Weekend Link Dump

 

Welcome to this week's Link Dump!

We have tea!

A marriage ends with a murder/suicide.

"Through thick and thin" was originally used literally.

How prehistoric humans survived a supervolcano.

Why we call them "dive bars."

So maybe deflecting asteroids isn't such a great idea.

An extinct human species who appear to have buried their dead.

You will be pleased to hear that scientists spend their time staring at their fingernails and getting bats drunk.

The grave of a woman who never existed.

Photos of the markets of Old London.

Related: Some lost London taverns.

We just found the world's oldest known mummies, and wouldn't you know they'd be in the last place you'd look.

The buried treasure in China's Terracotta Army.

Nuns on the run!

The Pepsi Needle Panic.

The enslaved chocolatier who helped save George Washington.

How the Japanese find missing cats.  They ask nicely.

The strange story of an author who chose death over revisions.

An assortment of Weird Wills.

Robert Baddeley's Twelfth Night cakes.

Rethinking part of the fall of the Roman Empire.

A Gilded Age childhood of "zany confusion."

So maybe it's aliens after all.  (A side note: my problem with the "panspermia theory" has always been "OK, smart guys, so who created the aliens?")

The role of the British House of Lords in the Victorian era.

The FBI agent and the psychic who solve crimes together.

A description of the funeral of Elisabeth of Austria.

The Romanov photographs of Anna Vyrubova.

Charles James Fox's "Whig rump."

And, finally, RIP the "Indiana Jones of Ancient Alcohol," which has to be one of the greatest job descriptions ever.

That's it for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll look at one very bizarre family saga.  In the meantime, here's Sarah Vaughan.

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

Some author--I can’t recall who he or she was--once wrote that it made no sense that ghosts were always seen fully clothed.  Shouldn’t they all be naked?  That writer would be pleased with the following news item from the “Springfield News Sun,” August 22, 1999:

BAGHDAD, Iraq - Ghost stories are pretty common around the old Iraqi city of Haditha. Still, when the ghosts start dancing naked in front of oncoming motorists, it creates quite a stir. 

The state-run Alwan weekly said Saturday that drivers passing through Horan Valley outside the town of Haditha, 135 miles northeast of Baghdad, were reporting that "ghosts appeared next to the bridge, naked and doing some acrobatic moves." 

Tales of ghosts in the Horan Valley are common, but these ghosts were "throwing themselves before cars, causing the drivers to panic,” the paper said. 

Alwan quoted motorist Shawki Sabar as saying "they were almost human although I could not concentrate on their looks because I was so scared and it was dark." 

The ghosts were so lifelike that one motorist thought he'd hit a person and reported the accident to police. The newspaper said the police checked the area for a body, but found nothing.

Some motorists apparently suspect a less supernatural explanation. According to Alwan, drivers don't brake for ghosts just in case they are really a ploy by thieves to rob cars.

The Natives of the Red Dragon

A journal dedicated to stamp-collecting seems like an unlikely place to find a prime slice of The Weird, but that just goes to show that life is full of surprises.  In 1928, “The Stamp Lover” carried an article by one C.H.R. Andrews titled “The Red Dragon Stamps” that is, frankly, not quite like anything I’ve ever heard of.  I’m a bit surprised that Andrews’ story seemed to languish in total obscurity until it was revisited in a 1987 issue of “Fortean Times.”

According to Andrews, for some months past, stamp aficionados had been puzzled by the unexplained appearance of some small-denomination British stamps that were overprinted with red dragons.  They appeared on at least 20 letters and postcards which had pairs of stamps, with only the one on the left side sporting the overprint.  The stamps began to appear soon after a noted Welsh book collector named Rhys Evans inexplicably disappeared.

On April 4, 1928, Evans left his home to show a friend named Jenkins, who was a professor at nearby University College, an ancient book of Welsh stories and folklore.  The book spoke of a secret society tasked with guarding five sacred dragons, and included some sort of coded map which Evans hoped Jenkins could interpret.

Evans never made it to the College.  In fact, he seemed to vanish completely.  Two days after his disappearance, his wife received a letter postmarked from Cardiff.  It bore two stamps, one of which was the dragon overprint.  The letter--written in Welsh--was clearly in Rhys’ handwriting.  It stated that her husband was doing well, and she should not worry about him.  The note ended with the words “Trigolion y ddraig Goch.” (Natives of the Red Dragon.)

Other people subsequently received letters purporting to be from the “Natives of the Red Dragon,” all bearing the strange dragon stamps.  The letters all discussed old Welsh legends.  They were sent from various places around Wales, largely from towns on the sites of ancient Roman camps.

Five days after Evans disappeared, he was found sitting by a lake in Brynmill Park, Swansea.  He seemed in good health and spirits, but he refused to give any explanation of why he had vanished, or where he had been during his absence.  He no longer had the book he wished to show Professor Jenkins, and seemed rather relieved to be rid of the thing.  All he would ever say about his mysterious experience was “There were dragons in Wales today.”

There is a footnote which may--or may not--be connected to our little tale.  Around the time Evans vanished, three children from the Welsh village of Llandegley saw a strange beast in nearby Radnor Forest.  One of the children was brave--or foolhardy--enough to try to follow the creature, but his path was blocked by two men.  These men were dressed in white, with depictions of red dragons on their chests.

Weekend Link Dump

 

Welcome to this week's Link Dump!

Just don't forget to smile for the Strange Company HQ's security camera!

The Great Candy Panic.

The mystery of the babies in the church cellar.

The comfort of a nice tombstone.

