IT HAPPENED TO ME...
First-hand accounts of strange experiences from FT readers
Pub vanishes
Stories of people discovering delightful restaurants in deepest rural France and then failing to find them or any trace of them on revisiting seem to abound. Here’s my Lakeland equivalent.
In 1983 a friend and I were on a short break, walking to Ravenglass via Wrynose and Hardknott passes in the Lake District. We stayed the first night, Sunday 18 September, in Ambleside. The following morning, as we approached the ascent to Wrynose, I commented that we hadn’t packed any food or water. Shortly afterwards, as we were ascending the pass, we came across a pub. I recall that it lay off the road to the right, along a short track, perhaps 50 yards or so. It looked like it was, or had been, a farmhouse. Surprisingly, it was open.
I don’t recall much detail of the interior, but it was basic, probably from the 1950s or 60s. What sticks in my mind, apart from not serving food, was the beer – Wilson’s bitter. I remarked that it was unusual to find that Manchester beer around there. It was also unusual to find such a remote pub still in business. We had a pint and carried on our way. On reaching Boot we took the Lal Ratty down to Ravenglass, where we had booked in at the Pennington Arms.
About 12 years later, I found myself back in this area, on a day out with my aging mother and my brother. As we approached Wrynose my memory was jogged and I told them about the pub, pointing up the hillside where I expected it to be. I said it would probably no longer be a pub. Not only was there no building, but there was no track or any sign of a track or building at all. We drove on towards Hardknott as I expected I had got the two confused and the mystery would be solved, but no. With a deepening sense of frustration and unease, I insisted we turn back and retrace our tracks. Still no sign.
It’s fair to say that the lie of
the land was different from what I remember. I recall it being more open and bleaker (if that’s possible!). I realised then how unreliable memory could be, but I had recourse to two sources of potential confirmation – my friend, of course, and my diary.
I dug it out and, yes! there it was, Monday 19th September 1983 “1 Wilson’s B” … but no pub name! Aaargh! But at least it confirmed that we had visited a pub and the beer was as I recall.
When I spoke to my friend, I was careful not to ask any leading questions that might influence his recollection. Amazingly, his memories were pretty well identical to mine – pub up the hill, off to the right along a short track, looked like a farmhouse. I told him why I was asking him but he didn’t seem quite as exercised about it as I was. We must have got it wrong, he said. Well yes, but what are the chances of us both having identical wrong memories?
I pursued various lines of enquiry with the local council, the local CAMRA branch, and checked old OS maps, but all to no avail. The only pub in that area was, and still is, the Three
Shires. I have since revisited the area at least twice and this pub bears no relation to the one we recall. As I said, memory can be unreliable, but how can both of us be mistaken so wildly and yet with such corroborative false memories?
More than the possibility of a phantom pub or a parallel universe, what irks me is the machinations of the brain and the implications of distorted or false memory. The former (if they exist) are external, possibly imposed or just somehow stumbled upon; the latter much more troublesome, posing questions about who we are, what makes us tick and our very conception and perception of the world. Martin Firth
Hebden Bridge, West Yorkshire
Editor’s note: for the wonderful memorate of a vanishing Armenian restaurant in Iran, see FT177:47.
Yorkshire spaceman
In the autumn of 2012, my brother and I were living in the picturesque town of Holmfirth, West Yorkshire, and would regularly walk to and from the pub during the summer months. One evening we were walking back from the pub on a lane only partially lit by streetlights. It must have been late August or early September as it was dark. As we walked towards the lit end of the lane, we became aware of someone walking towards us. As he drew closer we could see that it was a man dressed in full spacesuit including boots and helmet. He walked straight past without acknowledging us. The visor was up on his helmet, so we could see it was an adult male of average height. We exchanged quizzical glances and watched where he was heading. When he got about 100 yards down the road, he veered left through a gate into a field before breaking into a run and disappearing onto the moors, scattering sheep as he went. Although we had consumed a couple of drinks over the course of the evening, we were far from intoxicated and we both had clear memories of the incident the following day. It was a very unusual sight on a quiet country road just after last orders. Jonny Forster
New Crofton, West Yorkshire