The Tall Man

There is something about the transitory, enigmatic nature of the following little story that charms me.  I always enjoy those moments when The Weird suddenly appears, slaps you in the face with a dead fish, and just as quickly and inexplicably vanishes for good.

Our tale takes place on a pleasant English Sunday, May 5, 1924.  A young woman named Betty Bone went on the bicycle ride of 15 miles or so from her lodgings in Breamore, Hampshire to visit her family in Southampton.  However, along the way she had been bothered by “gipsies” demanding money, so her brother Alf and a friend, Ewart Pole, volunteered to accompany her back home.  The roads were virtually empty, and it was a clear, sunny day.

The trio was cycling along what is now the B3078 when, near the entrance to the Bramshaw golf course, they observed something odd.  Walking along the side of the road in the same direction was a man.  They were a bit surprised to suddenly see him--as one of them later put it, “He just appeared.”  Normally, this would hardly merit notice, except that the man was wearing a curiously old-fashioned long frock coat and wide-brimmed top hat.  And he was tall--very tall.  At least seven feet tall.  Betty and her companions noted the strange fellow, shrugged, and continued on.

A quarter of a mile later, the three were a bit disconcerted to see ahead of them the same freakishly tall man walking briskly towards Fordingbridge.  They soon cycled past him--perhaps pedaling just a bit faster than they had before.

It was as they neared the junction with the Fritham-Nomansland road that their emotions went from bemusement to genuine fear.   They saw the tall man 20 yards ahead of them, walking with the same purposeful, yet unhurried gait.  The trio blew past him as quickly as they could, not slowing down until they reached Betty’s home.

As one can imagine, the two young men did not enjoy their return journey, but there was no sign of the tall man in the frock coat, and, as far as is recorded, he was never seen by anyone again.

What the Monks Saw: A Medieval Mystery

Just to show that life is full of unexpected turns, on June 18, 1178, a group of medieval English monks threw a fine puzzle in the laps of astronomers that lingers to this day.

On that day, shortly after sunset, five monks at the abbey of the Christ Church of Canterbury (on the site of Canterbury Cathedral,) noticed that something very odd was happening in the sky.  Gervase, who was Canterbury’s chronicler, provided the eyewitness record:

“The upper horn of the Moon split in two. From the midpoint of the division a flaming torch sprang up, spewing out, over a considerable distance, fire, hot coals and sparks. Meanwhile the body of the Moon which was below writhed, as it were in anxiety, and to put it in the words of those who reported it to me and saw it with their own eyes, the Moon throbbed like a wounded snake. Afterwards it resumed its proper state. This phenomenon was repeated a dozen times or more, the flame assuming various twisting shapes at random and then returning to normal.  Then, after these transformations, the Moon from horn to horn, that is along its whole length, took on a blackish appearance.”

I am sure you are about to bring up the obvious question:  What the hell happened?  Go ahead and ask, but the answer you are likely to get from scientists is “Dunno.”  In 1976, geologist Jack Hartung suggested that the monks observed a meteor impact on the Moon so massive that it caused molten matter (the “flaming torch”) to rise into space.  Hartung pointed out that the Moon has a crater (named after Giordano Bruno,) that is possibly relatively young--perhaps young enough to date from June 18, 1178.  

Alas for this delightfully brief and tidy answer, it is far from universally accepted.  Other scientists have pointed out that an impact that huge would have had dramatic and impossible to ignore effects on Earth.  It likely would have caused one of the biggest meteor showers in human history, observable all over the world for days afterwards.  As far as we know, such spectacular showers were not recorded by the Canterbury monks, or anyone else on our planet for that matter.  Additionally, in 2008 high-resolution images obtained by a Japanese satellite were used to give the Giordano Bruno crater an age of about 4 to 6 million years, which would obviously negate Hartung’s theory.

In 2001, a University of Arizona student named Paul Withers came up with a more elaborate scenario.  He proposed that if, on that June night in 1178, a meteor came down to Earth and exploded right in front of the rising Moon, it could conceivably have appeared to the Canterbury witnesses that the Moon itself was erupting.  This would be a rather remarkable astronomical coincidence, but not an impossible one.  Unfortunately, this hypothesis can neither be proved or disproved.

