Wednesday, December 30, 2015

Today is the 150th Anniversary of Rudyard Kipling’s birth

Rudyard Kipling was born on December 30th 1865, in India.

His life and his writings have been written about and discussed extensively. I have read a lot of criticism of him and his works and I agree with some of it, but he is still one of my favourite authors.

Kipling is also a person of interest because the kind of unseen influences that I am very interested in appear to have been at work in his life. This will be the subject of a future article.

In the meantime, there is a big coincidence involving a place in Hampshire where he stayed as a child. I have mentioned it in another article, but decided to repeat the story to mark the occasion of the birthday of a very great author and poet.

It came first as a surprise, then, on reflection, not such a surprise, when I first learned that Lorne Lodge, the ‘House of Desolation’ where he and his sister suffered so much as children, was (and still is) in Campbell Road in Southsea. ‘By chance’, Lorne Lodge is just around the corner from a house where my family lived for a while when I was 11 years old. What a coincidence. Although I knew nothing at the time, I always avoided walking down Campbell Road because it gave me bad feelings.

The name of the people Rudyard Kipling stayed with was Holloway; by coincidence, when my family left Southsea it was to go to a house very close to a big thoroughfare called Holloway Road. By coincidence, the ‘terrible little day-school’ called Hope House that Kipling attended in Southsea was run by a man with the same, not particularly common, last name as that of my step-mother, who was behind our move away from Southsea. She disappeared from our lives not long afterwards.

Thursday, December 24, 2015

An unusual Midnight Mass: the real spirit of Christmas?

I like this poem very much. It is based on what may well be a myth, but to me it conveys the essence of Christmas.

              Eddi's Service (A.D. 687) 

              by Rudyard Kipling

Eddi, priest of St Wilfrid
In the chapel at Manhood End,
Ordered a midnight service
For such as cared to attend.
But the Saxons were keeping Christmas,
And the night was stormy as well.
Nobody came to service
Though Eddi rang the bell.

'Wicked weather for walking,'
Said Eddi of Manhood End.
'But I must go on with the service
For such as care to attend.'
The altar candles were lighted,—
An old marsh donkey came,
Bold as a guest invited,
And stared at the guttering flame.

The storm beat on at the windows,
The water splashed on the floor,
And a wet yoke-weary bullock
Pushed in through the open door.
'How do I know what is greatest,
How do I know what is least?
That is My Father's business,'
Said Eddi, Wilfrid's priest.

'But, three are gathered together—
Listen to me and attend.
I bring good news, my brethren!'
Said Eddi, of Manhood End.
And he told the Ox of a manger
And a stall in Bethlehem,
And he spoke to the Ass of a Rider
That rode to Jerusalem.

They steamed and dripped in the chancel,
They listened and never stirred,
While, just as though they were Bishops,
Eddi preached them The Word.

Till the gale blew off on the marshes
And the windows showed the day,
And the Ox and the Ass together
Wheeled and clattered away.

And when the Saxons mocked him,
Said Eddi of Manhood End,
'I dare not shut His chapel
On such as care to attend.' 

This poem is in the public domain and can be found online in many places, including Project Gutenberg.

Sunday, December 20, 2015

Unseen Influences at Christmas

I don’t enjoy this time of year very much. Seasonal depression prevents much enjoyment and turns necessary tasks into impositions; painful memories and feelings surface and thoughts of what might have been become overwhelming; people are stressed and I pick up a lot of the tension and unhappiness that are in the air.

Even though I am not a Christian, I hate the way that consumerism and secularism have taken over what should be a religious festival.

Despite not being religious, I did go to a Christmas service once, at the suggestion of a neighbour, just for the carols and the spectacle. One fateful Christmas Eve many years ago, I went for the first time ever to a Midnight Mass. It was held in Westminster Cathedral.