A cave is challenging theories about the history of farming.

Africa's oldest known mummy.

The history behind "Little Miss Muffet."

The changing image of George Washington's mother.

The mysteries of the medieval Moon.

The first official report of a yeti.

The Great Tea Race.

How WWI spurred a rise in spiritualism.

How a blind man and his guide dog survived 9/11.

This week in Russian Weird:  Nothing to see here, just their Doomsday Radio kicking into high gear.

The enigma of Zelda Fitzgerald's slipper.

Eyewitness accounts from the gallows.

A would-be priest turned professional gambler.

We now know what caused the Plague of Justinian.

A Georgian-era poet and travel writer.

When a woman gets her son-in-law to murder her husband, you know you are not seeing the happiest of families.

A BOOGLE OF WEASELS.

The life of Anna of Kyiv, Queen of France.

The SS Chimborazo's narrow escape.

The author who created the modern vampire.

The more we look at 31/Atlas, the weirder the damned thing looks.

Why we call psychiatrists "shrinks."

The origins of the phrase, "spick and span."

British parliamentary reporting in the 19th century.

More clues about how the Maya kingdom collapsed.

The 1925 "Special Restrictions Order."

The beauty of knife rests.

The man who blinded Bach.

New York's "boy Mayor."

How Boston baked beans got their name.

It may not surprise you that Australia is said to have man-eating trees.

And, finally, RIP Maru, one of the internet's most beloved cats.

That's it for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll look at an odd little story involving a disappearance...and dragons!  In the meantime, here's some Bach.

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

Out: Spontaneous Human Combustion.  In: Spontaneous Shirt Combustion.  The “Western Daily Press,” April 22, 1996:

Can anybody solve the mystery of the frazzled shirt, the melted clothes pegs, and the bang from the sky?

A tale of the paranormal, perhaps?

Father-of-three Alan Fairless has been left a bemused man by the sudden destruction of his favorite green-and-white striped polo shirt.

His Sunday lie-in was interrupted at about 6 a.m. by an explosive-like noise in his back garden. 

But there was no sign of lightning or anything strangely untoward around Howes Close in Warmley, near Bristol.

But later as he sipped his morning coffee, Mr. Fairless noticed the smouldering remains of his Lacoste shirt beneath the washing line.

"All that remains of the shirt is a few bits of green cloth around the shoulders.  It was barely recognizable,” said Mr. Fairless.

“I’ve no idea how this happened.  None of the other clothes on the washing line were touched.”

“It was a fine night.  I even phoned the weather centre and they said there had been no reports of lightning.”

The engineer added, “It couldn’t have been a practical joke either.  My neighbors are very quiet.”

“It couldn’t have been the children either since the eldest is only four.”

His wife Marcia said, “We had just had a quiet night in and we were woken up by this bang.  It’s a real mystery.”

Bristol Weather Centre said they had no reports of lightning early on Sunday morning.

There was a sequel to this story in the “Bristol Observer” on July 5:

Washing lines in Warmley were the subject of a series of bizarre arson attacks last weekend. Clothes and property were damaged at seven homes following a two-hour blitz on Saturday morning (June 29), from 4am to 6am. The attacks happened in Quantock Close, Chiltern Close, Malvern Drive and Meadow Court. The fire in Chiltern Close spread to the side of the house and damaged a conservatory.

A playpen of toys was also destroyed in the first blaze in Quantock Close. The attacks follow the destruction of a man's shirt while it was hanging on a washing line in Warmley at the end of April this year.

Alan Fairless, of Howes Close, heard a loud explosion in his back yard at 6am and later discovered the remains of his shirt under the washing line.

Fire Brigade spokesman John Dando said he felt there was a link between that incident and the current ones.

“It’s extraordinary.  I think the incidents have got to be related.  There is no logical explanation.

“But on a serious note, it’s obviously worrying that someone is stalking around at that time of night setting fire to washing lines. 

"I cannot understand what motivation anyone would have for doing that. It's not much of a progression from setting fire to garden sheds, cars and homes. We want this person caught as soon as possible." 

Police have appealed for witnesses to the attacks. Phone Crimestoppers on 0800 555 111 if you can help.

I couldn’t find out if the mystery was ever solved.

The Glidewell Ghost

"Louisville Courier-Journal," March 30, 1887, via Newspapers.com

Ghosts always have a way of popping up when you least expect them.  One of the most baffling aspects of poltergeist activity is its usual lack of any obvious "trigger" or underlying cause.  Life for its victims is perfectly normal one minute, awash in The Weird the next.  One prime example took place in Bucksville, Kentucky, in 1887.

The household of farmer Samuel H. Glidewell was utterly ordinary until one day early in March.  The first intimation that something was very, very out-of-the-ordinary came when the Glidewell daughters noticed that all the sheets and blankets had been removed from the beds and packed in a box upstairs.  This happened so repeatedly that for several days, the family was forced to keep a continuous watch on the upper rooms.  No one was seen, but the mysterious stripping of the beds somehow continued.  The minute the bedrooms were left unguarded, the bedclothing  would be removed and folded away.  Then, inexplicable streams of water would occasionally run across the rafters.  The family could only conclude that a monkey had escaped from some circus and could find nothing better to do than pack bedding and throw water about.  However, a minute search of the upstairs failed to uncover a monkey, or anyone else for that matter.

