Hello Everyone, Does anyone have any ghost stories/sightings from old derelict airfields - they seem to be a spooky place abandoned and left alone. Must have some weird goings on at night! Peter.
Not that I'm a big believer in T.V.'s 'Most Haunted', but I once saw an episode where they investigated an old WW2 airfield. One of the crew felt a burning sensation on one of his arms. Turns out a man died in a fire there during WW2. That's all I have mate. Spooky!!!
I recommend most warmly Fredrick Forsyth: The Shepherd. It's written as a novel/short story, but you are certainly going to forgive him for that!
Hello Everyone, Does anyone have any ghost stories/sightings from old derelict airfields - they seem to be a spooky place abandoned and left alone. Must have some weird goings on at night! Peter. Are you thinking about Burtonwood Peter? Kev
I have heard a few stories about the base I live next to, Station 167 RAF Ridgewell. After the war, the headquarters building was used as offices for a plastics factory. The factory would run for 24 hours with night shifts. 2 of the night workers used to swear blind that they would, on a fairly regular basis, see 2 American airmen walk up from the road, into the offices and out through the wall at the other end of the corridor. Nobody would believe them until someone else had to fill in on one of the night shifts and saw the exact same thing. The factory is long gone and new houses were built on the site about 10 years ago - I always wonder if the occupants ever have any strange goings on. Also, the building in which I help run a museum used to be the base hospital. Before we arrived it was used for storage, and before that someone used it as a workshop. The guy who was there always used to find his tools moved around. One day he was hunting for a particular spanner which he found on the windowsill - which was completely covered in dust. Not just a sprinkling, but years worth. When he picked up the spanner he saw it's perfect outling in the dusty windowsill, as if it had been laying there for years. That really shit him up, and he left and never went back. I don't know how much I believe either of those, but I do feel a presence at the museum. Not a cold or hostile feeling, but warm and friendly. Which is strange for a nissan hut.
They used to warn us of the ghost of Swinderby during basic training then give you a pickaxe handle and tell you to patrol the haunted hhanger for good measure...Hendon museum is supposed to be haunted in the upper alcoves ...the wraf hut...original materials used or something..tales of a ghostly airman...typical RAF voyeur peeking on Waafs even in death...nothing changes then...
Try The Paranormal Database http://www.paranormaldatabase.com/aviation/pages/avdata.ph This covers all sorts of avaition mysteries
The old BBC show "The Watchtower" which was narrated by the late Jack Currie told of the supernatural activity associated with east Kirkby. The Ghost of an American from a B-17 which "ran out of sky" whilst attempting to land battle damaged. The haunted watch tower ther quite good told against a gentle history of the airfield and the restoration which was then in its early stages. Wish BBC would repeat it.
Not that I'm a big believer in T.V.'s 'Most Haunted', but I once saw an episode where they investigated an old WW2 airfield. One of the crew felt a burning sensation on one of his arms. Turns out a man died in a fire there during WW2. That's all I have mate. Spooky!!! Think that was East Kirkby. Bruce Halpenny wrote Ghost Stations which is full of stories. Ghost Stations: Bk. 1: True Ghost Stories: Amazon.co.uk: Bruce Barrymore Halpenny, Baron Barrymore Halpenny: Books
I too recommend Forsyth's 'The Shepherd'. He creates a nice, sort of 'end of an era' atmosphere, some nice flying details and a good (if slightly predictable) story. Sue I saw a thread here a while ago with some links to haunted airfield stories, some really quite creepy. Mike
I too recommend Forsyth's 'The Shepherd'. He creates a nice, sort of 'end of an era' atmosphere, some nice flying details and a good (if slightly predictable) story. Sue I saw a thread here a while ago with some links to haunted airfield stories, some really quite creepy. Mike Here's one thread. http://www.ww2talk.com/forum/barracks/6542-haunted-ghostly-goings.html
That's one of the links I remembered Gage: phantom aircraft, ghostly airmen, and other spirits of aviation Thought there were a few more but can't think where they were now. Mike
Mike L See my post #8 the website covers all, airmen, pilots etc, this I think is what you are refering too. Also recall seeing a book on ghostly lincolnshire airfields a few years ago so it maybe out of print.