The outing was pure delight from beginning to end. I felt very well, euphoric almost; I had the feeling that something wonderful was on the horizon; the weather was very mild; we saw some happy looking policemen driving around in a car that was covered with Christmas decorations…

I enjoyed the lights, the surroundings and the music inside the Cathedral very much. Just as midnight was striking, I wished very hard for a good cause to support and a new and exciting interest in my life for the coming New Year.

The expression “Be very careful what you wish for as you may well end up getting it” is becoming a platitude but is very relevant here. A ‘chance’ meeting with a stranger on New Year’s Eve brought me exactly what I had wished for. For good or evil? I still don’t know. It led to some of the best and some of the worst moments of my life, including a Christmas that I still can’t bear to think about.

Sunday, December 6, 2015

Prison guards and parents: two memorable passages

I was reading about Laurens van der Post recently, and came across something that he wrote during his captivity in a Japanese prisoner-of-war camp.

Once, depressed, he wrote in his diary:

"It is one of the hardest things in this prison life: the strain caused by being continually in the power of people who are only half-sane and live in a twilight of reason and humanity."

Van der Post’s words summarise his experience very well; they are of particular interest and significance to me because they could also be used to describe some people’s experience of childhood – as seen in retrospect and not at the time though.

Van der Post was an adult at the time of his internment; he had experienced freedom; he had seen a different world and lived a different life; he knew what reason, sanity and humanity were.

It is another matter when we are born into what seems like imprisonment and into the power of people who are more like prison guards or hostage-takers than caring parents. There is an extra dimension to deal with: we need to put everything into context and learn from first principles how decent human beings behave, and what reason and sanity are.

Carole Nelson Douglas summarises this stage very well in Cat in a Midnight Choir:

“ anger, no fury is stronger than the final, unavoidable realisation that the protector has betrayed his role and is really the destroyer. But it takes a while to find out that the unthinkable is not the status quo, and that your daily 'normal' is very abnormal to a larger world. “

It certainly does take a while, perhaps because after living so long in the twilight zone we can only take the truth in small doses and need to adjust to reality very slowly. We need to deal with some devastating realisations.

Our lives may indeed have been as far from normality as Laurens van der Post’s life in the prison camp was.

Thursday, November 26, 2015

The Rothschild house of flint

“If you want a house that stands out, blending in, it seems, is the way forward."

This wedge-shaped house in Buckinghamshire has been awarded House Of The Year in the prestigious Royal Institute Of British Architects (Riba) awards. Commissioned by Lord Rothschild for use by his family, Flint House rises out of the ground with step-style roofing that disappears into the sky.”

This house seems symbolic to me: thin end of the wedge, ascending step by step…

The architects have created a colour gradient: the walls fade from dark to light, starting with dark grey flint near the ground and ending with white chalk at the top.

People’s opinions vary in a similar way: at one extreme this ziggurat-shaped house has been described as reminiscent of an Aztec temple; at the other, the pebble-dashed effect reminded one commenter of a public convenience in Worthing. In the middle, it has been called a staircase to nowhere, a motorcycle jump, a doorstop, and likened to a slice of cake.

No one has started talking about Mesopotamia, Illuminati ceremonies or sacrificial temples yet, but this is probably just a matter of time.

Monday, November 9, 2015

Another recent string of minor misfortunes

I wrote about a bad day I had in a previous post.. I have had a few more bad days recently, and I have a good idea what caused them.

I kept walking into and tripping over things at home, giving myself some bruises.

I went out on some errands. I fell very heavily just outside the library: all I did was step on a tiny stone, but it rocked forward, threw me off balance and tipped me right over. I was very shaken; I got some more bruises and I grazed my hands.

Inside the library, a machine took my reservation money but did not credit my account; luckily the library staff believed me when I said I had paid, and they sorted it out.

I had a jarring shock when my internet connection suddenly stopped working when I was in the middle of something important. I did get it working again, but I had some bad moments.