Their invisible visitor began to show more blatant hostility.  A plank was removed from the upstairs floor, and old boots and shoes were hurled at the occupants of the lower rooms.  Again, no person or animal could be found.  At night, the Glidewells could hear eerie sounds coming from upstairs, which sounded like the labored breathing of someone who was dying.  If anyone went up to investigate, on their return they would hear a sound of something heavy falling on the steps just behind them.  Furniture would somehow appear and disappear inside of locked rooms.  Perhaps most unsettlingly, one morning Glidewell's son noticed that his gun was missing from his bedroom.  It was eventually found in the adjoining room, with the hammer pulled back.

Not knowing what else to do, Glidewell called in the neighbors to see if any of them could get to the bottom of all this.  Two of them, described as "reliable men as can be found," went upstairs.  They too failed to see anything, but others waiting below suddenly found themselves drenched with water--water that came from no evident source.  These mysterious showers continued.  Without warning, people inside the house would have water fall on them, and others in the room could never see it fall.  A boy who came to see the now locally famed "ghost" ran into a closet to avoid getting drenched.  As anyone who knows the ways of spooks could have predicted, a stream of water cascaded down, soaking him to the skin.

The poltergeist continued to expand its repertoire.  It tore up carpets.  It continued to move furniture around.  On one occasion, a roaring fire was discovered in a securely locked room that had not been opened for years.  One night, the family was awakened by the sounds of violin music and dancing coming from that same locked room.  When the Glidewells finally worked up the courage to enter the room, nothing was found except a candle, which had just nearly burned to the bottom.  The next night, at the stroke of twelve, loud peals of laughter were heard coming from a closet under the staircase.  When one onlooker nervously opened the closet door and peeked inside, he was nearly drowned with a deluge of icy cold water, which was accompanied by more bursts of ghostly laughter.  The following morning when the family entered the dining room, they were greeted by a skull and crossbones at the head of the table.  At each plate was a small sprig of cedar.  [Note: Cedars, known as "burial trees," have a long folkloric connection to cemeteries and various death-related superstitions.  It's an easy guess that these sprigs were not intended to convey anything cheery to the Glidewells.]

This was the last straw for the beleaguered family.  They immediately abandoned the house, taking refuge with a neighbor.  While they were moving out their household goods, the table and chairs suddenly began dancing around the room.  When one of the Glidewells tried grabbing a chair, he received a shock as if from an electric battery.  This was followed by another peal of the sinister laughter.  

The local marshal, accompanied by a posse of armed men, did a prolonged search of the house.  They heard many strange noises, all interspersed with the bursts of mocking laughter, but could find no "rational" explanation for the phenomena.  They left puzzled, exhausted, and not a little unnerved.  

Unfortunately for the Glidewells, their ghost had no wish to be left behind.  It was obviously enjoying their company.  When they moved, so did the spirit, along with its usual bag of tricks.  In their new abode, the family heard the now-familiar demonic laughter and endured the now-familiar drenchings of cold water. One morning, they found that their milk supply had been replaced with a foul-smelling fluid.  On another occasion, the oil was removed from the lamps and replaced with this same repulsive liquid. Doors that had been left securely locked were found wide open.  The mysterious moving of furniture was so frequent as to become practically commonplace.

The strangest event of all took place in the new house.  One night, Mr. Glidewell was just dropping off to sleep when he was suddenly jerked wide awake by...something.  He had not heard or seen anything, but he realized there was some other presence in the room.  In a moment, a pale, bluish light became visible.   It seemed to radiate from outside the house.  When he cautiously crept to the window, he saw, about ten steps away, a ball of pale blue flame about three inches in diameter hovering several feet off the ground.  As he stared at the object, it began to wave to and fro, emitting a strange, flute-like music.  Then, the air around him was filled with an odd perfume, one so overpowering it caused him to collapse on the bed unconscious.  When Glidewell came to the next morning, he found that a wet, blood-red handkerchief of fine fabric, with the initial "U" embroidered in black silk, had been placed upon his forehead.  Although the handkerchief was exhibited to hundreds of curious onlookers, no one could identify it.

Poor Mr. Glidewell was psychologically destroyed by this experience.  It was reported that his "nervous system is shattered and it is feared that total derangement of the mind will speedily follow."  He was desperate to sell his property and move out of state--taking care not to leave the ghost his forwarding address--but he could find no one willing to take the "ghoul-disturbed" place at any price.  After this item, the story seems to have dropped out of the newspapers, so I cannot say when--or if--the Glidewells were finally rid of their persecution.

A man who had drowned many years previously was buried in what eventually became Glidewell's garden.  It was speculated that this man's spirit resented having his eternal rest disturbed, and so was taking a supernatural revenge against the interloping family.  Others suggested it was the spirit of a young girl who had committed suicide in the house in 1869, a short time before the Glidewells moved in.  Those remained only theories, of course.

It is notoriously difficult to get a straight answer out of a poltergeist.

Weekend Link Dump

 

Welcome to this week's Link Dump, where it's up, up, and away!

Try to sell a house that features art stolen by the Nazis, and watch the fun begin!

A brief history of pomegranates.

Some remote viewers took a gander at 31/Atlas, and I can't say they came up with cheery stuff.

A serial poisoner in Ohio.

The princess who chose painting over palaces.

The horrors of 19th century merchant service.

The (possibly) sinister story behind the Bean Puzzle Tombstone.

The well-preserved home of an 18th century textile designer.

The U.S. Army's cancer-causing fog.

When tennis was the Sport of Kings.

If you're in the mood to sail across the Indian Ocean, here's a how-to guide.

The world's most dangerous tree.

The start of the school lunch program.

Some talking poltergeists and a ventriloquist.

Why the world mourned the murder of a tree.

