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Paranormal experiences in ancient monuments
Aug 11, '13
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I suppose having worked in over fifty English Heritage and National Trust sites for nearly ten years it might be fair to assume I would have experienced a considerable number of paranormal experiences thr truth is there were only a modest number that I note here for your perusal.

Castle Acre Priory. English Heritage.

Eight years passed with us working professionally for English Heritage Special Events Unit in castles from Dover in Kent to Pendennis in Cornwall, and Tintagel to Scarborough in Yorkshire and whilst that relationship was to come to an untimely end, we were also engaged by the E.H. Education Department to tour four abbeys in East Sussex, Somerset, Yorkshire, and Norfolk.

Two of us were suitably dressed to present life as a Monk, a Prior and another as a knight of the time and included myself, Stan and Allan Strong, a terrifically nice eco friendly forester with enormous talent, and a heart to match.

Sleeping at the Cluniac Abbey in Minehead drew sighs of disbelief from locals as we mixed freely in the ale house, but there were no real happenings of any import. It was while we were located at Castle Acre in Norfolk that I experienced two quite different events I was unable to explain.

The first, whilst standing in the only level left of the keep in the castle, I saw an apparition, not unlike a screen image of the life and times of the castles heyday, and whilst it only lasted a few moments, it was very vivid and quite real.

Then, whilst sleeping in one of the rooms of the old abbey, we witnessed the light turning itself off whilst we all lay in our sleeping bags chatting. It wasn’t a bulb failure, because it worked when switching it back on, but locals had told us that we were mad to sleep there as it was haunted, and we thought it possible they were right. None the less a good night’s sleep was had by all.

On a peripheral note, it was just outside the Abbey that I saw my only crop circle, and this was one was quite clearly a hoax.

"Souls are poured from one into another of different kinds of bodies of the world."

- Jesus Christ in Gnostic Gospels: Pistis (Knowledge) Sophia (Wisdom)

Weird twist to a museum visit. Yorvik.

When visiting the Yorvik Museum with a friend I commented to one of the guides that I felt that there was only one mannequin that was convincing, which transpired to be the one that was created after a reconstruction from skeletal remains discovered during archeological excavations.

Roman Bath House. Caerleon.

Whilst visiting the Roman Bath house in Caernarfon we paced slowly around the cat walk that was erected horizontally above the Roman excavations to preserve them. Whilst walking along with my good friend Stan, I stretched out my arms over a hypocaust area for some reason and detected a distinct drop in temperature.

I pointed this out to Stan and satisfying himself there was no discernible source of draft he agreed it was unusual.

A short time after, in discussing the anomaly with a curator they confirmed this strange temperature change was known to them, which modern researchers will confirm is a sign of a paranormal presence.

Public House.

When entering a pub I took up a seat against a wall and felt a distinct chill that seemed visible to my mate Stan. He asked what the matter was, and I replied, I’ve just walked through a wall. Puzzled yet knowing I was sensitive to strange things, he asked the person behind the bar if there had ever been a wall there. This was confirmed but added that it had been removed a long time ago, and there was no visible evidence of its former existence.

Eagles Nest.

During a family holiday to Austria we went on an excursion to Hitler’s mountain retreat at Bertchesgarten. The transit to the summit was excellently timed to concur with a downward travelling coach at a certain point, being the only lay-by that would allow passage past each other on this tree lined, single track road to the building above.

The only feature that survived undamaged of the original structure was the large lift that raised its passengers from the disembarkation point below to the summit of the mountain where the main structure was. Upon entry the guide informed us that Hitler was claustrophobic and insisted upon the lift walls being lined with mirrors to give the image of expanse and space. These mirrors were strongly tinted in a gold come yellow colour for some reason and they certainly had the desired effect of creating the ellusion of space.

But, as I stood there and the lift began its steady journey upward, I noticed the strangest scene to my front. It was a clear and fully formed apparition of Hitler himself. He stood in the formal full uniform of a National Socialist member; his hands clasped low down to his front, one hand clasping the other wrist in his typical pose when stationary and gazed emptily to his front. He wore the burgundy banded peaked cap, brown jacket with arm eagle, black breaches and high, officer’s boots.

Astounded, I strained to focus on the image and then looked around in amazement at the mirrored walls in search of a reflection to confirm what I was seeing, but there was nothing, yet when I looked back – there he was. I looked around at fellow passengers for some sort of confirmation, but nobody else indicated any sign of being able to see him and it was only the jolt of arrival denoting the summit which caused his image to simply vanish.

Other minor incidents of unusual content.

A minor incident with the Ouija.

During a session on the board , a timely warning.

The table had been set up, the participants in place and index fingers held to the top of the glass tumbler in expectation.

Moments past but with no movement; then someone detected a shrill sound like a high pitched shrieking and instructed everybody to look at the glass.

From where the glass made contact with the table a crack was clearly discernible raising very slowly vertically upward to about one inch; then it changed direction to a right angle and quite visibly moved horizontally parallel to the table until it almost separated.

Somewhat un-nerved someone tipped the glass to leave a band of glass about 20mm high.

Who nicked the Blackwall Tunnel?

What I am about to write may well seem quite ridiculous, irrelevant and of course impossible, but I experienced something that did more to convince me of spirituality than anything else ever has in my rich and colourful life. The irony is, the event itself is of little consequence, yet I say that only to contradict myself and still call it a miracle.

Thursday the 26th of July saw my lady friend and I traveling up to Stratford to participate in a Psychology of Vision workshop, and to our disdain, our route took us through the Blackwall Tunnel, a long, airless experience that has several distinct crooks in its route, and no air vents to be seen that might disperse the most horrible quantity of vehicle fumes or omissions you could imagine.

With great relief we got through to the other side, reached our destination, enjoyed and learned a great deal from the workshop and left for home with the most graphic proof of the workshops content.

Anyway, our joint perception or created reality occurred on the way home. We missed the turning to the tunnel, turned around and came back to it from another direction, and following the poorly displayed route signs we made our way toward that awful experience once again.

Not knowing our whereabouts we neared what looked a wide bridge, perhaps we traveled under two and as we drew under them I asked Jill to close her window to deny access to the vehicle fumes. None-the-less a short time passed and we both opened them to allow the cool air to blow over our faces. It happened twice that I can recall and our eager chatter oft denied concentration as to the signs we so dearly needed to indicate the route we needed home.

At last a street sign to Dover, Channel tunnel and finally Canterbury and we knew we had the right route. Yet something was missing; the signs to Blackwall Tunnel where on earth were they, were we lost again? No, signs for Dover, Tunnel and Canterbury, so on we journeyed.

The tunnel itself never materialized, yet there was no other way across the grand old river Thames. Somehow we had dematerialized the unpleasant experience of journeying that mile long, fume filled tunnel, and as daft as that might sound, that is the whole and absolute truth.

I’m not going to dwell on the facts, or flower them up in any way; they are the facts, take it or leave it!

The concluding thoughts on this event was that we had altered time, the perception itself was altered to the point that we just hadn’t noticed it, which believe me, if you have been through that tunnel, is no easy task.

Aug 11, '13
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