Thursday, October 22, 2015

Robin Jarvis’s witchmaster Nathaniel Crozier: Part I

Nathaniel Crozier is a key character in A Warlock in Whitby, the second volume of Robin Jarvis’s wonderful Whitby Witches trilogy. He is the husband of the witch who called herself Rowena Cooper, but was really Roselyn Crozier (spelled Roslyn Crosier in The Whitby Witches). He is not a witch exactly, but he is a black magician and he does control a group of witches.

He is a person of interest because some of the things he and his followers say and do are very familiar.

An introduction to Nathaniel Crozier
Nathaniel Crozier casts a dark shadow ahead of him: he is briefly mentioned in the first volume of the Whitby Witches trilogy, where he is introduced as Roselyn’s God-awful husband. They performed foul ceremonies together in Africa. They are described as a hellish pair who deserve to hang. I couldn’t have put it better myself.

The prose gets purple in A Warlock in Whitby:

“Nathaniel Crozier: historian, philanderer, warlock, high priest of the Black Sceptre and the unseen hand behind countless unsolved burglaries of religious relics from around the world…the most evil man on earth.”

There is nothing on this earth that he cannot make yield and bow before him.

How strange that such a man should wear worn and shabby clothes and be unable to enter a dwelling without an invitation!

He seems to have very little to show for all his studies, efforts, powers and stolen magical artefacts.

Sunday, October 18, 2015

Injury and revenge: Part I some general ideas

This article was created to get some general ideas about injury and revenge out of the way, clearing the decks for action in preparation for a forthcoming article about the way that unseen influences may be at work in some special cases.

Where injury is concerned, Vernon Howard suggests that it is not possible for our real selves to be hurt, just our egos or the false images that we have of ourselves.

This is worth thinking about, although the implications may be very unwelcome.

Thoughts of revenge
People may have fantasies of revenge, but if they respect the truth they will realise that these ideas are usually childish, excessive or unrealistic.

As Vivianne Crowley says in Your Dark Side:

"The more disempowered we are in real life…the more elaborate and sadistic our revenge fantasies will be."

This statement is very true in my experience, and provides another unwelcome insight.

Taking responsibility for our part in the affair
There may be no action that we can take other than to do some inner work and try to understand how and why we let ourselves be victimised and what sort of person our victimiser must be. We also need to think about what we can do to avoid or prevent similar incidents happening in the future.

This is what better people do.

Saturday, October 17, 2015

Do inner demons sabotage our lives?

It is important to take responsibility - where appropriate – when we do stupid things, make mistakes, and experience setbacks, accidents and misfortunes.

I know very well that my getting very preoccupied, tired, stressed and overloaded is asking for trouble, so I do what I can to avoid getting into those states.

I do sometimes wonder though whether hostile unseen influences are also at work, subtly taking advantage when we are distracted or not functioning well and doing whatever they can to cause trouble and sabotage our lives and environments.

I have noticed that ideas that lead to trouble or even disaster sometimes slip into people’s minds. The man who had the ‘good idea’ of moving his daughters into the basement because bad weather was expected, only for them to be drowned by flood water during the night, is an example of a very bad case.

Some much less serious examples from my own life come to mind. I do need to take responsibility though for getting so absorbed in reading or researching that the real world disappears that when forced to do something, I deal with it with the back of my mind.

Tuesday, October 6, 2015

Person of interest: Madeleine L’Engle’s Zachary Grey

Zachary Grey is a character in several young adult novels by Madeleine L’Engle. She is not one of my favourite authors and her books do not inspire me to produce a series of articles, but some aspects of the behaviour of her character Zachary Grey and the destructive effect it has on people around him are relevant to my ideas about energy vampires and unseen influences.