Many years ago myself and a few friends did an airfield tour. It was a beautiful warm summers day and the air was full of the sound of birds. As we drove down the road we passed what turned out to be the start of the perimeter of an old airfield that fronted this road (I sadly can't remember where this airfield was, but I know we ended the day in Lincoln). While the sky remained blue and the sun was still shining, it went deathly cold and quiet, the birds could not longer be heard singing and there was a sombre fell to the area. Eventually we cleared the edge of the airfield it became noticeably warmer again and the sound sound of birdsong returned. It spooked us all, on the return journey later in the day we stopped at this same airfiled, which was now being used by a glider club, in the entrance ther was a simple stone memorial with a pyramid shaped base with 1500 (I think thats the number) pebbles set in it, one to represent each life lost flying from that airfield in WW2. Although that was nearly 20 years ago we still talk about it today when we get together. Stephen
Von Poop... Iv'e just read your account of ghostly goings on near Bosworth Battlefield,i heard the same story from a re-enacter,a Pikeman....his incident took place the night before the reenaction of the Battle of Bosworth one year around 2000.....
I've got a couple, however the only one I cannot explain rationally is below. Only scientific explanation I've ever had is 'localised solar flare'... (This one is not WW2 related). I went to St Albans Boys School, a very old school with a great deal of history, my 6th Form room was located in the old Abbey Gateway, we used to joke that there was an odd prescence after dark, but as a rule no one went in there after 5.30 if dark, creepy historic place. When in the sixth form we were out on a night out, and I always returned to the Abbey Gateway to wait for my cab back home. I had a few pints but mostly worn off. I stood by the Reception there, put my iPod in my ear, and pulled out my mobile. I started texting the others still out as I waited, and listening to music. All of a sudden, my iPod turned off. Perplexed I inspected it, as iPods were troublesome then. I then found my phone was off. The lights in the Reception turned off, along with the street light seconds later. As the car park motion sensor light shut off I ran over trying to set it off again, to no avail. I suddenly felt very awkward and intimidated, and realised something very wierd was happening. As I dashed over the road I looked into the Abbey Gateway, lower right window and saw a shadowy figure, most likely in robes of some sort. I basically cowered by the other streetlamp. After a short while, my iPod came back on, phone and the lights returned to normal. Never waited there again.
I think I have seen a ghost Do I believe in them I don't no. Near where I grow up there used to be talk of ghosts in the woods from a crashed Zeppelin. I did read a few years ago that since mobile phone ghost sightings were down. My cousin was so concerned with the "ghost" that live with here she reported it to the University that were collating and studding such things.
a story just before bedtime... with the father in law's wabio kicking in.... I remember a time, on the Isle of Dogs, when I was about 7 years. I met a lad, playing over in the old gun emplacements on the mudchute and he invited me back to his house. Now, I had never seen this lad before. The 'Island' was a small place back then and we all pretty much knew everyone who lived there, yet this lad was somehow 'timeless'. He actually wore shorts. Who the hell wore shorts in the innerLondon 70's? Being raised by a mum who liked the music her mother would have danced to, and with grandparent veterans etc I was pretty much of the old school, with an understanding of the old 'blitz' days, happily playing 'war' etc. However When I went back to this lads house I realised that a) he didn't have a telly, b) the washing was hung up in the kitchen C) there was no father about and D) it was generally a spooky house (named Dunbar House back then, after a dock in Millwall) which was set for demolition This lad (who I met on the mudchute) then began to show me (back at his house) his models of aircraft - and blow me down, but none of them were airfix. I mean, back in the 70's, the only kits available to us plebs was airfix and, as you know, we were all intimate with those airfix kits. Yet, what this lad brought out to show me, didn't contain one airfix model that I recognised. He actually had weird Lysanders and stuff of that calibre. Anyway, I enjoyed my tea, with his mum at the house and went home. I never could find that lad again - which was odd, as the Island was a small place and he musta been at school somewhere, but I never found him again... The next time I visited Dunbar House (a few weeks later) it was being demolished, yet I never found out who, or from where, he was. He and his family just simply disappeared... So, no spooky noises or anything from my story... unless you were there Merely just a spooky feeling of 'who they hell was that lad?' and 'where on earth did he get his models from?' at a time when we all knew what models were available to be cement glued Dunbar House was pretty haunted anyway, as were most of the plots on the Island... One day I'll tell my story of No65, St Hubert's House! LOL, "enough to make you grow old"
