The past two weekends I’ve been raking about in the dark til silly o’clock in the morning. Armed to the teeth with gadgets, in an attempt to converse with the dead. When I say ‘converse with the dead’, I mean, pratting about with my mate, sniggering like Beavis & Butthead & tutting at fakery & those more gullible than ourselves. Not that I am a non believer. More of a hopeful skeptic who needs to test all scientific reasoning first.
Our first adventure was at Fort Paull with Glen, the resident skeptic, from the ‘Most Haunted’ team.
I am in there somewhere – in a yellow coat
We liked Glen
In the supposedly haunted train carriage (which nobody seemed to know the history of) we almost had a stand up row with a lady who was determined to kill a moth. “It deserves to die!” she screeched whilst removing her walking boot to try and squish it against the window. “They’re not like butterflies inside you know” said her mate. “A butterfly has innards and stuff when you squash one – but a moth is just dust. They’re just made of dust”.
Who the hell squashes a butterfly?
Who does that?
We managed to persuade her to leave the moth alone by employing stern teacher voices.
The venue was very interesting. Comprising underground tunnels, a Beverley Bomber and various artillery gun thingumies – and a shitload of moths, just for our lepidopterophobic friend. An entertaining session on a ouija board ensued where I was seemingly contacted by someone called ‘Ash’. I denied any knowledge of knowing anyone of this name until Linda could tell by the look in my eye that I did. Through stifled laughter I explained that the only Ash I knew was my eldest childerbeast’s dead dwarf hamster! And that I doubted very much that he had gained the ability to spell in the afterlife, particularly as he only had one eye when he was alive! One of the ladies around the board then suggested that perhaps the deceased had been cremated and this is why they were spelling out ‘Ash’ when asked their name.
Time for a wander and an explore.
Anybody there. Where? There on the stair
Creepy Wheelchair in the Victorian Hospital area
We did have a moment like that film “Left Behind” when the Rapture comes and claims the pious. We got split up from our group in one of the tunnels and realised we were wandering about a deserted garrison on our own, calling out to the living this time rather than the dead. “Hallooo is there anybody there?” We were half expecting to find piles of clothes on the ground.
We were finally put out of our misery by the lovely Glen who appeared behind a laser-grid pen from inside the Beverley Bomber.
There’s those Lidl blow-up dolls again
Come aboard the lurve train
Note to self: if you want to keep things on a serious note, it’s probably best not to say things like “Have we got any seamen with us?” and not expect at least a bit of an immature titter in the dark.
Making the most of our visit to Hull, we decided in the morning to visit the supposed haunted hostel in DeGrey Street, Hull where Bman used to live. He didn’t live at the haunted property (although he says he wouldn’t go in the attic room out of fear). He lived 3 doors up. I say lived. I mean squatted. 🙂
Money for old rope anyone?
Am not convinced by the authenticity of this alleged haunted property. It smacks to me of a decrepit old house someone can’t be arsed to renovate to a livable standard so a spooky back story has been invented. I’ve told Bman we need to do this ourselves. Bid on some old battered fixer-upper at auction and float some ideas out on the internet about spectral goings-on and then charge ghosthunters £40 a head to wander around it in the dark with torches on a weekend.
Last Friday we opted out of the (not quite yet) end of term drunken teachers shenanigans in Leeds and went instead to Bradford City Hall. A beautiful building in the middle of a big shithole.
Raking about again in the dark. debunking charlatans and trying not to actually laugh out loud at Stuart the Medium as he rather camply said; “Ooh hello Colin. I’ve got a gentleman called Colin here” and “Push the table harder for the ladies Colin, they like it harder. get it up on two legs for them Colin rather than 4”. as well as, “Let’s have a bit of vibration Gerry (it had changed from Colin to Gerry by this time) the ladies like things that vibrate.”
Alright Stuart – that’s enough now!
Not sure that Stuart liked it when we went rogue and wandered off around the old police cells by ourselves. Not sure he could cope with us being seemingly unperturbed by the dark and the unknown, or the fact that we had our own tech. Admittedly his tech was way funner (it’s a word) than ours:- Sound amplifying headphones, weird rag dolls with light up eyes, interactive bears and night vision goggles. We found ourselves especially hilarious at 1:45am when using an Ovulus speaking device and decided we must surely have contacted the spirit of Norman Collier.
Am pretty sure Stuart was glad to be rid of us at 2am. No comedy wanderings through the streets of Bradford, chasing lights this time – just straight home.
Until next time, at Armley Mills in October, where I may not be so blase about it because that place is creepy in the bloody day time, as I think I have said before.
Ciao MoFos (alive or dead)