So, what did those Canterbury monks observe?  We’ll likely never know for sure, which is what charms me about our little historical footnote.

The Pilot's Return

During the 1950s, Martin Caidin was the official historian for America’s Fifth Air Force during his stint in A-2 military intelligence.  In that capacity, he had full access to military combat files.  In his book “Ghosts of the Air,” he described a story he found in one of those files that was reported from air force operations in North Africa during WWII--a story that he admitted was “flatly impossible” but that was nevertheless “witnessed, and attested to, by several hundred officers and men of the U.S. Army, and Army Air Forces, who were there.”

Unfortunately, at the time he discovered this record, it was still classified, meaning he could take notes from the document, but not remove it from the vault.  In later visits to this vault, that particular file could not be found.  In other words, there is nothing to corroborate Caidin’s incredible yarn, leaving him to sigh, “Take it as it is, because that’s what you’re going to get.”

So, the caveat is duly noted.  However, it’s such a bloody good yarn, I decided to “take it.”

Our story begins with a day of standard combat operations in the Mediterranean Sea.  Among that day’s missions was a long-range patrol of Lockheed P-38 Lightnings, which set off along the North African coast into airspace that was then controlled by the Germans.  The Lightnings encountered some of the enemy, and, inevitably, a fierce air battle ensued.  When the fighting was finally over, the Americans realized that one P-38 was not accounted for.  They were unable to make radio contact with the missing pilot.  A search found no trace of the plane in the water.  It was as if the P-38 and its pilot had simply vanished into air.  Finally, as the other Lightnings began to run low on fuel, the group was forced to return to their home base.  The one absent pilot was simply listed as “missing in action.”  They still held hope that he had just become separated from the others and would eventually return safely.

However, as the hours went on with no word from the missing fighter, everyone accepted that the worst had happened.  Just another casualty of war.  Then, the air-raid alert suddenly blasted through the base.  Radar had picked up an unknown aircraft heading toward the field.  Soon, a P-38 came into view, getting ready to land.

The defense system radioed the plane.  No answer.  Flares were sent up, as a signal for the pilot to give some response.  The plane took no notice of them.  When the P-38 was over the center of the airfield, it suddenly began shaking, and to the shock of all observers, the plane suddenly, inexplicably, began to disintegrate mid-air.

The men saw the pilot fall free from the wreck, and they frantically shouted to him to open his chute.  The parachute indeed opened, and the pilot fell gently to the ground.  As ambulances--and everyone else on the base--frantically drove to the site, it was noted that the man was not moving.

The base’s medical team reached the pilot first.  As soon as they saw the body up-close, they could only stand there in stunned disbelief.  It was impossible enough to realize that the P-38 somehow approached the base with no fuel left in its tanks, but with both engines running.  But when it was found that the pilot had flown the plane and parachuted to the ground with a bullet hole in his forehead…

The man had been killed by German fire hours before.

A report had to be made about the incident, but it was marked “Secret,” hidden away in the most obscure file possible, and everyone involved did their best to persuade themselves that what they had just seen happen…did not happen.

What else could they do?  What else could you do?

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

This tale of strange goings-on in a seemingly unremarkable apartment was told in the “Western Mail,” March 10, 1927:

An extraordinary story of queer happenings in an unoccupied Fulham (England) flat was told recently by a foreman and two workmen who have been decorating it (declares the "London Daily News").

One of the men mentioned to the foreman some days ago that when working in the flat he received a severe blow on the head, seemingly from nowhere. On the foreman's going to investigate he, too, so he says, heard mysterious thuds, saw a cup wobble along the floor, matches vanish, candles appear from nowhere, and so on.

The climax came when one of the workmen also vanished, and was found lying unconscious on the floor of another room.

The three men all tell the same story, but unfortunately no one else has been inconvenienced in the same way in the flat. Tenants in the neighbouring flats have heard nothing.

