Thursday, 30 October 2014

Under the temple lay a cave, made by some guilty, coward slave.

The following photographs were taken at the Hellfire Caves in July of this year.  I originally shared them on my family history blog, but they are perfect for Halloween, so I hope you won’t mind me sharing them again here.

Located in West Wycombe, Buckinghamshire, the Hellfire Caves have a notorious history and are reputed to conceal many mysteries.  They are actually a man-made network of tunnels carved out of the chalk and flint of West Wycombe Hill commissioned by Sir Francis Dashwood.

The caves and the terrible deeds that supposedly went on there were discussed at great length when I was a little girl.  Mutterings of dark deeds, devil worship and debauchery were not intended for my small ears – but I heard, and I remembered!  So an opportunity to visit was not to be turned down.


I felt a little disappointed when we first arrived there were just too many people making too much noise. But, as the saying goes ‘if you can’t beat them, join them’ and ghostly noises sound so much better when you are deep underground. As we got further into the tunnels, much of the chatter and squeals died away, and then it began to feel a little cold and distinctly creepy.  I was, however, unprepared for some of the images picked up by my camera.  I would hate to be alone down there, especially if the lights went out! 

The first three photographs are exactly what we saw;






The two photographs that follow have not been changed or altered in any way. The camera settings were completely untouched during our visit. These were taken in a particularly dark part of the caves, so I've no idea why they are so much brighter than all the rest.

I make no claims about what they might show – I leave that to you. Suffice to say I find them very creepy!




Terry and I didn't notice a thing while in the caves, thank goodness! We would have left in a hurry had we seen this!

The ghost hunting team from the TV programme Most Haunted carried out an over-night vigil within the caves during December 2003. They spent the night without lights and members of the team said the caves were the darkest place they had ever visited. During the night, they had many paranormal experiences, seeing orbs of light and hearing noises. Without prior knowledge of the mysterious Hellfire caves Derek Achora, the medium, felt the presence of a young girl dressed in white, and of females dressed in nuns' habits. “Ladies of the night” were said to have worn such attire to disguise themselves whilst entertaining members of the Hellfire Club in the caves.



May you have good luck on Hallowe ' en..


I hope you all have a wonderful Halloween. 
Me? I will be hiding under the covers!

Friday, 24 October 2014

Why, there! Don't you see how he's following me?


"Now this way, now that way, and won't let me be! Keep him off, Bill - look here - don't let him come near! Only see how the blood-drops his features besmear! What, the dead come to life again! Bless me! Oh dear!" 

The Dead Drummer or a Legend of Salisbury Plain from The Ingoldsby Legends a collection of myths, legends, ghost stories and poetry supposedly written by Thomas Ingoldsby, actually the pen-name of an English clergyman Richard Harris Barham (1788-1845).

The legends were originally serialised in Bentley’s Miscellany Magazine and later in the New Monthly Magazine the version I'm featuring here was published by Macmillan in 1911.  The illustrations are all by Harry G Theaker.





Raising his eye so grave and so sage, from some manuscript work of a bygone age.
The Lord of Thoulouse A legend of Languedoc.


And in rush'd a troop. Of strange guests! 
The Lay of St. Cuthbert or the Devil's dinner-party. A Legend of the North Countree.


The girl, as they say, ran screaming away.
The old woman clothed in grey A Legend of Dover.




When at the bed's foot, close beside the post, he verily believed he saw - a Ghost!
Plain, and more plain, the unsubstantial sprite to his astonish'd gaze each moment grew;
Ghastly and gaunt, it rear'd it's shadowy height, of more than mortal seeming to the view, and round its long, thiny bony fingers drew a tatter-d winding-sheet, of course all white; -
The moon that moment peeping through a cloud,
Nick very plainly saw it through the shroud!

The Ghost
or
Mirth and Marvels
With illustrations in colour by H. G. Theaker 



I was thrilled to be one of the lucky recipients of a giveaway hosted by the lovely Yvonne over at Winter Moon. My gift was a copy of The Savage Garden by Mark Mills and as if that wasn't enough Yvonne also included a gorgeous bookmark, a pretty card and a second card with my initial.  Thank you so much Yvonne, I know what I will be reading this All Hallows Eve.



The Witching Hour is nearly upon us – are you reading anything scary? 

Saturday, 18 October 2014

Some of the language is a little old fashioned, but I still want to read them all!

I'm beginning to wonder if my perfect job isn't the job for me. Don’t get me wrong I love every minute of it, but it hardly pays the bills. It’s my own fault. I spend more time reading than cataloguing but how can I resist when so many beautiful books pass through my hands.  I somehow have to limit the number I read, after all I am supposed to be listing them for sale, not keeping them for my own pleasure.