About Zachary Grey
Zachary Grey, often known as Zach, is a bit of a Bad Boy. He is very rich and throws money around. He is moody and troubled; he is wild, reckless, unpredictable and sometimes self-destructive; he likes to hurt and frighten people; his outlook on life is cynical, amoral, nihilistic, negative and pessimistic: he is always saying, “What’s the point?” and wondering whether there is anything worth living for in this lousy world. He sees nothing but doom and disaster ahead. There are times when he hates just about everyone: he drives them away then tries to cajole them into staying.

Zach has a weak heart; he knows that he could die at any time and uses this as a weapon to control people: if they don’t do just as he likes he might have a heart attack. He uses hysterical outbursts to manipulate his parents into giving him what he wants; they are under his thumb.

Zach has a death wish and courts danger; he habitually does things he knows he shouldn’t do. He is always getting kicked out of schools for smoking and cheating and not turning up for classes. He does this for kicks, because he is bored. He intends to study law just to learn how to get away with things and get the better of and outsmart the phonies who run this lousy world.

Zach believes that money is everything; he has nothing but withering scorn for religion: he thinks that all religious people are phonies; he thinks that people care only about number one and that the only way to get on in the world is to step on people. His goal in life is to have what he wants, do what he wants, go where he wants and get what he wants.

He is a devil’s advocate.

Thursday, September 10, 2015

Ian Fleming and his lump of ambergris

The first reports of the finding of a valuable lump of ambergris on a beach in Wales earlier this week by a man who was walking his dog appeared in Welsh newspapers:

Ever fancied spending thousands of pounds on a big, yellow and black piece of vomit? Well here’s your chance as an auction house is offering exactly that for sale later this month. Now confirmed as whale vomit – or ambergris – it was found by a dog walker on an Anglesey beach.

The material is used in the perfume industry, making it very valuable, which is why auctioneer Chris Surfleet has slapped an estimate of £5,000-£7,000 on the lump weighing just over a kilogram and measuring little more than eight inches long.

A 6lb lump of ambergris found on a Lancashire beach sold for £100,000 to a buyer from the perfume industry.

The idea that a substance secreted and cast off by whales is very valuable and can occasionally be found washed up on beaches by anyone who happens to walk past is widely appealing to the imagination. The story was picked up by many other papers and even appeared in yesterday’s Washington Post.

Seeing the headlines reminded me of something I read about Ian Fleming many years ago. This anecdote can be found in The Story of Ian Fleming by John Pearson:

“…Fleming told of how he found his first treasure - he was a compulsive treasurer-hunter all his life - at the age of nine… One afternoon he found in a cave a lump of ambergris ‘as big as a child’s football’. He knew it was ambergris from the adventure books he had been reading – it was a real treasure: ‘Now I would be rich and be able to live on Cadbury’s milk chocolate flakes and I would not have to go back to my private school or indeed do any more work at all. I had found the short cut out of all my childish woes.’ He carried it back…but the ambergris began to melt and soon he was a dreadful sight. ‘What did I care? There would be no scoldings or punishments ever again.’ … It was then that one of the waiters explained that the ambergris was really a lump of very rancid butter from a supply ship that had been torpedoed off the coast.”

Some people are blinded by wishful thinking. Some people habitually mistake bad things for good, horrible people for decent ones and dead ends or paths to destruction for great opportunities. When their imaginations run away with them in this way, the result is often crushing disappointment.

In addition to the fool’s gold and inverted values aspects, this story shows how some naïve people have very unrealistic ideas about what achieving great riches – or some other goal - will do for them. “If only I had x, everything would come right and all my troubles would be over for ever.”

I found two more amusing anecdotes about Ian Fleming, anecdotes in which his plans for success backfired, in an article in the Saturday Evening Post:

One night in 1941, a member of British Naval Intelligence stops by the Estoril Casino in neutral Portugal. He is Lieutenant Ian Fleming, stopping over in Lisbon, on his way to secret talks in Washington. But tonight, he’s in his civilian clothes and trying his luck at the baccarat tables. He notices two players at another table, and recognizes them as Nazi Intelligence agents. 

