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Thread: One-Armed Boughton

  1. #1
    Administrator Lex's Avatar
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    Default One-Armed Boughton

    An interesting bit of folklore from the Rugby area: https://www.rugbyadvertiser.co.uk/ne...r-hall-3199784

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    Super Moderator rebbonk's Avatar
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    IIRC, Ingersol Engineering had that place as their base/headquarters in the early 80s. I vaguely remember talking to a few of them about it being haunted.
    Of course it'll fit, you just need a bigger hammer.

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    Administrator Lex's Avatar
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    It's good to hear a new ghostly tale once in a while.

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    Super Moderator rebbonk's Avatar
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    I love ghost stories, Lex. I was talking to my daughter about the alleged ghosts at Coombe Abbey the last time I saw her.

    There's allegedly a ghost at Magna Park. You'll not find any reference to it before the park was built. However, the incident that started the story goes back to the mid-70s. It was a prank that got out of hand. Most that were involved are now dead, so the story can't be challenged but every time I hear it or hear of another 'sighting' I have a quiet smile to myself.

    Here's a ghost story I wrote during a boring quality meeting...

    A Picture Speaks a Thousand Words

    I was very young when my father died. In actual fact I was only two, coming up to three. I barely remember him; I certainly couldn't put a face to him. He was a pilot and was killed in a training accident. His aircraft, a Sea Venom I believe, crashed into the sea; neither he nor the aircraft were ever recovered. There was an inquest, but nothing was proved, and mother hardly ever spoke of him again.

    So I grew up without a proper father figure really. Mum didn't remarry and didn't have any men friends. Mind you, from what you read in the papers maybe this was for the best. So the only male influence I had in my life was mum's brother Jimmy, and as I was Jimmy's only niece we had a great time. He used to take me everywhere with him when I was younger. He was a lorry driver and I went to all sorts of places from Scotland down to Cornwall. We'd stop here and there, eating ice cream or chips; he really was very good to me.

    Jimmy even gave me away when I married. Sadly my husband died early and we didn't have children, but life goes on. Uncle Jimmy was always there for me. He helped me through.

    Then, last month my mother died. She had been ill for a while, and bravely fought on, but in the end, I must confess that it was a blessing to see her go.

    After the funeral, I had to clear her house. There was nothing there that I wanted, so I asked Uncle Jimmy if he wanted anything. He didn't but offered to come and help me clear the house anyway. Jimmy's good like that, always willing to help. We cleared the living room first, progressing slowly up the house until we did the last bedroom.

    "Ok, then. Finished?" I asked Jimmy.

    "What about the attic?" Jimmy replied. So up I went. Well, I couldn't send Jimmy, not at his age. There were a couple of boxes up there, not much, just small coloured cardboard boxes. I handed them down to Jimmy, then climbed down myself.

    Jimmy had opened the boxes and was surrounded by photographs. He waved one excitedly in his hand.

    "Hey, look at this," he cried. "It's a photograph of your third birthday party."

    I took the offered photograph and looked at it with interest. It was the usual family group. Mum, Jimmy, Grandma, Grandpa, some of my friends who I hadn't seen for years. We were all standing under a homemade banner that declared to the world that Jemma was three today.

    "Who's this Jimmy?" I asked pointing to a man standing at the back that I didn't recognise.

    Jimmy fished out his glasses and took the photograph over to the window for a better look.

    "Good Grief," he exclaimed. "This can't be right."

    "What's up, Uncle Jimmy?" I asked.

    "This man, here in the picture, he's your father!"
    Of course it'll fit, you just need a bigger hammer.

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