I don't talk about this much (ever) - well, you wouldn't really. But I am recording it now, for Daisy Lupin's Hallowee'en Story Circle.
What you are about to read is absolute truth as I remember it. Whether what I experienced was something other worldly or merely an extreme case of lucid dreaming - well, you will make your own minds up. As the years drift by, my memory fades - or perhaps I had fairy dust thrown in my eyes. For I believe I have experienced the presence of trooping fairies moving from along one of their traditional paths from site to site.
But let me begin at the beginning. It was about eleven years ago. We were in Devon, revisiting my old childhood village. It was a last minute holiday, and we just managed to catch a little bus to the outskirts of Lustleigh. As it was a Sunday we felt very lucky. We stopped at the picturesque pub and had a pint, then made our way up and out of the village, towards the house where I used to live. Nothing much seemed to have changed in twenty years. I was upset to see that my mother's pretty little garden had been turfed over and a single, ugly hydrangea bush planted in the middle. Apart from that, it was still the peaceful chocolate box Dartmoor scenery I used to know and love. By now the heat of the day was blending into a summery twilight and we had yet to reach our destination, relying soley on my memories, which luckily were still correct and we soon found our way to the Cleave with no problems. We were going to sleep on the moor, in sleeping bags. The weather was balmy, and I knew there was always shoulder high bracken and large rocks in which to shelter. The Cleave is a large semi-wooded valley, a natural haven whose little curling paths wind down and down to reach the tumbling river Bovey and 'the weir ' as it was known to us children. We started treading the main path, carefully as night was almost upon us and we had no torch. After some minutes we came to a fork - would we take the right turn or the left? In retrospect, I should have remembered that it was the left, as I had been down it many a time a a child. But we took the right, a smaller path, which seemed to almost trickle into nowhere. It was time to stop and make the best of the situation. We broke down some bracken, and bedded our sleeping bags down just off the track, on its edge. Andy heated up some noodles and we settled down for the night. We fell asleep...
I cannot recall precisely when I became aware of the rustling. I did not wake, but lay in the dark, in a semi-coma, hearing and sensing a quiet but excited murmuring and bustling. I did not have my eyes open, but somehow I could 'see' -or sense - a vague procession of people walking past, talking among themselves in low voices. I could not hear exactly what they were saying, it was too faint, like the humming of bees. If I try really hard to bring them to mind, I see a glowing, ghostly line of walkers, none of them distinct - I have an impression of Mediaeval style costume. They were human in appearance, and of differing sizes from quite tall to smaller child size - not at all the flimsy little Tinkerbells beloved of children's tales. There were certainly no wings or glittery bits. This seemed to continue all night, I would doze off again and 'almost- awake' to a parade of beings, following the small path which we had taken, going from one side of the Cleave to - who knows where? All this I could put down to a vivid dream brought on by a couple of pints and old memories. Except for the clearest memory of all. I was lying with my shoulder out of my sleeping bag and being in a semi-sleep, could not move to wriggle back inside. And as the procession continued to make its busy way along to its destination, I felt - I distincly FELT something quite small pick up the corner of my bag and cover my shoulder up. This is true. I have read that fairies are tricksy creatures, and not always well disposed towards humans, but that night, something (not Andy, who was fast asleep) was kind enough to tuck me up gently. I woke to a clear early morning, feeling as if I had somehow witnessed a great event, but one which meant me no harm - I am sure they were aware that I 'knew' they were travelling past. I felt like a child who had looked down the stairs at a big adult party about which they had little understanding, but were strangely excited by.
I have not seen anything like this since, but I am sure that somewhere - somehow there is another race of creatures, about whom we are largely unawares; I believe in fairies. And I wonder what would have happened if we had been camped on the track itself, and not just off it...
Happy Samhain to all my friends - everywhere.
What you are about to read is absolute truth as I remember it. Whether what I experienced was something other worldly or merely an extreme case of lucid dreaming - well, you will make your own minds up. As the years drift by, my memory fades - or perhaps I had fairy dust thrown in my eyes. For I believe I have experienced the presence of trooping fairies moving from along one of their traditional paths from site to site.
But let me begin at the beginning. It was about eleven years ago. We were in Devon, revisiting my old childhood village. It was a last minute holiday, and we just managed to catch a little bus to the outskirts of Lustleigh. As it was a Sunday we felt very lucky. We stopped at the picturesque pub and had a pint, then made our way up and out of the village, towards the house where I used to live. Nothing much seemed to have changed in twenty years. I was upset to see that my mother's pretty little garden had been turfed over and a single, ugly hydrangea bush planted in the middle. Apart from that, it was still the peaceful chocolate box Dartmoor scenery I used to know and love. By now the heat of the day was blending into a summery twilight and we had yet to reach our destination, relying soley on my memories, which luckily were still correct and we soon found our way to the Cleave with no problems. We were going to sleep on the moor, in sleeping bags. The weather was balmy, and I knew there was always shoulder high bracken and large rocks in which to shelter. The Cleave is a large semi-wooded valley, a natural haven whose little curling paths wind down and down to reach the tumbling river Bovey and 'the weir ' as it was known to us children. We started treading the main path, carefully as night was almost upon us and we had no torch. After some minutes we came to a fork - would we take the right turn or the left? In retrospect, I should have remembered that it was the left, as I had been down it many a time a a child. But we took the right, a smaller path, which seemed to almost trickle into nowhere. It was time to stop and make the best of the situation. We broke down some bracken, and bedded our sleeping bags down just off the track, on its edge. Andy heated up some noodles and we settled down for the night. We fell asleep...
I cannot recall precisely when I became aware of the rustling. I did not wake, but lay in the dark, in a semi-coma, hearing and sensing a quiet but excited murmuring and bustling. I did not have my eyes open, but somehow I could 'see' -or sense - a vague procession of people walking past, talking among themselves in low voices. I could not hear exactly what they were saying, it was too faint, like the humming of bees. If I try really hard to bring them to mind, I see a glowing, ghostly line of walkers, none of them distinct - I have an impression of Mediaeval style costume. They were human in appearance, and of differing sizes from quite tall to smaller child size - not at all the flimsy little Tinkerbells beloved of children's tales. There were certainly no wings or glittery bits. This seemed to continue all night, I would doze off again and 'almost- awake' to a parade of beings, following the small path which we had taken, going from one side of the Cleave to - who knows where? All this I could put down to a vivid dream brought on by a couple of pints and old memories. Except for the clearest memory of all. I was lying with my shoulder out of my sleeping bag and being in a semi-sleep, could not move to wriggle back inside. And as the procession continued to make its busy way along to its destination, I felt - I distincly FELT something quite small pick up the corner of my bag and cover my shoulder up. This is true. I have read that fairies are tricksy creatures, and not always well disposed towards humans, but that night, something (not Andy, who was fast asleep) was kind enough to tuck me up gently. I woke to a clear early morning, feeling as if I had somehow witnessed a great event, but one which meant me no harm - I am sure they were aware that I 'knew' they were travelling past. I felt like a child who had looked down the stairs at a big adult party about which they had little understanding, but were strangely excited by.
I have not seen anything like this since, but I am sure that somewhere - somehow there is another race of creatures, about whom we are largely unawares; I believe in fairies. And I wonder what would have happened if we had been camped on the track itself, and not just off it...
Happy Samhain to all my friends - everywhere.
