大象传媒

This story was submitted to the Peoples War web site by Hertfordshire Libraries working in partnership with the Dacorum Heritage Trust on behalf of the author, Mr Alan French. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

I am uncertain as to whether I was present during the following tale, for the event I am about to relate, was experienced by my mother. Let鈥檚 face it! If I was conceived prior to this happening, it could be intelligently argued, that I was there. Even if it were by what some people might term as a small technicality. On the other hand, that may not have been the case. Irrespective of my possible presence, my mother unfortunately, did experience another presence, one that absolutely terrified her whole being. One that, pardon the expression, was liable to haunt her, for the rest of her life .
It took place in the London Borough of Islington, during the dark days of World War Two. My mother, whose name was Rosina, or Rose for short, was what was termed as a volunteer fire watcher. By day she worked, as far as I know for Cossor鈥檚, at Highbury Corner, a firm which manufactured wireless/radio and radar equipment. Therefore, she was involved in doing some very valuable work. In fact, deliberate or not, possibly due to the nature of the firm鈥檚 products, the premises received some very serious war damage, leaving a most terrifying crater in the ground, where there had been a substantial part of the building. My mother could be a very compassionate and conscientious person. She was probably more conscientious than this story implies. Although, as we are about to discover, she did have some relapses.
My father鈥檚 name was Tom. He was a very honest and trustworthy person. He was also very conscientious about his responsibilities. His ambitions to perform his duty in the Royal Air Force were eventually quashed by his employer, a leather firm, called either, Connolly, or Colony Brothers.
This firm was based in another part of London, named Somers Town. Therefore he also eventually became a volunteer fire watcher, when not working. This enabled him to still do 鈥渉is bit鈥� for this dreadful war. On the night in question, my parents dwelled in a small turning named Madras Place. It was sandwiched in between Liverpool Road, at one end of the street, and Holloway Road, at the other end. There were also two side turnings that led to the inside of Madras Place. They were, Morgan Road and Ringcroft Street. Opposite, was a church called, Saint Mary Magdalene. The church grounds could be described as part park and part gardens, containing the occasional tombstone. The whole area was often referred to as the Chapel of Ease. There was, and still is, as far as I know, a low wall bordering some of the ground. The metal railings surmounting this wall were removed, and subsequently melted for whatever requirement necessary, because of the 鈥渨ar effort鈥�. Despite this, the grounds were locked up at night. This was an interesting procedure, due to the fact that anyone, wishing to gain access, could quite easily lift their leg up over the said wall, and then follow up the action, with their other leg. The grounds may well have looked attractive to the eye, but one thing some people may have considered spoilt the view, was the small public toilet constructed within the wall. Although, bearing in mind that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, it must have been transformed into a beautiful sight to have beheld, and occupied, should it have been necessary to utilize the toilet鈥檚 facilities in an emergency.
I am not sure where or what my father was doing on the night in question but although he was no doubt doing his best where needed, he was still unavailable, which meant that my mother had to report for duty on her own. Self conscious of this fact, and considering herself a respectable married lady, she decided not to report, and carry out her fire watching function on the front doorstep of her dwelling. Should anyone query her actions, her logic was that she was performing her duty. Albeit from the entrance of the house was immaterial. She was still looking for fires, wasn鈥檛 she? Furthermore, there did not appear to be a lot happening that night. It did not seem that anything was likely to happen either. So what were the odds? The doorstep was her post. Whether the other fire watchers would see it that way, was another matter. Oh Dear! She would soon be sorry for her decision. It happened thus:-
