite Korean Drama's. "CHUNU" or as it was called in English "The Slave Hunters.




To finish I will let you into my secret, shush don't tell anyone. I really do have a love of martial art films, so long as they are in their own language with subtitles and not dubbed.
I really do not have a great love for any dubbed films in any language. Sub titles are simple to follow after you have watched a few you're a grand-master. xxx



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