Loose dogs and Hell-Clough (by Andrew Wooding)

‘Hell-Clough? I’ve heard of Brian Clough … but is there really such a place as Hell-Clough?’ This was the question that raced through my mind as I perused the following ominous email from Mike:

If you're still happy about tomorrow evening at 8.00pm, could I suggest meeting at Bunting Nook again? The reason is that the place I'm wanting to check out is just a five minute drive away. The place is called Hell-Clough. We're talking about a tale of murder, lost lovers and the ghost of a fair eighteenth century maiden that's often seen. Much to tell, but I'll save that until we meet yet again!

My ghostly best,

Mike

How could I refuse? Fridays just aren’t Fridays unless they involve murder, lost lovers and fair eighteenth century maidens. That, and Vimto and crisps.

Mike filled me in the next evening as we wandered the secluded country lane that winds its way through Hell-Clough. Turns out there was this guy called James Archibald Durant who lived in the Hebrides back in the mid-eighteenth century. He was jealous of a male friend of his wife, so he fatally stabbed him (as you do) and his wife died of shock.

Fearing the law, James ‘Archie’ Durant fled with his daughter to England and bought some land in Hell-Clough. But jealousy struck again – he discovered that his daughter had acquired a secret husband. This wouldn’t do for Mr Durant so he got into a scrap with this son-in law of his, only to get himself killed in the struggle. The husband ran away, the Durant house in Hell-Clough became run-down and derelict, and in recent years there have been strange, eerie sightings of a woman in a long gown and large hat. Durant’s grieving daughter?

Some have reported her as floating across a corn field and disappearing into a group of nearby trees. All very spooky. Eager to experience the mystery first hand, we kept our eyes peeled on our travels as we looked for a woman in a long gown and large hat.

‘Mike, is that a woman in a long gown and large hat over there?’

‘No, it’s a man on a tractor.’

‘Oh, sorry Mike.’

A few minutes later…

‘Andrew, is that a woman in a long gown and large hat down there?’

‘No, it’s a badger.’

‘Oh, sorry Andrew.’

And so on, every few seconds, for the duration of our evening ramble. It felt like we’d stumbled across every possible lifeform imaginable, except for the one thing we were looking for. How dare these ghosts not perform on cue! Don’t they know we’re on the lookout for them? Don’t they realise we want a genuine ghostly experience to spice up our desperately ailing blog?

We did find something mysterious on our travels, though. We wandered past a compound of sorts, which was thoroughly fenced off, with gates firmly bolted. Outside, there was a large sign to scare away trespassers, with the warning: BEWARE LOOSE DOGS. We scratched our heads. We’d heard of loose women … but loose dogs? Was this a red light area for the canine species? And, more to the point, what were these ‘loose dogs’ liable to do to us if they were to leap over the fence?

The painful realisation made us race all the way back to Mike’s car. Very quickly.

The car happened to be parked by the very field that one of the ghost sightings took place in. And in one corner of the field was a massive great pylon, crackling with electricity. Is it significant that there are pylons all along the Stocksbridge bypass as well, where the mad monk has frequently been sighted? It makes you think, doesn't it?

It certainly made me think.

To explain: I found myself at a quantum physics conference in London a couple of years ago. I didn’t understand all of it - (correction: I didn’t understand most of it) - but one thing I do remember is that matter doesn’t exist. At a quantum level, all we are is vibrations and energy, and when we die we leave our energy field behind. Could it be that electricity pylons, or other massive concentrations of electricity, excite these vibrations and energy fields and somehow make them manifest themselves again? Bring them back to life, if only for an instant? Just a thought, for what it’s worth.

Also, what if that sign back there had said: BEWARE LOOSE CHANGE instead? Imagine the compound’s caretaker lobbing dangerous 50 pence pieces or handfuls of tuppenny bits at us. A frightening, but potentially lucrative, thought…

…though admittedly not as frightening as the fact that there’ll be another blog entry soon…