The ghosts of an Arizona resort.

How King James I was responsible for the Macbeth Witches.

A Prussian military officer at Valley Forge.

The too-short career of a female bookbinder.

A very special fossil.

For some reason, we're enamored of myths about frogs living in stones.

Two father-daughter poets.

The WWII bomber that influenced modern airplanes.

A brief history of the Louvre.

The disappearance of SS Vaitarna.

A Vanderbilt black sheep.

A Civil War sketchbook.

The controversial Younger Dryas Impact Theory.

In other news, badgers have turned to grave-robbing.

The pig who had a social security number.

A noble revenge.

The stories behind some popular funeral foods.

A Neolithic site that could rewrite history.

We're sorta clueless about how anesthesia works.

The colorful life of a 19th century British MP.

The colorful life of a Founding Father.

Some strange burial mounds in Kazakhstan.

An ancient Egyptian mathematical papyrus.

A murder on a crowded train.

A Pennsylvania haunting.

The life and art of Evelyn De Morgan.

That's all for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll meet a 19th century poltergeist.  In the meantime, here's Emmylou.

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

It’s not every day that you come across an episode of a reality show titled, “Who Gets the Grave?”  The “Wilmington News,” August 6, 1881:

A singular affair comes to light in the old town of Glasgow, this State. Mrs. Thomas B. Ellison's baby died in 1878, and in due time was laid to rest in the Pencader church yard. He was a bright little baby, and in respect to its memory it was determined by the bereaved parents to have a sufficient monument over the little grave as soon as money could be saved.

In the meantime the mother attended faithfully to the mound and kept it in good repair. The bright sun and the refreshing rain brought green grass and flowers, and no grave in the cemetery looked brighter. On Sabbath morning, as was her wont, she went after service to the grave. To her surprise she saw at the head of the mound a beautiful tombstone, with lots of white-winged angels and nice little verses all over it.

Approaching nearer she saw, not the name of her own little darling, sculptured by an unknown friend, but, instead, the name of Brown. Hurrying back to the church, Mrs. Ellison met Jacob Cazier, an influential man of the town, and to him she related what she saw and then proceeded forthwith to interview the father of baby Brown, an infant that had some nine years before died of cholera infantum, and of him demand an explanation. He gave the mother to understand in a very forcible way that he was not a man to go around pirating among the graveyards for other people's offspring. He guessed he knew his baby, and as he was a poor man, it was not to be supposed that he was traveling around the country putting fancy grave stones upon the graves of other people's babies.

Beneath that mound he insisted were baby Brown's bones, and by its blessed memory he didn't propose to have vandal hands laid on his property. As Mr. Brown and Mrs. Ellison were each positive, there was a big dilemma. The people became interested, and became so interested in the controversy that they took sides.

The baby Brown party was somewhat the weaker from the fact that the baby Ellisonites were led by a woman and the flame of chivalry extant made it so. As Brown threatened prosecution the other side wisely left matters in the hands of the trustees of the church. It was a momentous question, the ownership of the baby. They discussed and adjourned, adjourned to discuss, until they settled upon an evening for the decision. Both families, with other witnesses, were cited to appear.

Mrs. Ellison, confident and hopeful, came promptly. Brown was so positive that to appear he thought would compromise his dignity. In the meantime Mrs. Ellison had consulted Mr. Ray, justice at Newark, who, in looking at the case in all its bearing, suggested that as a crisis had come, perhaps it would be well to look at the coffins. Mrs. Ellison was willing. The trustees, hearing the threat of Brown, refused to touch the grave claimed by Brown, but consented to have opened a little neglected grave near by. The digging was done with dispatch, and in the stillness the interested townspeople that crowded could hear their own hearts beat.

At last the coffin was reached. There was suppressed excitement about the grave. A little more scraping; a few tosses of the spade, the last shovelsfull were thrown, when lo! the coffin of the little baby Brown was brought to light and recognized by the undertaker. The mother had won. The strange tombstone was taken down, and in order to more fully convince the doubters the little grave was opened and the coffin of baby Ellison was uncovered.

I’m guessing it took years for Mr. Brown to live that one down.

The Mysterious Fires at Bladenboro

"Philadelphia Inquirer," March 13, 1932, via Newspapers.com

This blog has featured several stories involving mysterious fires.  However, the most famous, and probably the most well-investigated, case of this sort took place in the town of Bladenboro, North Carolina, in 1932.

One afternoon in February the family of Charles H. Williamson was sitting quietly in their parlor, the picture of Norman Rockwell harmony.  The calm was suddenly broken by a neighbor rushing into their midst, shouting, "Your house is burning up!"  The startled family followed him into their dining room, where, sure enough, a window-shade and some curtains were ablaze.

Fortunately, the group was able to quickly tear them down and smother the flames.  Then, their shock turned to sheer puzzlement.  The wood around the burned items was completely untouched.  And how did the fire start at all?  No one had lit a fire in the room for weeks.  No one had smoked there.  There were no inflammable chemicals in the house.  The neighbor who had alerted them had had a clear view of the dining room all afternoon, and had not seen any stranger in the vicinity of the house.

All the Williamsons could do was shrug and walk back to the parlor.  No sooner had they returned that another fire broke out in another window of the dining room.  It was the same story:  there were no signs of anything that could have set off the fire, and the window sash appeared untouched by the flames.

Things were clearly getting weird.  The family summoned friends and neighbors to help them find a solution to the mystery.  They all inspected every inch of the house, hoping to find something--anything--that might explain these baffling bonfires.  Nothing at all suspicious was found.

