At Hamptonne Country Life Museum recently a member of staff was walking down the passageway alongside the 15th Century Hamptonne House. A heavy book fell from above, landing at her feet. Looking up, it appeared to have come from a first-floor window so she ran into the house and shot up the stairs. No-one was there. Here is the window in question – how could a book have been dropped or thrown from there?

Thus endeth this mini-series, for now. Jersey actually isn’t too active when it comes to modern day sightings of what might be termed ‘high strangeness.’ Either that or people are keeping quiet about it. However, one Jersey woman now living in England, has a popular podcast devoted to modern-day fairy sightings. Jo Hickey-Hall interviews people who relate their personal experiences of encountering strange beings. It’s becoming the case, I think, that people are becoming less afraid to share their experiences. Jo’s website and podcast can be found here https://www.scarlettofthefae.com/

The hotspot of high strangeness in Britain is North and East Yorkshire. Over the years, and to the present day, there have been countless sightings of lightforms and strange airborne craft along the cliffs north of Flamborough Head and out over the North Sea. Many aircraft, mainly military, have unaccountably crashed into the sea around there. Sightings abound of unearthly humanoids and animals, cryptids etc. There have been many disturbing animal mutilations down the years. The researcher Paul Sinclair has documented many of these – you can find Paul’s website at http://www.truthproof.uk and he has a YouTube channel. Paul argues that it is impossible to explain many of these encounters within the boundaries of our present scientific knowledge, and just because they can’t be explained doesn’t mean that they aren’t real.

Keep checking under your beds before falling asleep.

Mont Orgueil is an 800-year-old castle facing France on Jersey’s east coast. It has a host of legends and ghostly encounters attached to it – this is common with many such ancient buildings. However, the origins of these stories have been lost with time and have often been embellished over the years. Mont Orgueil has had its share of ghost hunters down the years and they have pinpointed hot spots in the castle which us guides can point out to our visitors.

But there are modern day, first-hand accounts too including several from the summer season just finished. Just a couple for your delectation:

• The castle Gardien, locking up the rooms in the Keep at the end of the day, clearly heard several footsteps on the nearby staircase. He called out that the castle was closing. The footsteps stopped and no one was in sight when he checked. On closing the outer door the remaining member of staff confirmed that no one had left recently.

• There lives in the castle a soldier called Sid, young though 400 years old, who is unhappy with his lot and who doesn’t want to be a soldier anymore. This related by a lady who chats to him, having a gift for this sort of thing.

There are others. But if you want ghosts, head to Kilmainham Gaol in Dublin, Ireland. Kilmainham is now a visitor attraction but it has a sorrowful history. Prisoners were routinely hanged in public view above the gaol entrance – there were about 180 in all. Fourteen of the ringleaders of the 1914 Easter Rising were shot there. No wonder the building is riddled with ghosts. The caretaker keeps in their good books by announcing, ‘Good morning lads’ on opening up and wishing them goodnight at the day’s end.

This is a very sad tale, but one which was freely given to me. The narrator is a friend of mine, an Irish woman who has lived in Jersey for many years now. At the time she was a 14-year-old growing up in the family home in a small town in Ireland. Her father, to whom she was devoted, suddenly passed away right in front of her. You can imagine how distraught she was at the time and for many months thereafter.

It is a few weeks after her father’s passing as she takes up the story in her own eloquent style.

“One day I was lying on my bed/mattress on maybe my 100^th reading of one of my great artist magazines. The lightbulb in the room had already ‘gone’ and the only light into the room came from the landing. As I lay on the dangerous, spring-popping mattress I turned to my right, just randomly, and a long shadow lifted from the bed next to the mattress. I watched it gently move high above. I only realise now that the shadow was the greatest, for my whole world changed. As soon as the shadow had risen, in my mind it was about to turn and look at me. I shot out of that room like a bat out of hell.

“I sometimes think that this shadow followed me my entire life. At first I thought it was my mind playing tricks, but the clear outline of the shadow figure has now left no doubt in my mind. In those precious moments, and despite my fear, I know that all the beauty and meaning of my short 14 years of life was made up of a shadow in Mammy and Daddy’s bedroom at no.56 and whenever there is a shadow there is always light and my light came slowly that summer. I moved from a 14-year-old to a 24-year-old. My little 14-year-old died a little inside only to be reborn and to rise again in a stronger and wiser version.”

This next is from an old Jerseyman, an ex-military, no nonsense chap who I worked with recently. It refers to a time just after the war, maybe 1947, and he was perhaps nine or ten years old. He lived with his parents in a large house in the parish of St Saviour, close by the Neolithic tomb known as La Hougue Bie. He takes up the story:

“One afternoon I was cycling home from school. There was a big white gate at the entrance to [the house] and there was a monk standing there. He opened the gate for me to go in and I said, ‘Thank you very much.’ I went into the kitchen and said, ‘Mum, who’s that? Who’s that monk at the gate?’
She said, ‘What do you mean?’
‘A monk just opened the gate for me to come in.’
She dropped the glass which she was drying. It wasn’t long after that that we moved. The house was definitely haunted. We moved to a small cottage but I do have many memories of really terrifying feelings at [that house]”

‘Tis said that this is the time of year that the veil between our human world and the spirit dimension is at its thinnest. I’ll therefore share a tale or two which might entertain. These are not the old (and somewhat hackneyed) Jersey legends. They are either first-hand, or from reliable sources.

My first is from Jersey in 1942. It is a written account by the grandmother of a woman I know and run with. It is September and the island of Jersey is occupied by Nazi forces. A decree has been made that all non-Jersey born people will be deported to Germany. This decree includes the narrator and her husband, together with their five children. They have 24 hours to prepare for the journey into the unknown.

It is the night before they are due to depart, at the family home just around the corner from where I live now. Here is her story.

“By 3am I had succeeded in gathering together what I considered to be the most useful articles of clothing for each of us for a stay of perhaps several years in all weather conditions. The children would all be growing during that time so that had to be taken into account – and each person was only allowed up to 28lbs of luggage. Parcels of larger size, new suits and woollies and new pairs of shoes were untied. String and newspapers were strewn about the floor. By the window stood seven piles of clothing but, so far, no suitcases. Exhausted, worried and full of foreboding I knelt down and flung my arms above my head onto the bed and cried, ‘Oh God!’

“At that very moment, I saw behind my right shoulder, and very near me, the tall figure of my maternal grandmother. She was calm. She said, ‘It will be alright.’ This she repeated. My grandmother had died in 1939. Somehow, I flung my body, fully dressed, upon the bed. I became unconscious.”

Endnote: The family remarkably avoided deportation at the last minute.