In How to Read a Novel (Profile Books, 2006), John Sutherland, suggests one trick for intelligent book browsing: turn to page 69 and read it. If you like what you read there, read the whole book. Sutherland in fact credits Marshall McLuhan, guru-author of Guttenberg Galaxy: The Making of Typographical Man (University of Toronto Press, 1962) as the originator of this test.


With that in mind, I've picked eight random paragraphs from page 69 of eight books recently catalogued. I've no idea what to expect, but here goes; 

Compton Mackenzie The stairs that kept going down; Have you ever had a nightmare when you were being chased through a dark passage by something or somebody, and when your knees kept getting more and more jellified? If you have you will know what William and Winifred were feeling like when they made their way back along the dark bricked passage, trying to run on tip toes and trying not even to breathe too loudly. And this was not a nightmare from which they would wake up, frightened of course, but still in the safety of their own beds. This was real, horribly, hopelessly, hauntingly real.


Capt. W. E. Johns  Biggles in the cruise of the Condor; They strolled a few yards farther on, and suddenly Biggles paused in his stride and nudged Smyth in the ribs. Just beyond the jail was an open yard filled with wooden cases and several piles of dried palm fronds, which were evidently used as packing for the stacks of adobe bricks that stood at the far end of the yard. Biggles eyed it reflectively, and then, followed by Smythe, crossed over to it. A flimsy fence with a gate, which they quickly ascertained was locked, separated the yard from the road. He turned as a car pulled up a short distance away and a man alighted, lit a cigarette, and then disappeared into a private house. Biggles strolled idly towards the car, his eyes running over it swiftly. It was a Ford, and he noted the spare tin of petrol fastened to the running-board. 

Enid Blyton  The Valley of Adventure, now sold thank you for your interest 
They stared up into the trees, amazed to see green leaves waving above them. Then they turned their heads and saw one another. In a flash they remembered everything. “Couldn’t think where I was,” said Jack, and sat up. “Oh, Kiki, it’s you on my middle, is it? Do get off. Here, have some sunflower seeds and keep quiet, or you’ll wake the girls.” He put his hand in his pocket and took out some of the flat seeds that Kiki loved. She flew up to the bough above, cracking two in her beak. The boys began to talk quietly, so as not to disturb the girls, who were still sleeping peacefully.








Patricia Leitch Highland Pony Trek; “To be quite frank with you,” the Colonel said, “I’d rather see my land barred to everyone. It’s high time this maniac was caught and brought to justice. Been going on for a year now. A sheep here and a sheep there. All the time suspicion growing, innocent men being accused and ill feeling all round.”













Pat Smythe The Three Jays on holiday: From Avignon to the University town of Aix en Provence, the children gamely fought a losing battle against going to sleep. Darcy covered the last lap of the journey in record time, as he wanted to see a flying friend of his who lived in Aix and perhaps get him to have dinner with them. Jane, was encouraging his use of a few French words, in fact the four of them had a competition as to who could make the most French sounding sentence. 










Angela Brazil Three terms at Uplands: Time wore away, and at last came the eventful day when the two male members of the family started for the north. Claire, having waved a farewell to their taxi from the gate, returned to the house feeling decidedly flat. There seemed nothing particular to do. Her own packing was finished. She wandered about during the morning, and after dinner she decided to go and say good-bye to Honor Marshall, a girl who lived in a road near. She found her friend seated in a summer-house in the garden, and began to expatiate upon her own prospects at Uplands. 

Susan Price Ghost dance; The wind had dropped and it was a silent land she skimmed over, but with her shaman’s training she heard every sound there was: the hiss of her skies on the snow, the whining of the wind in the trees and the sharp knock of one branch against another, the sudden scream of a fox. She moved always towards the south, which she knew from the stars. Once, when the stars were covered, she asked the way of a blue fox, calling out, “Elder sister – which way to the city, the Czar’s city in the South?”

Frances Cowen The secret of Grange Farm; Now for the quarry. She stood in the road taking her bearings. It lay, she remembered, due east from the farm but only about ten minutes’ walk through the fields. In fact the quarry was on their land, and, in the old forgotten days, when Napoleon had threatened our shores, the owners of the farm had made quite an income out of it. Nicky had taken her there and helped her down to the old workings, chipped off part of the chalk, and shown her the fossils embedded in it.  She decided to by-pass the farm, and to cross the fields, and so down to the cup-like valley which formed the quarry. Presently she found it so dark that she had to use her torch to find the little track she only just remembered, but, even as she did so, a faint flow showed in the sky as the moon rose slowly beyond scudding clouds.