That night was without incident, which left the Williamsons with a great feeling of relief.  The next morning, they went off to church with the cheery assumption that the previous day's event was a one-off--peculiar, yes, but nothing they would ever see again.

They returned home from the service happily anticipating their Sunday lunch.  While the others began to assemble in the dining room, Mrs. Williamson went upstairs to her bedroom.  And immediately began screaming.

An understandable action, considering that she had found her bed on fire.

The family rushed into the room, grabbed the blazing bedspread, and beat out the flames.  They were stunned to see that--like the window sashes on the previous day--the rest of the bed was completely untouched by the fire.

A few minutes after this incident, one of the Williamson daughters, Katie, opened a closet door, and found that a pile of paper dress patterns was ablaze.  The flames were quickly extinguished--the family was getting a lot of practice at putting out fires--and they saw that nothing else in the closet had been touched by the fire.  Shortly after that, Katie went into the dining room, where she saw smoke coming from a cardboard box containing a fruit cake..  She opened it, and saw that the paper wrapping around the cake was on fire.  However--I think you know by now what's coming--neither the cake nor the box was so much as singed.

Naturally, word of the strange goings-on at the Williamson home swiftly spread through Bladenboro.  Naturally, the house drew a crowd of curiosity seekers and amateur sleuths eager to find a solution to the mystery.  Naturally, none of these people were any help whatsoever.

The Williamsons' uninvited audience was not disappointed, however.  A group of some fifteen people were treated to the sight of a second closet fire.  A pair of pants hanging inside was on fire.  Nothing else in the closet was at all damaged.  On one occasion, while some of the Williamsons and a few out-of-town guests were sitting in one of the bedrooms, they all saw the bed suddenly burst into flames right in front of their eyes.

Local firemen, electricians, and other experts in such matters struggled to come up with an explanation for all this.  A local doctor suggested that "a combination of certain gases in the air" might be responsible.  However, tests of the air in various parts of the house showed nothing abnormal.  The electricity to the house was cut off, on the chance that the fires were set by some short in the wiring.  A theory that the fires were being deliberately set for insurance purposes fizzled out when it was discovered that the house was not insured.  Could bolts of lightning have entered the house and set off the fires?  (The area had not had any lighting strikes for months.)  Perhaps dried phosphorus, that was then commonly used in rat and mouse traps, was responsible?  (It turned out that nothing of the sort had ever been used in the house.)  Were the Williamsons staging this for publicity?  If so, why?

While everyone was still debating the matter, the phantom firebug upped its game in an alarming way.  Katie Williamson was standing in one of the rooms with some of her friends, when--seemingly out of nowhere--her skirt burst into flames.  She was able to immediately tear it off and stamp out the fire.  It was found that the skirt had no damage to it, other than one small hole.

After this incident, the Williamsons sensibly ran for the exits.  They removed all their possessions out of the house and took lodgings in the home of a friend.  After an uneventful night, Mr. Williamson decided the family had to take the chance and move back into the house.  It seemed ridiculous to be chased out of their own residence by an intangible mystery.

The family had scarcely resettled in their home when--as if to taunt them--another bedspread suddenly exploded into flame.  Then the dining room tablecloth followed suit.  As usual, nothing around these articles was so much as singed.

All told, nearly thirty separate fires were recorded in the home.  Thankfully for the Williamsons, after a few days the outbreaks ceased as suddenly and inexplicably as they had started, but leaving their cause forever a puzzle.

Weekend Link Dump

 

Welcome to this week's Link Dump!

The gang's all here!

The Edenton Tea Party.

The creatures that used to rule the earth.

Christopher Marlowe and Shakespeare.

A man who went from rags to riches to the UK Parliament.

The life of Gothic writer Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu.

A brief history of Pontefract Castle.

The mysterious sound of an ancient theater.

An "extraordinary" 3,000 year old mural.

Sybilla, Queen of Scots.

Dog-headed saints.

A vanished civilization in the Negev desert.

Lourdes and medical science.

A really weird ancient skull.

An engraving of a 17th century engraver.

A possible solution to the Bermuda Triangle mystery.

A possible solution to the "Wow" signal mystery.

The long, strange history of the glass armonica.

A tale of a stingy widow.

A German Shepherd who became a silent film star.

A cat learns not to be lonely.

Some paranormal detectives.

The Clink Prison Museum.

The folklore surrounding a Danish pile of sticks.

The many journeys of a Civil War-era Bible.

The wedding of Isabella of Castile and Ferdinand of Aragon.

A sacred tree at a Japanese train station.

The very strange death of Cindy James.

The disappearance of Marjorie West.

Chunks of the seafloor are upside down, and scientists are perturbed.

A "horrible butchery."

Australia's deadliest animal may surprise you.

That's all for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll visit some Mystery Fires!  In the meantime, in case you're not familiar with glass armonicas, here's a peek. It's a fascinating instrument.

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Haunting a house is bad form, but stealing electricity from the rightful residents seems to be going way too far.  The London "Independent," December 6, 1994 (via Newspapers.com):

Heol Fanog House in St David's Without, near Brecon in Wales, has plagued its occupants since they moved in five years ago. Self-employed artist Bill Rich, his wife Liz and three young children, have endured smells of sulphur and church incense, shadowy figures and ghostly footsteps. Their first quarterly electricity bill was £750; electricity is somehow consumed even when the family is away and all the appliances are off. They reckon they had been charged about £3,000 for electricity they hadn't themselves used. The house made the children edgy and the parents listless.