Ghosts Have Warm Hands is an account of Will Bird's experiences fighting with the 42nd Battalion of the Black Watch of Canada in the trenches of World War I. His younger brother, Steve, had been killed in France in 1915. Before leaving for France, Steve had promised Will, "If I don't come back, I'll try to find some way to keep an eye on you". He kept his promise. Steve appeared to Will several times during the war, saving his life on more than one occasion. An excerpt from Ghosts Have Warm Hands: We left the Ridge and went to Vimy village, relieving C.M.R.s (Canadian Mounted Rifles) there, and doing working parties, digging trenches, putting up wire near the front line. During the first night I was sent out with two men as a covering party for the men working with the barbed wire. It was cold and miserable. We were made to inspect the area through binoculars so we would recognize the various landmarks and not put the wire in a wrong place. We were out soon after it was dark but did not take nearly enough wire the first time and had to return for more. So it was midnight before we were finished. Luckily the Hun did not hear anything, but it was very chilling to stayed crouched in position for hours, and the night seemed endless. All I could think of was the fact that I had no place to go when we were through. Getting our party ready had taken so long that I had no chance to prepare any sort of shelter. As we went back and drew near the railway embankment someone called in a low voice. I went over and found two of the men from the 73rd had dug a neat bivvy into the embankment. They were very decent chaps and insisted they had made the place wide enough to accommodate the three of us. We snuggled in, and with a ground sheet pegged to hold over our heads we were really comfortable. In seconds I was dead to the world. The ground sheet pegged over our heads was pulled free and fell on my face, rousing me. Then a firm warm hand seized one of mine and pulled me up to a sitting position. It was very early, as first sunshine was glittering on the dew-wet grass. I was annoyed that I should have to do some chore after being out so late. I tried to pull free. But the grip held, and as I came to a sitting-up position my other hand was seized and I had a look at my visitor. In an instant I was out of the bivvy, so surprised I could not speak. I was face to face with my brother, Steve, who had been killed in 1915! The first notice from the War Office had said: "Missing, believed dead." After a time one of his mates wrote to say a boot had been found with his name on it. The Germans had mined the Canadian trench and blown it up. Steve grinned as he released my hands, then put his warm hand over my mouth as I started to shout my happiness. He pointed to the sleepers in the bivvy and to my rifle and equipment. "Get your gear", he said softly. As I grabbed it he turned and started walking away rapidly. It was hard to keep up with him. We passed make-shift shelters filled with sleeping men of my platoon. No one was awake. Now and then a gun fired off toward the Somme or a machine-gun chattered, but on the whole it was a quiet morning. As soon as we got past the shelters I hurried to get close to Steve. "Why didn't you write Mother?" I asked. He turned and the grin was still on his face. "Wait", he said. "Don't talk yet." Then I noticed he had a soft cap on and no gas mask or equipment. Somehow he had learned where the 42nd was, and our "D" Company, but how in the world did he know where I was sleeping? We left the company area and headed directly into a collection of ruins that had been Petit Vimy. "There's no one around here," I said. "How did you know where to find me?" At that moment my equipment, slung hurriedly over one should, slipped off and fell to the ground before I could catch it. As I stopped and retrieved it Steve went into a passageway in the ruins and I ran to catch him. Arrived there, I saw one way went right and the other left. Which way had he gone? "Steve"! I called. There was no answer, so I dropped my rifle and gear and ran to the right. It only took minutes - two or three - to get to the far side, but there was no sign of my brother. I ran back and called again, took the way to the left, searched and searched again, called repeatedly, but could not find him. Finally I sat down on my equipment and leaned back against a bit of wall. I was tired and sweating and excited. A great desire to find our officer and get the day off took hold of me, but I realized I did not know where the officer or sergeant-major were, and if I left the immediate area and Steve returned he would not know where I had gone. Probably he had no pass and did not want to be seen. If only I had not bothered with my equipment I could have kept up with him! Minutes went by. I got up and made another search of the ruins. The sun began to glisten on the tops of the broken walls. I settled back more comfortably on my equipment and heard the usual morning stir of guns firing registering shots. The sun got warmer. I dozed. Suddenly I was shaken awake. Tommy had me by the arm and was yelling. "He's here! Bill's here!" I stumbled up, dazed, looked at my watch. It was nine o'clock. "What's made you come here?" Tommy was asking. "What happened?" "What's all the row about?" I countered. "You should know. They're digging around that bivvy you were in. All they've found is Jim's helmet and one of Bob's legs." "Legs!" I echoed stupidly. "What do you mean?" "Don't you know that a big shell landed in the bivvy? They've been trying to find something of you." It seemed utterly incredible. I put on my gear and followed Tommy. There was a great cavity in the embankment and debris was scattered over the whole area. Mickey came running to shake hands with me. (Ghosts Have Warm Hands pp. 28-30)