So there you have it, some of the language is a little old fashioned, but I still want to read them all! How about you, if you’re not convinced, why not try a similar experiment, I would love to hear how you get on…


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just before I go – do you remember the Lottie Holiday Adventure StoryWriting Competition as featured on my blog in August?  Four-year-old  Evie from Perth, Western Australia wrote a quirky and adventurous tale about the discovery of a T-Rex dinosaur bone. The story was selected ahead of other entrants from countries including the USA, UK, Australia and UAE, and wins Evie a selection of ten books from the Lottie Pinterest folder ‘Great Books for Girls’ (that boys can read too!), in addition to exclusive new Lottie products before they hit the shelves.  Well done Evie!




One last thing, while I was looking around the Internet for clues about how others decide on their next read I came across this little pearl of wisdom written by Nancy Pearl (sorry I couldn’t resist the pun!) – “One of my strongest beliefs is that no one should ever finish a book they’re not enjoying. Reading should be a joy. So, you can all apply my Rule of Fifty to your reading list. Give a book fifty pages if you’re under fifty years old. If you don’t like it, give it away, return it, whatever and then read something else. If you’re over fifty, subtract your age from 100 and that’s how many pages you should read …"
You know what that means, right? When you turn one hundred, you can judge a book by its cover.


Friday, 10 October 2014

Daydream Believer, Darlene Foster

Hello readers of March House Books. I am delighted to be a guest author on one of my favourite blog sites!

For as long as I can remember, I have needed to be around people. They energize and inspire me. When there are no people around; I simply make some up. It all started when I was a young child living on a ranch in the Canadian prairies. Surrounded by never ending sunshine, a huge blue sky and tons of wide open spaces to wander around, I lacked someone to converse with. My parents were busy working hard, and who wants to talk to little brothers. I named my teddy bears, gave them personalities and created adventures for Ted, Teddy, Toostie and Elvis, in my head. It wasn't long until I began to make up other imaginary characters and situations. My parents called me a daydreamer, and I guess I was. 

Elvis, Ted, Teddy, & Tootsie

Once I learned to read, I felt like I had reached nirvana. In between the pages of a book lived entire worlds of people for me to meet. I read everything I could get my hands on. I would beg my hardworking dad to stop what he was doing and take me to the library in the city, thirty miles away, to get more books.

Darlene on her dad's truck

My grade three teacher, Miss Roll, recognized my thirst for travel and adventure, and my ability to make up stories. She encouraged me to read at higher levels, to write my story ideas down and to travel to other countries someday. She read to us from The Bobbsey Twins adventure books and I loved them. I so wanted to be like the Bobbsey Twins and travel all over the world. She presented me with a copy of The Bobbsey Twins in Mexico at the end of the school year for being an outstanding student. I treasured that book and still have it!


         Darlene and Miss Roll                        Bobbsey Twins (Darlene's original copy)

Not surprising, years later, I traveled to interesting places and eventually wrote down some of my stories. My writing took me back to my early days wandering around my dad’s ranch, sitting on a large stone in the middle of the prairies, making up characters in my head and giving them problems to solve and adventures to experience. I thought I had a boring life back then, but now I realize those where the seeds planted that eventually helped me become a published author. The opportunity to daydream was a gift.

The lonely prairies

Do I believe in daydreams? You bet! I don’t think anything has changed. Kids (and adults) still need time to daydream in order to exercise their mind and create. And they need to be surrounded by books, lots of books. My hope is some will read my books and become inspired.

Neil Gaiman said, As an author, I’ve never forgotten how to daydream.

Darlene Foster is a writer of children’s stories, an employment counsellor, an ESL tutor, a wife, mother and grandmother. She loves travel, reading, shoes, cooking, music, chocolate, walking on the beach and making new friends.  Her grandson calls her “super-mega-woman-supreme”.  She was brought up on a ranch in southern Alberta, Canada, where she dreamt of traveling the world and meeting interesting people.  She lives on the west coast of British Columbia, Canada with her husband Paul and their black cat Monkey. She has authored a series of travel-adventure books, Amanda in Arabia – The Perfume Flask, Amanda in Spain – The Girl in The Painting, Amanda in England – The Missing Novel and most recently Amanda in Alberta – The Writing on the Stone. Readers from seven to seventy enjoy travelling with Amanda as she unravels one mystery after another. Darlene still daydreams!

Her books are available on Amazon







Blog: http://darlenefoster.wordpress.com/










Thank you so much Darlene, this was such an enjoyable read, and I loved seeing all your photographs. I’m sure readers of my blog will enjoy this every bit as much as I did. Barbara 

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