The other afternoon, about 16.45, I was walking the dogs down the first jitty (there are two in the village and we differentiate between them through the application of this cunning number-based naming convention). It was a tad gusty, but a clear day, in fairly bright afternoon sunlight, with broken cloud cover.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I heard movement behind me, a familiar sound, one I’ve heard dozens of times before. My hearing told me that it was a cyclist. I turned my head just a fraction and my peripheral vision picked up and relayed to me: a female cyclist on a butchers bike (you know the sort of thing, heavy-looking, a frame on the front for a basket, black colour). She was wearing either a long dress\/skirt, or a drizabone-type full-length coat. Whatever she was wearing, it was brown. She also wore a straw boater-type hat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I stepped to the right, turned 90\u00b0 towards her to create room for her to pass and she wasn’t there. Nobody was there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When I got home, a good 40-minutes later, my heart was still racing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There is a history of ghostly apparitions hereabouts; the old part of the village has a rich history which includes a disappearing manor house, nefarious activities in the former coaching inn (haunted, and also the scene of a murder). The shame is that I am unable to get valuable information from one of the village’s oldest residents (who has previously provided Sam with some excellent historical stories. I’ve spent quite some time wondering how I could have a chat with her.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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