Fleming, a gambler with a high opinion of his skills, has a sudden inspiration:

He decided to play them and take them for all of their secret funds.

Instead of taking the Nazis, however, the Nazis took him, and Fleming sheepishly had to ask his chief for more travel money...

On one memorable occasion when he and an assistant were required to question a capture U-boat commander to find out which routes the U-boats were taking through the British minefields in the Kattegat, Fleming had a flamboyant idea. Instead of grilling the commander in a grim prison office, why not soften him up by bringing him to London and questioning him over good food and fine wine?
The German and his first lieutenant, of unmistakably Teutonic bearing, were escorted to Scott’s Restaurant in Piccadilly in civilian clothes. Fleming and his aide were in uniform. Everyone spoke German throughout. Fleming ordered a bottle of Rhine wine and another and another. While the Englishmen were getting progressively drunker, the Germans stayed rigorously sober revealing nothing. In the end Fleming gave it up and blearily took a taxi back to the Admiralty.

Tuesday, August 11, 2015

Camila Batmanghelidjh and Kids Company: a connection

It seems that Camila Batmanghelidjh, who has friends in high places, wears colourful clothes and has raised large amounts of money for charity, got away with a lot. Kids Company, the charity she founded, was not well run and the money was not always put to good use. This raises the question of how it could have happened. How did she get away with so much for so long?

Prime Minister David Cameron is described as being ‘mesmerised’ by her. In this connection, one of the first thoughts to come into my mind when the story became front page news is something I once read about Marie Corelli.

The Revd. Stuart Scott, a longtime admirer of her books, visited her and found her very disillusioning in appearance. However, he went on to say that after talking to her, his reservations disappeared and his “critical faculties refused to function.”

This is very interesting. What could be at work here? What stopped people from paying attention to the woman behind the curtains?Unconscious hypnotism, mind power, a smokescreen, psychological black magic even? 

Something else that comes to mind is the idea that inauthentic people are suckers for inauthentic people. Perhaps all the involved celebrities, politicians and ‘leftie luvvies’ took her - and each other - at face value, falling for each other’s glittering - and in her case bizarre - image. They all expected to be taken at their own estimations.

I once encountered Camila Batmanghelidjh, and got very bad feelings. I formed an impression of someone who was cold, arrogant and contemptuous – this was when she was dealing with ordinary, working people. Perhaps she saves the charm and glamour for her rich and powerful friends.

Tuesday, July 28, 2015

A recent string of minor misfortunes

I had a bad day recently, the exact opposite of what I expected. I had planned a circular walkabout that would combine fresh air, exercise, errands, a treat and a visit to a park. Unfortunately, it was more of an endurance test than an enjoyable experience. It was just one thing after another, so I gave in and went home.

It started when I went to get some money from the cash machine. When I pressed the button, all I got was my balance on the screen. I felt paranoid, as though I had been cut off from my money. After a few more tries, I realised that the menu text on the screen was misaligned with the buttons. I got my cash out and went on to the library, where I found that my library card wouldn’t go through any of the machines so had to ask the librarian to do everything manually.

I got some takeaway breakfast items. My plan was to eat them in a local public garden. I walked down a steep street and along the park railings. The gate I wanted to use was chained up: there was a lot of construction work going on. I had to walk back to another gate, past all the vans and workmen.

I was sitting on a bench drinking my coffee and reading my library book when I was interrupted by a group of young people, who asked me if I would complete a survey. I don't like doing this sort of thing, and I felt jarred by having my concentration broken. The food I bought was not as good as I hoped it would be either. I walked back up the steep street to the main road, which was exhausting. I had intended to walk through a market area and back home, but I had lost all energy and inclination so got a bus back.

I was getting my entry fob out when a strange man appeared and wanted to come in too. I told him that he should ring the bell of whoever he had come to visit. He didn’t seem to understand and still thought I would let him in, but luckily a friend came along, and we both got inside by ourselves. The man was probably ok, but it is amazing how these things happen at just the wrong time, when I don't feel up to dealing with them.