The Riches called in the medium Eddie Burks, who said he found the highest concentration of evil he had ever come across, which was feeding off electricity for its own power. It was also taking it from the family. The electricity board tested the meter twice and found it to be working correctly with no abnormal fluctuation.

Apparently, the Rich family was troubled by various sinister manifestations until they finally fled the house in 1995.  Subsequent residents did not report anything unusual, which just shows that you can never tell with poltergeists.

A Car Bombing in Texarkana

There is something particularly sinister about murders that not only go unsolved, but where it is impossible to even find the motive for the killing.  Such an unaccountable act of evil leaves onlookers with the horrified thought, “For all I know, that could have been me…”  The following mystery is one of those cases.

36-year-old Daryl Crouch was president of a successful family-owned pharmaceutical company, the Walsh-Lumpkin Drug Co.,  in Texarkana, Texas.  He and his wife, Jan, appeared to be happily married, and they adored their 10-year-old daughter, Sandy.  Daryl was described as “one of this city’s most promising young businessmen,” a civic leader who was “always a man spreading good will.”  He was a likable fellow who had no known enemies or notable personal problems.  In short, he was among the last people you’d think anyone would want to see dead.

However, as I’m sure you’ve guessed by now, someone did.

On the evening of February 2, 1987, Crouch left his office to have dinner with his wife and daughter.  Afterwards, Jan (whose father founded the company) went to her husband’s office to use the copy machine.  The family then left the building.  Daryl and Sandy got into his Mercedes, while Jan returned to her Lincoln Continental.

Suddenly, there was a massive explosion that could be heard for blocks away, and the Mercedes turned into a fireball.  Sandy Crouch miraculously managed to escape the car with only minor burns, but Daryl was killed instantly.  The blast was powerful enough to destroy three nearby autos.  A 30-inch hole was blown in the floorboard of the Mercedes directly under the driver’s seat.  No one in Texarkana had ever seen anything like it.  Someone had managed to place beneath the vehicle a pipe bomb that was designed to be very, very lethal.  (Police were unable to determine how the bomb was detonated, as Daryl had yet to start the car, but it was thought possible that it was set off by remote control.)

This unusually brutal murder of one of the city’s most well-known and well-liked residents left Texarkanans understandably shocked--and frightened.  People were afraid to leave their parked cars unattended.  Police struggled to determine not just who placed that bomb under Crouch’s car, but why.  Rattled citizens demanded answers that no one seemed able to provide.

Unsurprisingly, the local rumor mill attempted to fill this vacuum.  Some speculated that Crouch was not murdered at all, but staged an unusual suicide.  This theory was fueled by the fact that Crouch had recently resigned his position on the board of Security Savings Association (a major local thrift institution.)  The past December, the institution had posted a $62 million deficit.  However, spokespeople for Security Savings insisted that the timing of Crouch’s resignation and his death was a mere tragic coincidence.  Crouch had planned to retire from the board for some time, in order to concentrate on his other business interests.  They pointed out that the financial institution had options for dealing with the deficit, such as cash infusions or mergers.  Besides, even if Crouch had considered suicide, his friends found it impossible to believe that he would have done so in a way that risked the lives of his wife and daughter.

Police also examined an odd incident that took place the previous summer.  Walsh-Lumpkin received an anonymous phone call saying that the company’s products would be poisoned unless they paid an undisclosed amount of money.  The caller--whoever he or she may have been--was never heard from again, so at the time, the threat was shrugged off as a sick prank.  However, after Crouch’s death, persistent rumors arose that this extortion attempt somehow led Daryl to fear for his family’s safety.  Jan denied such claims.  “He had absolutely no idea something like this was going to happen,” she said.  “If he had, he would have said, ‘Look we need to do so and so.  We need to be real careful.”

The car-bombing is one of those inexplicable crimes where there is very little to report about the matter.  Despite their most diligent efforts, police were utterly unable to find even a remotely plausible suspect, and the motive to blow to bits a seemingly thoroughly respectable and popular businessman remained equally unknown.  To date, the murder of Daryl Crouch remains one of Texarkana’s most unnerving cold cases.

Weekend Link Dump

 

Welcome to this week's Link Dump!

Although I regret to note that the Strange Company HQ staffers are becoming a bit egocentric.

The notorious murder of a 19th century prostitute.

Why you probably wouldn't enjoy a ride in an 18th century sedan chair.

Kansas is seeing a lot of UFOs.

An ocean discovery may provide clues about extraterrestrial life.

A legendary "act of insane heroism."

A mysterious cave monument in Thailand.

Summer drink recipes from the Prohibition era.

From prisoner to politician.  Yeah, the jokes sorta write themselves.

The oldest trout in the Great Lakes.

The life of Victorian author Isabella Banks.

Stone Age warfare was pretty nasty.

A famed painter's unconventional cousin.

A regicide's eulogy for a squirrel.

A man has spent years blocking UK traffic, because everyone needs a purpose in life, I guess.

A brief history of the full English breakfast.

I suppose it's not unreasonable to make sure someone is dead before you bury them.

An archaeologist studies Viking seamanship.

The world's scariest library.

The strange death of Blair Adams.

How Davy Crockett became an icon.

"Reconstructing" two Stone Age miners.

Another one for the "rewriting human history" file.

That wraps it up for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll look at an unsolved car bombing.  In the meantime, here's a bit of Haydn.

