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
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
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
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
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.
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.
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
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
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
little thought off my mind I would now like to refer to my background.
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
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.
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
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
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.
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
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.
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 press 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!
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.
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.
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
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
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!
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.
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
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
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.
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
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
never forget the last words she said to me before she died, “are you going to
the post office?”
“No, mum, it’s a bit late now.” Though, obviously I changed my mind.
return from the post office there was a stranger in the garden so I too had a
feeling of foreboding.
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,
Here is a small poem for Edie, a true
beauty in your soul
recognise the day
met husband, Brian
more I have to say
a splendid person
of us to love
we’ll miss our cocker
just the sky above
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.
"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.
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
Her 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.
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.
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
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.
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
In Japanese tradition known some spirits, such as:
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.
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 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
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
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"
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
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.
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
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.
"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
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
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".
"Galloping Dick" Ferguson
Richard Ferguson was a contemporary and partner-in-crime of
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
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
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’s
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
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 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
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
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?
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.
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.
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.
True Happiness, (if understood) consists alone in doing good.
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
M. G. Woodhull 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
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.
What is Treasure? What is The Classic Treasury?
HERE IS A LITTLE BIT OF CLASS JUST FOR YOU.
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.
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