Sometimes every little thing seems like the last straw. There was an official letter waiting that really annoyed me: I had to confirm that my details had not changed, and this had to be done by post as there was no online option. Having to complete a form and go out to post it seemed like too much trouble. Not only that, but for the first time ever the money I had taken out included a £50 note. I was not sure what to do with it: I often shop in street markets and bargain stores and spend only a little at a time.

Later that day, I found that I had mis-read the TV schedule and missed some good programmes.

This was not the end of my problems. My laptop was very slow; I thought I might have given a wrong response to a question that popped up earlier, so I decided to do a Restore. My usual browser would not function afterwards, and it took a while before I realised that I could use another one and look for a fix. I did manage to get my laptop back to normal, but it was a very stressful time.

My normal practice on days such as this is to work backwards and look for an energy vampire. Although I had indeed met a new client for the first time two days earlier, I am sure that she was not the cause of my problems. I did not get any bad feelings from her.

My theory is that I was in a vulnerable state because I had been pushing myself very hard and had attracted unwanted attention by investigating some convenient deaths. I had been working online for long stretches for days on end, concentrating very hard on collecting and absorbing information. Some of it was just routine facts and figures I needed for my work, but much of it was in connection with an article for this blog.

Perhaps when a light bulb goes on in the mind of someone who can sense unseen influences, it is the equivalent of alerting a spider by touching its web. Perhaps the bad feelings and unwelcome experiences were a punishment for being a dot connector and a whistle-blower.

Sunday, July 19, 2015

Mayor and Llewelyn Davies connections: a tangled web

This article consists of material left over from my recent post about convenient deaths associated with the Austen, Mayor and Disraeli families. While doing the research for that post, I came across some information, leads and connections that needed to be followed up. I decided to stick to the main subjects and leave the extra material and further research for another time.

Mary Sheepshanks and her connections
Flora M. Mayor was a lifelong friend of the social reformer Mary Sheepshanks. Mary Sheepshanks knew Flora’s fiancé Ernest Shepherd; Flora at one time believed that Ernest preferred Mary. Mary actually had feelings for someone else:

"In 1905 Mary Sheepshanks fell in love with Theodore Llewelyn Davies. However, he was in love with Meg Booth, the daughter of social investigator, Charles Booth. After she refused him, Davies committed suicide."

Suicide is only suspected: he drowned while bathing alone in a pool in the River Lune. It is thought that he hit his head on a rock. He was 34 years old at the time.

Theodore Llewelyn Davies was uncle to the five Llewelyn Davies brothers, one of whom also drowned in a suspected suicide pact.

Saturday, July 18, 2015

Disraelis and Mayors: more convenient deaths

I have written elsewhere about the convenient – and possibly suspicious - deaths of the men who were engaged to be married to Jane Austen’s sister Cassandra and J. M. Barrie’s sister Maggie.

In both cases, the bereaved young women remained available to their siblings as their main source of companionship, emotional support and admiration. In other words, both Jane Austen and J. M. Barrie benefitted from the deaths of the men who would have been their brothers-in-law.

I have found two more cases of interest, with similar elements.

Friday, July 3, 2015

Some small synchronicities from 2013

Big, spectacular synchronicities – such as the encounter with Archbishop Trevor Huddleston for example - seem to be a thing of the past. I don’t know why.

I have posted my best memories, but the record is not complete. I wish I had made notes of all of the small synchronicities that I experienced over the years but I didn’t, so some of them are probably gone for ever.

I have started to record on here any current interesting coincidences that occur in my life, just to keep a record.

I have just remembered a few synchronicities that occurred almost exactly two years ago. During 2013, as part of a huge dot-joining operation, I was doing a lot of research and posting the results on the David Icke forum. I experienced some interesting small coincidences while this was going on, which are worth bringing together and posting on here.