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

I thought it was time for this blog to have a little romance, and what better setting than an undertaker’s establishment?  The “Trenton Times,” January 23, 1911:

NEW YORK, Jan. 23.--Mrs. Josephine Grasso, wife of Leonardo, whose friends describe him as one of the most popular undertakers in Sullivan street, won a decree of divorce yesterday after she had convinced Justice Sutherland in the supreme court that "Mike,” her husband's efficient assistant, was none other than Marie Bondi, a remarkably pretty girl. The undertaker's wife testified that Miss Bondi, who is twenty-three years old, was so fond of Grasso that she masqueraded as a young man that she might always be near him, and that much of their lovemaking had been carried on in the back room of the Grasso undertaking establishment at No. 146 Sullivan street, when Grasso and "Mike" were supposed to be absorbed in preparations for a funeral.

Mrs. Grasso said also that Marie Bondi in her character of "Mike" passed a great deal of time riding around on a burial wagon with Grasso, and that not even the trappings and habiliments of woe with which they were environed had any deterrent effect upon their blithe demonstrations of affection.

It was when a client of Grasso entered the undertaking establishment to inquire about the cost of a funeral that the fact that "Mike" was not a "Mike" at all, but a Marie, became known. This client said that as he entered the back room of the shop he was disturbed in his finer sensibilities to see Grasso and "Mike" sitting side by side in front of a row of coffins, their arms about each other's waists and their faces closer together than is the usual custom for undertakers and their first grave diggers. The client was so perturbed that he went away without ordering a funeral.

He thought it was his duty to tell Mrs. Grasso what he had seen. Mrs. Grasso, who believes that It is better to see than to hear, made some purchases herself, as the result of which she had "Mike" arrested, charged with having masqueraded as a man. The young woman was arraigned in a magistrate's court and fined.  She was also told to resume the apparel proper to her sex. 

It was after this appearance in court that "Mike" disappeared from the list of Grasso's assistants. Mrs. Grasso maintains that although her husband and Miss Bondi ceased to occupy the positions of employer and employee, there was no break in their tenderer ties. She said her husband became more devoted than ever after Miss Bondi had substituted feminine garments for the blue serge suit she used to wear as "Mike" and discarded the green goggles behind which "Mike" had shaded the brilliance of Marie's fine brown eyes.

Justice Sutherland listened with interest to the disclosures about the goings on in Grasso's undertaking establishment and at the conclusion of the testimony granted a decree to Mrs. Grasso, with alimony.

In Which Ennio La Sarza Has A Very Bad Day At Work

The Garson Nickel Mine, circa 1920

Accounts of UFO encounters can be--considering the subject matter--surprisingly dull.  However, the following tale, recorded in the famed pages of “U.S. Project Blue Book” was colorful enough to catch my attention.  It was recorded by a Buffalo, New York minister named Charles Beck who had a side career as a UFO researcher.

The story was related to Beck by a 23-year-old native of Italy, Ennio La Sarza.  In 1954, he was working at a nickel mining company in Garson, Canada.  At about 5 p.m. on July 2, La Sarza was alone, busy with a painting job on the mine premises, when he was startled by the sight of an object coming down from the sky with “several times the speed of a jet plane.”  Just before it would have crashed into the earth, the object slowed down and hovered just above the ground.  La Sarza noticed that the grass beneath the strange craft was now scorched.  The object was spherical in shape, about 25 feet in diameter, and had a ring of what looked like portholes around it.  It had what appeared to be landing gear on the bottom and something resembling an antenna on top.

After a moment, three very bizarre beings came out of the craft.  They were about 13 feet tall and blue-green in color.  They seemed to glow.  The creatures all had one eye in the center of their foreheads, six sets of hairy appendages with crablike claws at the ends, and twin antenna sprouting from their heads.

In short, these beings were not your average extraterrestrials.

When one of the beings started to approach La Sarza, he did the only sensible thing: namely, begin to run like hell.  However, the being fixed the young man with a hypnotic stare that paralyzed him.  La Sarza then heard a voice inside his head which demanded that he do…something.  The horror of what was happening to him caused him to faint.  When he came to, the craft and its sinister occupants were gone.

We will--possibly fortunately--never know what the being wanted La Sarza to do, as he refused to divulge it to his later interviewers.  He said only that he would “rather die” than comply with the creature’s wishes.  In fact, La Sarza remained so terrified of what “they” had told him to do, that he later asked authorities to jail him, for his own safety.  (It was pointed out to him that, considering the capabilities these creatures seemed to have, imprisonment probably would not help.)

Beck and others who later interviewed La Sarza (including several psychiatrists) said he appeared completely sane.  He was described as a “model citizen with a good record,” who gained nothing from the often unflattering publicity his story attracted.  La Sarza told Beck that he was aware of how “crazy” his tale sounded, but he could not retract any of it.

I have only one thing to add:  I’ll probably go to my grave wondering what in hell that alien ordered him to do.

Weekend Link Dump

 

Welcome!

It seems appropriate for this week's Link Dump to be hosted by an authentic 16th century witch's cat.

Just be careful how you pet him.  You don't want to turn into a frog.

What the hell is 31/Atlas?  And do we really want to know?

One of the first celebrity dogs.

A pitchfork murder.

Paging Graham Hancock!

A visit to Christ Church, Spitalfields.

There's really nothing like morgue humor.

The mystery of the Hopkinsville goblins.

Remembering VJ Day, 1945.

Poland's first encyclopedia.

The puzzling Sabu Disk.

Who were the first storytellers?

The long history of people falling out of windows.

"Visitations" in medieval England.

Some important historical jewelry.

The difference between jealousy and envy.

Did you know that Van Gogh ate paint?  News to me.

