Fearful Expectations......
It was 1967 and I had
been in London a
mere six months. I doubt if anyone has ever been more homesick
for Ireland than
I was at that period of my life. Besides that, I always began
to feel the effects of the oncoming winter at about this time of the year, it
being late September and 1967 was no exception.
I strongly contemplated
resigning from the Police Service and returning home and spoke about it to some
of my colleagues at work. One in particular, a Scotsman older
than I, seemed to understand exactly how I was feeling. “Get yourself out into the countryside,
somewhere like Epping Forest, and have a good walkabout: you will soon feel
better” was his advice to me.......
Having just completed a
driving course at the Police
Driving School at Hendon,
I had managed to save enough money to buy myself a little
car. When I say a ‘car’,
I should in fact say ‘an
old small post-office van’ which I had earlier hand-painted a
bright blue with some Woolworth’s best
paint. It was a good little runner and cost very little to insure
and run.
So there I was, on a
Friday afternoon having completed the early-turn shift, without a map to my
name – SatNavs were not to appear for
another thirty years or so - I made my way out towards the
forest. It was supposed to be only five or six miles
from the single men’s quarters so I did not think I would have any
problem. That coming from someone who regularly got lost
in London – many times
in full uniform – was asking for trouble. And so it came to be......
Somewhere along the
route I must have taken a wrong turning for I was soon off the main road and as
the sky darkened with the coming of night, I felt a little
panicky. I was getting further and further into the countryside
with no sign of anything that could be called a
forest. There was no street lighting at that time in
rural Essex and
the road I found myself driving on was full of pot-holes and no road markings.
I suddenly also realised
that when I came to crossroads there were no stop signs or indeed traffic
lights. It was now dark and indeed also
dangerous. Oddly enough, I did not see anyone - not even
another vehicle or pedestrian from whom I could have asked directions.
And
then it happened...................My little reliable ‘car’ let me down for
the one and only time that I owned it. It gave up the ghost and no amount of
coaxing would get it restarted..........
Now if I tell you that
at the Driving School I
had passed my ‘practical
mechanics’ with a 98% pass mark purely on the principle that I
openly admitted to the examiner that I knew nothing whatsoever about
mechanics. He had seemed shocked and asked me “What would you do if the car broke
down”. I replied in all honestly “Get someone who knew what they were
doing to fix it”. Apparently he had a great hatred
for officers who thought that they were experts in the field and called my
answer one of the most perfect he had ever heard.
Anyway, there I was in
the middle of nowhere – and
I mean nowhere – with not a clue as to where I was, with a
broken down car. I panicked but decided that I would have to
seek help. (Anyone
who was around in that era will realise that mobile phones had not even been
thought of, let alone invented, at that stage). I
would have to search for a garage or public telephone box.
I saw a hill in front of
me that seemed to lead to what I could just about manage to see was a small
village so I headed there now in total darkness.
Suddenly – and I tell you not a word of a lie –
I was almost knocked down by a man in dark flowing clothing riding a large
black horse. He was travelling at a great gallop along my side
of the road. As I stood there with my heart thumping at
a rate that suggested that I was about to have a heart attack, another three
horsemen came riding up and past me as if in pursuit of the first man and
horse. I stood there transfixed trying to figure out
what was going on. I
thought that maybe they were huntsmen returning from a
hunt for all I knew.................
I continued in the
direction they went and shortly saw the glimmering lights coming from the
windows of a building at a crossroads. The light reminded me
of my grandparents’ home in Ireland and I was sure that it was not electric
light – more like gas
or paraffin lamps. I continued towards the
light.
As I got nearer and my
eyes became accustomed to the faint light, I saw that it was coming from a pub
and it had a sign which showed ‘The
Maypole’. Outside to the side of the building
there was something hanging from a pole. I noticed it but could not
clearly make out what exactly it was. I entered through
the main door only to be confronted by the most dingy, smoky and foul smelling
room I have ever been in. I could barely make out the
people but was convinced that there was either a film or television period programme
being recorded. What I could make out was that the men, for there were no women there,
were wearing clothing from another age.