Cliff Richard
I was in the middle of investigating Cliff Richard when a promotional email suddenly arrived:

"Here’s a golden opportunity to enjoy the pleasures of wine and song (especially for Cliff Richard fans).
When Sir Cliff isn’t singing about Mistletoe and Wine and performing his way around the world, he produces his own wine at his vineyard in Portugal.
We have secured just 1000 of Cliff Richard’s Vida Nova Six cases... And best of all, inside 50 of these cases there will be a FREE pair of tickets to one of Cliff’s Midsummer Nights Still Reelin’ and A-Rockin UK concerts.”

This is the only time Cliff Richard has been mentioned in any email. I am not a fan and had never even thought about him before I learned that he was a person of interest to the forum.

I was just starting to investigate Highgrove House (Prince Charles's residence) for the first time when Classic FM played The Highgrove Suite, which was commissioned by Prince Charles. 

I started collecting references to the small, rather obscure Yorkshire town of Mirfield. I looked to see whether there was anything light and escapist on TV, as I wanted to take time out to watch something when I felt overwhelmed and take a complete break during the advertisements. I found that a Star Trek film starring Patrick Stewart was on, which was just the thing. After working on Mirfield for a while, I needed a rest so watched some of the film and Googled Patrick Stewart. I found that he is a Mirfield man!

I was immersed in collecting information about the McAlpine family, owners of a huge construction company founded by Sir Robert McAlpine. I found details of a Miss Garnett who married the 5th Baronet: she was brought up in Vancouver.

There are so many McAlpines and people with similar names in the case that it all became a bit too much for me.

I went out because I couldn't take in any more information. My bus got stuck in a traffic jam and my mind immediately went back to the McAlpines, Garnetts etc. I came back to reality, and saw that I was next to a truck with ‘Sir Robert McAlpine’ on it; a big police van was next to it, behind which was a big white van and a smaller van with ‘Vancouver Cleaning’ on it. In front of them was a car whose number plate began with ‘33’ followed by a space.

Big white vans are featured on conspiracy theory websites along with black helicopters, as is the number 33. The police were investigating allegations about a member of the McAlpine family at the time.

Darby O’Gill
I saw a Disney film called Darby O’Gill and the Little People when I was very young. I did not particularly like it; I soon forgot all about it.  I don’t remember ever hearing or seeing any references to it over the years, until one day in 2013 I noticed it in a TV programme guide. I vaguely remembered that it was good, colourful escape material and thought it would be ideal for giving me a rest from all the heavy stuff, so I took some time out to escape into the world of leprechauns. Shortly afterwards, someone mentioned this film on the forum, for the first, last and only time.

TV schedule over a few hours
On yet another busy morning in 2013, I checked the TV schedule for later in the day before immersing myself in research. I was hoping to find something that would make good escape material, a fantasy film perhaps, something that I could watch during a break. I noticed that the TV menu included Cliff Richard’s Summer Holiday, Our Queen (in her Jubilee year) and a programme about the Monarch butterfly.

All have significant associations with some of the most active topics on the forum: Cliff Richard and the Royal Family in connection with Jimmy Savile, and Monarch butterflies in connection with mind control and programming.

I reported this on the forum, and got responses from two posters:

“It is as though there is a conscious effort to selectively broadcast these programmes in defiant spite.”

“As for the TV listings today, they really are rubbing our faces in it aren't they!

Wednesday, July 1, 2015

The little smile and the gleam in the eye: another sinister scenario

There is an unpleasant phenomenon that occurs in some people’s lives. Unlike other unseen influences, energy vampirism for example, there is not much information available about it. Finding a new example recently was the inspiration for this article.

Stella Gibbons and the little smile
I first became aware of this phenomenon as something that happens in other people’s lives when I was reading about Stella Gibbons’s turbulent early life.

