I saw a spectre, no a person, not a ghost, it was a man in a hat. None of that covers it. Something was wrong. I sought advice.
I nipped across the road to my pals Julie and Arthur (those of Carowagon fame).
“I think I may have seen your ghost,” I said.
Julie had earlier sent me some footage which was inexplicable. A view from the skylight shows the tall Dog and Duck steps next to our house. There are two mysterious figures on the steps; the lower figure looks like some sort of priest and the one higher up and above our house appears to be a boy. Both are in black and white and seem quite old fashioned. They look real enough but why on earth are they dressed like a century or so ago, especially so early on a morning.
My sighting had come a few weeks after seeing the footage. I had awoken very early and been unable to settle so eventually had decided to get up and take a walk.
I had turned right on Quay Street which is parallel to the seafront and passed Arthur’s and then left through a cobbled lane towards North Wharfe.
I stood looking at the lights of the boats for a while and then wandered to opposite the way through towards the end of Quay Street, (yes this was a short walk, as I was getting hungry), my plan being to turn right and head home. Before I could turn I noticed a figure passing me heading towards the seafront. I would have noticed him anyway as there was no one else about but he seemed to be suddenly there.
I was halfway up the short street and there he was to my left, I hadn’t noticed him coming out of the carpark or down Long Greece Steps to the side of the car park. So I looked at him in surprise. He looked back in the same way. I looked away and looked back, he did so a couple of times. It was as if we were both thinking, ‘where did you come from and don’t you look strange.’
Later that day I went into more detail during my visit to Julie and Arthur. Why I had said I thought I had seen ‘Julie’s’ ghost was that he was dressed very similar to the boy in the footage. That was why I had looked at him, he was out of place. I hadn’t felt like I was seeing a ghost, it seemed like a man, yet I felt that something was wrong.
Partly that was the way he was dressed; tight black trousers, (although, unlike the boy figure, his were full length), boots, a long jacket with many buttons up to the neck, a white ruff or frilled shirt and to top it all off I could just say a black flat cap but it was very large; too large.
Now he could have been in a period drama – but at half past six in the morning.
It was at this point that Julie pointed out that the footage of the other out of place figures was filmed at around the same time of a morning.
Arthur asked me how old I thought he was and I said about fifty or perhaps a little less and that he had large round glasses and a moustache but that his face and all these features were quite grey.
I realised that seemed strange as he seemed like a real man. Arthur looked up at this and said perhaps it was a timeslip. It would make perfect sense that this was so, as if 2017 and (let us say) 1917 had interlinked for a while. This would certainly make sense of the mutual surprise and confusion.
It was a couple of days later that I awoke early again; this time with a start, a sudden thought: it was a timeslip but not to the past.
I leapt out of the bed, dressed, and hurried out the door – yes, at that point I was hunting my portal to the future. I was looking for a visitor from the future; one who thought he blended in.
There was something I hadn’t told Julie and Arthur the earlier evening; I had doubled back. On that first morning after the guy had passed I had rushed down Quay Street and taken a right up one of the cobbled alleys, back to the seafront. There he was.
He rushed up to the edge of the wharfe, held up a device, and moved on.
It looked like a phone, but didn’t have a screen and he didn’t seem to need to look through it. He moved a little way along and took a picture of Vincent Pier and its lighthouse, turned snapped the novelty shop and headed to East Pier and the Toll Gate, snapping systematically as he went. I left.
On that second early morning expedition I was intending to catch a record keeper from the future who was dressed inappropriately.
For this was my thinking now, our visitor had dressed in such a way as to blend in but had got it wrong by about 80 to a 100 years.
So it was that I dashed out of the house, but I bumped into another neighbour who was out walking her dogs. We chatted for a while, about my blog, and then I headed off up Quay Street. I got a glimpse of a group of people crossing the end from near the car park and they all seemed to be wearing something red.
They have adapted, they have seen a man from this time period and have emulated his look to blend in.
It is my intention to get up early tomorrow and head to the end of Quay Street and the access road from the car park. I fully expect to see several adults and teenagers wearing blue and white Converse, black jeans, a red and white shirt, a blue jerkin and a flat cap.
Ade’s Scarborough Business Review 01 – Mutiny on the Lancaster – It’s a Bounty
Rebel is the message; go rebel. No longer follow a captain be as the crew be – So how did the long lost Lancaster show up in its new form?
Mutiny from the usual on Scarborough seafront? No, even further than that, this is a leader – sailing us into a new Sandside. This is not a seaside amusements place.
We come here for (reasonably) sophisticated dining. We already have Golden Grid (Second best chowder to the Blue Crush, North Bay), Anton’s (Best use of a defunct chapel), Pizza-something and Ask any pizza to go (Don’t plug international chains or you are a sell-out not a respected reviewer).