As I stood in the
entrance, silence fell upon the crowd and all eyes were looking at
me. I made my way to the bar and decided to have a
drink. I asked for a pint of ale and was shocked when the barman
asked me for one and a half pennies. I handed him a half-crown
and he looked at it for a minute or two. He shrugged his
shoulders and gave me a load of coins change. I
took my drink to a nearby table and sat down. It was
then that I noticed a man sitting at the other end of the table who was writing
in a notepad. He looked familiar and was dressed in old
fashioned clothes. He
nodded to me and continued his writing..............................
Very quickly the
interest in me was over and the noise and talking
restarted. A woman dressed in what I can only describe
as Victorian clothes
came over to our table and spoke to the gentleman sitting at the
table. “Come
on Charlie boy” she coaxed “let’s
have a dance. Barnaby won’t mind”. She
called towards the bar “You
won’t mind, will you Barnaby?” and began laughing loudly
at the same time.
The gentleman made no
reply but merely closed up his notebook and stood up. He spoke
to me in a strange accent: “Can
I drop you off somewhere young man? The roads around here are not a
safe place to be for a stranger”. I thought
that there was no likelihood of me finding a mechanic in the area and there was
no sign of a phone or phone box so I replied “If you would sir, my car is just down the hill a short
way”. “Come then” he said “before Nancy makes a show of me in
front of this little gallery”. He then led the way
outside where I was surprised to see a small horse and carriage tied to a post.
I was getting more
confused by the second and asked him “Is
there a film or recording being made for television?” “No young man” he
replied “just me
recording a few notes for my journal”. As he lit
the side lamps on the carriage, the light flickered and lit up the area where
we stood. It
was then that I noticed the object hanging from the pole that I had seen earlier.............
I swear
to God, it was a ‘gibbet’. I had seen one
in Madame Tussaud’s
chamber of horrors and I can assure you that I was not
mistaken. There were parts of a skeleton hanging from
it. I
could not speak. The gentleman appeared to notice
that I was shocked and merely nodded towards it and said “Poor unfortunate..............one of
life’s forgotten. Stole a sheep not six months ago – better
off dead I suppose”.
As we rode down the hill
I could see my little car in the distance. As we neared it, I
asked him to stop. He sat with a look of amazement on
his face as he stared at the car. He began to stutter but I
merely thanked him for the lift and got into the car. I said a
quick prayer that the engine would start first time and lo and behold, so it
did. As I
switched on the lights suddenly the gentleman and his horse and carriage
disappeared..........................
I drove up to the
crossroads by the pub and turned left. As I drove along the
road it appeared to get better and within minutes I was in quite a busy area
which much to my surprise had normal street
lighting. The people were dressed in normal clothing and
when I stopped and asked directions from a young man he pointed me in the direction
of ‘home’. I
arrived safely none the worse for my strange, and indeed weird, experience.
The strangest thing
about these memories is that I now pass the Maypole pub
regularly. A couple of years ago whilst having a drink
there, I saw an old painting of it in the mid 1800’s with a note about the
history of the pub through the ages. The painting was as I
remembered it from that strange night. Stranger still is the fact
that the strange gentleman was identical to a small picture of Charles Dickens on
display in the bar area. It appears that he used to frequent
the premises and in fact wrote some of his novels there. The
barman of that era was indeed Barnaby Rudge and
Dickens wrote a story by that title between February 1841 and November 1841.
As for the ‘gibbet’ – it was not
uncommon for the bodies of murderers and especially highwaymen (of which there were many in Essex),
to be displayed in such a way after hanging..........
A final
thought has just occurred to me: As I near my eightieth birthday do
I just imagine these memories of a long time ago or are they nightmares of
old.............
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