Her father was domineering, violent and melodramatic:

In one memorable incident when she was 11, her melancholic father threatened suicide and her mother begged Stella to intervene. Even at that age, she recognized that her father was secretly enjoying the agony he was inflicting on his family, and this pretense and emotional cruelty left a deep impression.”

The full article can be found here.

The little smile is mentioned in the following article:

As the ranting went on Stella noticed that Telford had a slight smile on his face and was deriving a secret pleasure from the scene, much as an actor might do from tearing a passion to tatters. She was appalled. To suffer from a fit of despair was one thing; but actually enjoying causing a scene was quite another.”

This incident speaks for itself; it has been described as a turning point in Stella’s life. Reading about it was a turning point for me: I remembered seeing a few secret little smiles myself, and realised that I was not alone in having such experiences.

Friday, June 26, 2015

Hebden Bridge and Parliament: a strange suggestion

The Houses of Parliament are reported to be slowly turning into an unusable ruin; an option under consideration is moving MPs and peers out for five years.

Aarticle about a possible move sees it as something positive:

“…with both MPs and peers in Parliament and the Queen  in Buckingham Palace facing the possibility of decamping while renovations are made to their historic homes, is it now the time for power to shift in the UK?”

Professor Tony Travers makes a bizarre suggestion:

“… perhaps this is the perfect opportunity to move power out of London. There are compelling arguments to decentralise the UK by moving Parliament.…why don’t we move it to ...” he trails off, reaching for Google Maps “... now, where’s sort of in-the-middle? Hebden Bridge! We could put it there.”

Hebden Bridge is just about in the middle of the British Isles, although it is not one of the official geographical centres and is considered to be far up north to people who live in the south of England. Even so, it is a very strange place to select almost at random from a map when there are other, better known places in the area, big cities such as Leeds or Manchester for example.

He may have been joking about moving Parliament to such a small market town, but Hebden Bridge is a place of interest for several reasons. It is featured in the Jimmy Savile thread on the David Icke forum, which is why I recognised the name and was surprised to see it mentioned in such a context.

Jimmy Savile appeared as an extra in a movie filmed there as a young man, and later used to visit the area. He is even suspected of murdering a young girl there.

There is a Savile House in Savile Road in Hebden Bridge, named after landed gentry whose association with the area goes back to the 1370s. The Savile family owned much land and property in and around the town.

Not only does the town have Savile connections, there are also associations with people and books featured in my articles:

Ted Hughes was born nearby; Sylvia Plath is buried nearby.

Haworth, where the Brontës lived, is just a few miles away.

The nearby Stoodley Pike Monument, a stone obelisk, is reported as being a Masonic construct, a beacon for UFOs and a magnet for black magic rituals. It contains a spiral staircase of – 39 steps. By coincidence, Blackstone Edge is not far away to the south, and there is a Blackstone House in the town.

There are some sinister real world associations too: 

Hebden Bridge has been called the suicide capital of Yorkshire. 

Around 750 people are estimated to have died as a result of working at a former asbestos plant in the town; by coincidence, the Parliament building is riddled with asbestos too, putting the occupants at risk. 

Hebden Bridge has experienced severe floods in the past; by coincidence, faulty guttering and broken pipes cause regular flooding in the Parliament building too. The Big Ben belfry – Parliament has a stone obelisk of its own – is badly affected by water penetration.

Hebden Bridge has become home to many former outsiders since the decline of the local wool industry:

During the 1970s and 1980s the town saw an influx of artists, writers, photographers, musicians, alternative practitioners, teachers, Green and New Age activists and more recently, wealthier ‘yuppie' types. This in turn saw a boom in tourism to the area.”
-       From Wiki.

The final words come from a community website:

“It’s a criticism often levelled at the place that the inhabitants are … without an idea of what goes on in the ‘real world’, often too blinded by their own ideals to actually make a difference to anything.”

Perhaps Hebden Bridge would make a suitable place for a relocated Parliament after all.