This is the end.
The ‘in’ end. Well it is since this Bar and Kitchen came here. By you have read this review; a dozen other ‘Kitchens’ will have opened, Ivy House will be renamed as one, West Pier, North Wharfe and every available lobster pot clockwise will be setting out tables in the sun.
Remember: all cos of Mutiny.
Because of their still sticky varnish.
So, what do I think of the place?
It hangs out; it is OK (despite my horror at no hanged captain anywhere). It is basic, it is spacious, there could be a bar sign image in the space provided above the door in the original architecture, there could be a little more finish to the hand-crafted surfaces, the only place they could possibly learn from is ‘Eat Me’ (that’s a compliment!), but the space works.
It is wide open and varnished, no sorry woody. Atmosphere is everywhere and I am working my way through the food flip chart. Not enough ‘by the sea’, not enough ‘mutiny’ on the menu – but from breakies to big party buffets it is quality – quality.
The Battle of Hastings Revisited – and this time we win!
Yes we were there. 950 years ago and last week too. This time we won!
The course of the battle has been changed. We have a winning tactic. It might take a while for the victory to be definite but the story has begun and once a story starts it is very difficult to stop it. – It is quite easy to change it of course. Stopping a story is a different matter altogether.
It didn’t quite happen this year, it might happen next year, it may take another 950 years, believe you me the sling shot is slung and the ball is rolling.
Warning: for a true representation of what happened 950 years back you may wish to visit Jelling Dragon and buy the audio book Jorvik – York and the Vikings.
LH – Living History characterisation tips for re-enactors
Living History is fun, it is exciting, it is valuable, the more we do it the more we want to be involved; to deepen the experience.
As a member of Vanaheim, the University of York Medieval Society Viking group, within the Great Britain-wide group The Vikings, I have gathered together ideas, particularly for Viking encampments. Encampments which in British groups and in UK attraction / museum work are generally referred to as Living History, and I guess, without properly realising this, I have written this for my mates! Not consciously, but with them in mind.
They say write about what you know, so hopefully I know enough to be of help.
There should be helpful ideas here for anybody making some sort of history come alive for any period, (anywhere and anywhen), so not just Vikings.
I am fed up that everything I tile is collected by auto-chicken.
I realise now that my mistake was probably that I tried to type auto-check instead of auto-collect.
But it has been collected.
There is obviously a fault. At least with the auto-correct but possibly worse than that. So while we are stuck here I might as well carry on.
There’s the joke of the year from Edinburgh Fringe by Ken Cheng, “I’m not a fan of the new pound coin, but then again, I hate all change.”
Well, things were different before the changes.
A previous year Tim Vine won with “I sold my vacuum cleaner, well it was just gathering dust.”
My son in law Spee tells me that Norwegian ships have a bar code on the side so they can Scandinavian.
On to my new look with the curls.
Now that it has grown back the way it has I don’t remember what my hair was like before I had radiotherapy, but I am sure it didn’t make mature women giggle like girls.
One Direction, they went their separate ways.
Away from humour and on to poetry with this corker from Ralph Bear (thank you ever so)
Me pen and paper
Me sword in hand
Me march off to unknown lands
Me get me got
Godspeed I trot
Me pen and paper
Me sword in hand
Here’s my big lad who has hit the big time…
This popped up again recently, created by Olivia Jayne Newton. As a promotion for the first ever stage production I’ve been in.
And my dream:
I dreamed that in the olden days what people who had excess limbs did is they joned the navy. Navy surgeons are renowned for cutting off limbs so sooner or later it is bound to happen. Neville had three legs so he joined up and a couple of years later there was an incident and sure enough the surgeon sawed one of his legs off. So he was able to come home with two.
When Mervin, (who had five arms) saw him returning looking so well balanced he too decided to go away to the navy. Eight years he was there, then sure enough there was an incident and they sawed off one of his arms. Trouble was, they sawed off the right arm, which was the only one he had at that side and left the other four he had on the left side as they were.
There is a moral to this story, or at least there was a moral to it in the dream.
NASA announced lately that they had discovered a planet that could harbour life, but it couldn’t be guarenteed that there was intelligent life there; of course there is, who do they think built the harbour.
For any of you who haven’t heard, I was given the all clear last week.
Feedback on my Discworld Blog;
“And, oh my! what a joy to receive your narrative on and your utterly delightful drawings of the most marvellous place to be in in the entire Multiverse. (Tho’ I can’t help thinking your portrait of C.M.O.T. Dibbler is just a little too flattering; “unsavoury”, after all, is not just a word that applies literally to his wares, it also applies metaphorically to his person.)” Julie Speedie