She stood as planned. Nothing significant seemed to be happening. At length, this situation changed. From a distance came the sound of explosions. Obviously, at least one air raid was in process. It did not sound very good. She felt that someone, somewhere, was 鈥済etting it bad鈥� that night. Apart from that, in the immediate vicinity, all seemed quiet. Or was it? For after some time, she thought she heard something. Nay! She did hear something! It was rather like a rustle. There! It had occurred again! It seemed to have been emitted from the grounds directly opposite her standing point. Still remaining on the doorstep, she peered over into the direction of the Chapel of Ease area, but could not detect anything of significance amid the dim light and shadows. Most of the dimness was due to the building of Saint Mary Magdalene鈥檚 Church and the trees within the grounds. During the daytime, this was a pleasant spot, but tonight, it started to become a bit too creepy. In fact the atmosphere was very macabre. There it was again! It was definitely a rustle. This time my mother was more certain from which direction the sound came. It was no good dismissing that the sound鈥檚 identity was, for example, a bird or some other harmless creature. After all, this was war time. She was on watch. It was her duty to see if she could confirm what the cause was. For all she knew, Adolph Hitler鈥檚 plan to invade, might have already started here, in the Holloway Road region of Islington. And so she once again, bravely, stared as best she could, opposite. This time, from her vantage point, her eyes scanned more deeply into the grounds. It was when she peered more to the left, where she had possibly not glanced before, she experienced what must have been one of the most frightening sights in her life. There it was! A very tall shining white figure! Such a conspicuous contrast to the surrounding area鈥檚 darkness! The apparition was too tall for the average tombstone, but more alarmingly, it was also too tall for a living human being. The sighting was so eerie, it must be a ghost! What other explanation could there be? It was definitely a phantom- like figure. Oh Dear! The possible reality of the situation had started to sink in. Despite her fear, she nervously accepted that she was witnessing a spectral sighting. A supernatural experience was not one that she wished. My mother was of a nervous disposition. In fact, she could be sometimes exceptionally highly strung. Looking at a ghost whilst performing fire watching duty from her doorstep was not what she needed. She required something to calm her down. She could utter no sound, for her vocal chords became useless. She could not move. She could only stand, transfixed in stoic silence. Then something else strange started to happen. It was a condition that she had heard of, but as far as I am aware, had not experienced. She claimed that she actually felt the hairs on her head move. My mother firmly believed that they were stiffening and standing on their ends. That is how terrified she was.
I personally, find this aspect of the tale most intriguing, as she was wearing a metal helmet upon her head at the time. I shall refer to this phenomenon later.
I am not certain as to what happened immediately after this incident, but one evening, my mother told the story to some visiting relations. Irrespective whether they considered the story being true or a joke, they were unaware they too, were in for a shock. When the front door opened, for them to depart at the end of their visit, they all jumped back in amazement. There, opposite, in the Chapel of Ease, was this same strange white figure!
I can assure anyone that the story is true. But is there a rational explanation as to validate this tale? Or is there a more sinister truth that will fill one鈥檚 emotion with unease? In my opinion, there are fascinating facets to this narration that require explanation.
One explanation, concerns the hair standing on end. At the time of writing, I view this from a new perspective. Yes, I agree that it is possible that my mother might have utilized poetic licence, when telling the story. I also have considered the genuine possibility that her hair may have moved beneath her hat, albeit, in a limited fashion. But now I realize that inside that style of helmet, there was a design enabling the wearer to feel more comfortable. Inside the rim was a leather band which encircled the head. There was also a lattice system, constructed from soft material stemming from inside the leather band. This enabled the lattice to rest on top of the head. It also helped prevent the wearer coming into contact with the metal of which the main part of the helmet was constructed. I personally think that any unfortunate person, experiencing something that was exceptionally terrifying to them, causing their hair to move due to a nerve condition, even wearing a metallic helmet, could well be telling the truth. Their hair would have ample space to move through the gaps, within the lattice framework. There was still some room above the framework, and the helmet鈥檚 main metal structure. Therefore, the hair could continue to pass through this lattice, up to the inside of the domed shape roof of the helmet. However, I doubt that the stiffened hair could contain sufficient strength to move the hat off the wearer鈥檚 head. And of course, if the wearer was using the chin strap affixed to the helmet, assuming that there was a chin strap, the hair would be even more suppressed. Nevertheless, I find this situation is now definitely more plausible, than originally thought by me.