Why Beethoven was not black.

An invincible lock.

The fear of Ouija boards.  It's possible I'm wrong, of course, but I knew someone who "played" with Ouija boards, and I'm convinced it opened them up to spirits you really don't want to meet.

The man who was eaten by an apple tree.

The remains of a man who disappeared in Antarctica in 1959 have finally been found.

The "least foolish woman in France."

The 19th century ice trade.

A weird Stone Age skull.

Fatalities at a brothel.

That's it for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll meet some very weird extraterrestrials.  In the meantime, here's a bit of lute music.

And trains.

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

Here’s an early version of those “aliens killed my livestock” stories.  (Just keep in mind that when old newspapers trotted out the "told by a person of unimpeachable veracity" card, that usually meant, "buyer beware.")  The “St. Louis Globe Democrat,” April 27, 1897:

Special Dispatch to the Globe. TOPEKA, KAN., April 26.-Millions have laughed at the Kansas air-ship, but the thing is no joke to farmer Alexander Hamilton, who resides near Yates Center, Woodson County. The air-ship not only appeared in plain view of Hamilton and his family, and frightened them out of their wits, but the captain of the vessel had the nerve to swoop down upon the cow lot and steal a 2-year-old heifer. At any rate, that is what Hamilton says, and a dozen well-known citizens, including State Oil Inspector E. V. Wharton, Sheriff M. E. Hunt and Banker H. H. Winter, testify that Hamilton's reputation for truth and veracity has never been questioned.

Hamilton claims that the air-ship visited his place a week ago to-night. He told the country people about it, but the report did not reach Yates Center till Saturday. 

"Last Monday night about 10:30 o'clock," Hamilton said, “we were awakened by a noise among the cattle. I rose, thinking perhaps my bulldog was performing some of his pranks, but upon going to the door saw to my utter astonishment an air-ship slowly descending over my cow lot, about 40 rods from the house.

"Calling Gid Heslip, my tenant, and my son Wall, we seized some axes and ran to the corral. Meantime the ship had been gently descending until it was not more than 30 feet above the ground, and ed of a great cigar-shaped a portion, possibly we came to within 50 yards of it. It consisted of a great cigar-shaped portion, 300 feet long, with a carriage underneath. The carriage was made of panels of glass or other transparent substance, alternating with a narrow strip of some material. It was brilliantly lighted within and everything was clearly visible. There were three lights, one light an immense searchlight and two smaller, one red and the other green.

"The large one was susceptible of being turned in any direction. It was occupied by six of the strangest beings I ever saw. There were two men, a woman and three children. They were jabbering together, but we could not understand a syllable they said. 

"Every part of the vessel which was not transparent was of a dark reddish color. We stood mute in wonder and fright, when some noise attracted their attention and they turned their light directly upon us.  Immediately upon catching sight of us they turned on some unknown power, and a great turbine wheel, about 30 feet in diameter, which was slowly revolving below the craft, began to buzz, sounding precisely like the cylinder of a separator, and the vessel rose as lightly as a bird. When about 300 feet above us it seemed to pause and hover directly over a 2-year-old heifer, which was bawling and jumping, apparently fast in the fence. Going to her, we found a cable about half an inch in thickness, made of the same red material, fastened in a slip-knot around her neck, one end passing up to the vessel, and the heifer tangled in the wire fence. We tried to get it off, but could not, so we cut the wire loose and stood in amazement to see the ship, heifer and all rise slowly, disappearing in the northwest. We went home, but I was so frightened I could not sleep.

"Rising early Tuesday morning, I mounted my horse and started out, hoping to find some trace of my cow. This I failed to do, but coming back to Leroy in the evening found that Link Thomas, who lives in Coffey County, about three or four miles west of Leroy, had found the hide, legs and head in his field that day. He, thinking some one had butchered a stolen beast and thrown the hide away, had brought it to town for identification, but was greatly mystified in not being able to find any tracks in the soft ground. After identifying the hide by my brand, I went home, but every time I would drop to sleep would see the cursed thing, with its big lights and hideous people.  I don't know whether they are devils or angels, or what; but we all saw them, and my whole family saw the ship, and I don't want any more to do with them.”  

The Yates Center "Advocate" said that Hamilton looked as if he had not recovered from the shock, and every one who heard him was convinced that he was sincere in every word he uttered. Hamilton has long been a resident of Kansas, and is known all over Woodson, Allen, Coffey and Anderson Counties. He was a member of the House of Representatives early in the 70s. He staked his sacred honor upon the truthfulness of the story. 

The following affidavit is given in support of Hamilton's reputation as a truthful man: 

"Affidavit--State of Kansas, County of Woodson--ss.: As there are now, always have been and always skeptics and unbelievers whenever there truth or anything bordering upon the improbable is presented, and knowing that some ignorant or suspicious people will doubt the truthfulness of the above statement, now, therefore, we, the undersigned, do hereby make the following affidavit: That we have known Alexander Hamilton from one to thirty years, and that for truth and veracity we have never heard questioned, and that we do verily believe his statement to be true and correct. 

"E.V. Wharton, state oil Inspector: M.E. Hunt, Sheriff; W. Lauber, deputy sheriff, H.H. Winter, banker; H.S. Johnson, pharmacist; J.H. Stitcher, attorney; Alexander Stewart, justice of the peace; H. Waymyer, druggist; F. W. Butler, druggist; James W. Martin, Register of Deeds; Rollins, postmaster. 

"Subscribed and sworn to before me this 21st day of April, 1897. 

"W. C. WILLE, Notary Public”