Most unfortunately, I was unable to find out any more about this intriguing bit of weirdness.

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

 

Proof of reincarnation--sort of--appeared in the “Ottawa Citizen," December 16, 1933:

LONDON (by mail).-Here is the man who has "died" three times in three years. He is Mr. Tim Sandell, of Templar street, Camberwell.

On the first occasion the report spread among his friends that he had met with a sudden and mysterious death, and that a post-mortem was to be made. His wife's friends called to console her.

A few months ago he was in hospital. Again the report went round that he had died.  Again the friends called to sympathize.

At five o'clock on a recent Monday morning a policeman knocked at the door to tell Mrs. Sandell that her husband had been knocked down by a motor car at Wandsworth and was dead.

Mr. Sandell answered the knock, and protested that he hadn't and wasn't.  The cause of the mistake was that the dead man had with him a pair of boxing gloves bearing Mr. Sandell's name and one-time address.

Mr. Sandell told the story of his latest "death" to a press representative.

"The police, in their efforts to trace me," he said, "first went to the address in Brixton marked on the gloves, and subsequently to every address at which we have lived since.

"All along the trail the news spread like wildfire that I had been killed.  A friend at Smithfield disgustedly informed me last night that they had whipped round for a wreath for me!

"A man I met that night turned deathly pale when he saw me. He took some time to recover.

"Then I attended the inquest on the still unidentified body.  I shall always think of it as my own inquest."

When Mr. Sandell finally did shuffle off this mortal coil for good and earnest, I assume everyone--including Mr. Sandell--was a bit surprised.

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

This odd little story appeared in the “Burlington Republican,” March 20, 1884.  It is a reprint from the “Gatesville (Texas) Advance.” (Via Newspapers.com)

Last week Mrs. Reneau, who with her husband and family lived on Coryell Creek, some five miles from Turnersville, died rather suddenly. At the time of her death several neighbors were present, together with the attending physicians, Dr. J. D. Calaway, of Turnersville, and Dr. Toland, of Jonesboro.

When the spirit had parted from the body and wended its way to the home above, a sight was seen which, to the faithful ones who were watching by the couch, was as startling as it was real. The spectacle presented itself just above the house and was frightful in the extreme. Six coffins of different sizes were seen to come and hover immediately above the house. The night was dark, and ordinary objects at any distance were invisible, but the coffins were as plainly seen as they would have been in broad daylight. When the gaunt and ghastly coffins had been visible for some time they disappeared, and as they seemed to glide gently upward sounds of the sweetest and most melodious music were heard, and seemed to accompany the dark omens in the journey toward the skies.

We did not see any of the parties who saw the strange phenomenon, but no doubt can be entertained of their veracity, or the facts regarding the strange sight as herein stated. The phenomenon was indeed a curious one and we do not remember to have ever chronicled such a rare occurrence before.

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

This unsettling little story--which definitely belongs in the “Odd Stuff That's Impossible to Categorize” file--appeared in the “Louisville Courier-Journal” on July 30, 1876:

One of my neighbors has had a very mysterious experience lately.  He went out to plow about sunrise a short time since, and he saw, as he thought, one of his neighbors walking among his wheat shocks, thinking at the same time that he acted rather queer by keeping his back toward him all the time, though quite near; but he paid no particular attention to him, only casting an occasional glance to see what he was at.  On getting to the far side of the field, he turned his team and started back, and again saw the man very plainly; he was still walking about without any apparent object in view, but, on getting near enough to clearly note the movements of the figure, it was observed to take three long strides, throw up its hands, and then float in the air near the surface of the earth for a distance of fifteen or twenty feet, and suddenly vanish into nothingness.  Such is the tale my neighbor tells me, and he entirely believes it.  He is neither superstitious nor timid; is about twenty years old, and of undoubted courage and coolness.  Mr. Starr, the name of the gentleman who saw the vision, will convince anyone who will talk to him of his own honest belief in the apparition.  On one of two occasions he was within twenty feet of it, and it could not possibly have been an optical illusion.