Secondly, had my mother heard about the ghost, or was she aware of anything suspicious concerning the grounds, before this particular night? Some people may logically, query why, living opposite the church grounds, she had not viewed this apparition until more recently. Regrettably, neither my parents are alive for me to ask. However, I can surmise, that one reason for this, is that the apparition could only be seen during certain conditions. Unfortunately, I cannot expand upon this point during my narrative, without revealing certain facts, which I would prefer to explain later. Another possibility, is that I do know that it was sometime during the war, that my parents moved to this particular street. I do not know how long they had lived there, prior to the incident. It therefore, could be possible that they were not living in the vicinity long enough to have had the opportunity to see the spectre.
Now for the real nitty-gritty question, and the respective answer. Did my mother see a ghost? I do not know exactly when the problem of identifying the ghost was resolved. Let us examine some clues. It was not of human appearance. It was taller than a human being. The spectre was shining white and very eerie. It stood motionless. It was seen after the sounds of rustles. It was taller than the odd average tombstone or memorial that occupied the grounds. So what was it? The average tombstones and memorials, irrespective of their dimensions, may not have been taller than a human being, but there was one that was above the average in height. It was basically a four sided column, which was surmounted by a vase and cloth like sculpture. This was the ghost. At least I hope it was, just for my mother鈥檚 sake. By day, it did not look pure white. In fact, this family memorial could have possibly done with a clean. There was nothing to betray the memorial鈥檚 startling nocturnal appearance in certain lighting conditions, especially by moonlight. Oh! What an incredible transformation! It is also worth mentioning that in the war, should there be an air raid, there were black-outs. During these, there was no street lighting at all. The street lighting used was also different to the lighting system that was in some cases installed after the war. I must also remind you that there were trees within the grounds which could also obstruct the view of the memorial. Not forgetting that at some angles, there was a public toilet as well. And also my mother did not make a habit of standing on her doorstep for a long time, gazing yonder. Remember that she did not see anything immediately. When she viewed the ghost, she had to look in a direction, at an angle, to her left. So the apparition was not quite geometrically opposite the house. She occasionally donned spectacles. I am not certain as to whether she was wearing her spectacles at the time, which may have made some difference as to how she perceived the situation. We are also dealing with someone, as also explained earlier, who was very highly strung. The eerie atmosphere, the rustles and then the following sighting, which climaxed the event, added a new psychological depth to the experience, emotionally, it brought to the fore, her nerve condition, which in turn, moved the hairs of her head.
Oh Dear! Was this some form of poetic punishment, for not reporting for duty, in the official manner? Who can say? Your guess is as good as mine. Embarrassingly enough, my mother, had occasionally played near this memorial, when she was a little girl.
Should anyone wishing to study the memorial, it can easily be viewed. Just go along Holloway Road, until you arrive in the vicinity of the Central Islington Library. Opposite, is one of the entrances to the area in question. Just inside, is the memorial. At least it was there when I last visited the Chapel of Ease.
I do not know what my mother鈥檚 subsequent attitude was when reporting for duty. I personally would be most surprised if she performed her watch on the doorstep again. But that surprise would not compare to the traumatic surprise that she experienced on that unforgettable evening long ago, during World War Two.
Sweet dreams everyone.

The end.

鈥淭he White Figure.鈥� Copyright by Alan French 2004.
Copyright wavered only for the 大象传媒 People鈥檚 War campaign, Remembering World War Two. This story was issued to this project October 14th 2004
An extract from, 鈥淎 French Collection.鈥� Copyright 2004. Amended version.

By the same contributor:

Alan French: War Baby: Interview (Amended.) Parts One and Two.

The Three English Brothers French.

Uncle Jim: Send Him Pictorious!

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