Spectral mariner

I was invited to a hen party in Amsterdam in September 2006. My fellow hens were all flying over to Amsterdam, apart from me (I hate flying) and a good friend who kindly said she would keep me company on the ferry from North Shields to Amsterdam. It is an overnight crossing and in September can entail quite rough seas, which indeed it did. A short distance from North Shields we really felt the seas. My friend retired to our cabin to sleep it out. I don’t suffer from sea sickness and wandered around the ship, which was almost empty as most people were doing as my friend did. I ate by myself in the restaurant except for a few hardy truck drivers, and watched the cabaret dancers struggling to keep standing in the entertainment lounge. I actually found it magical to have the ship almost to myself, even though with each step the ship left my feet in mid-air one step and uncomfortably grounded the next.

Eventually, I went back to the cabin, check on my friend and try to sleep. I slept well until I awoke at about 5 or 6am, although I’m not sure of the time; it was a sort of gloomy half-light. The comforting engine sound had almost stopped – just a faint thrumming. I sat up and peered out of our porthole and saw we were stationary in amongst many offshore windmills. I know this boat sometimes holds if it is running early. The seas were much calmer, almost flat, and I got back into bed.

It was then that I saw a man standing right next to my bunk. We had two double bunks in our cabin, opposite each other; my friend and I both took the lower. The man was wearing black oilskins, complete with hat. He had a salt and pepper beard and was dripping with water. Around him were things I find hard to describe; they were like imps, very black, small and scary. They were shouting at me, but I couldn’t discern what they were saying.

I concentrated on the man, as he was clearly trying to talk to me. He said “I’m beneath you”. I remember looking at my friend, trying to see if she had woken up, which she hadn’t. His back was clearly right next to her. I looked back at him and he said “My boat is the name of a bird”. All the time the little black imp things were shouting at me; I only got the words “We are the...” from them. I tried to ignore them and concentrate on the man. He was probably about 50 and had good wet weather gear of indeterminate period. He looked haunted and quite afraid. Incidentally, my mother-in-law told me she thought the little black things were maybe unhappy the man was looking for help. I don’t know, but they certainly made me feel bad. Then the man vanished, but as he vanished I saw an owl by the door of our cabin.

Since then I have searched for wrecks in the area where we were stopped, although I don’t know exactly where we were, except it was in a massive wind farm off the Dutch coast. I have found no record of boats with the name of birds going missing in that area. I’m sure many readers will assume I had a lucid waking dream. All I can say to the contrary is that I feel sure I was awake, as I looked out of the porthole and got back into bed before he appeared. I am well used to this particular crossing and have never experienced anything like this before or since.

I was left with the overwhelming impression of a lost soul crying for help. Has anyone experienced anything similar, or can shed light on who the mysterious mariner may have been?

Karen Griffiths

North Shields, Tyne & Wear

A mere figment?

I am an only child. In the 1950s, after I was sent to bed at the age of five or six, I would lie there and think that I didn’t really exist, but was the product of someone or something’s dream. I only existed in that dream. I didn’t know who the dreamer was and had no image of him/her/it in my mind, but I was sure that when the dreamer awoke I would cease to exist. I would try and stay awake as long as I could, because if I was awake there was a chance I was real.

This impression lasted a considerable time. I didn’t tell my parents about this until years later, and they were horrified that I had kept it to myself. Someone told me that this state of mind is akin to inverse solipsism, but I have never read anything that resembled how I felt. I still sometimes feel that life is lived through a dream

– by whom or what I cannot imagine.

Ruth Marsden

Dunchurch, Warwickshire

Isle of Wight encounter

I am a health professional and consider myself a ‘normal’, average sort of person, not inclined to flights of fancy. Nothing like this has happened to me before or since. I will not give my name, as I have a reputation to maintain.

In 2017 I was on holiday on the Isle of Wight. This was my second visit and I went on a day trip around the island. The coach took us to a site of outstanding natural beauty. I wandered off on my own and was walking in an area of little streams, gentle waterfalls and unusual flora. It had been raining in the morning, but the

“The man was wearing black oilskins, complete with hat”

afternoon was sunny, giving the area a sparkling quality. It was quiet and peaceful. I crossed a small bridge over a stream in front of a little waterfall. As I contemplated the scene, there appeared in front of me what I shall call a fairy. He was seven or eight feet [2-2.4m] away and about my eye height. He was around eight or nine inches [20-23cm] tall and flying with two pairs of transparent wings. He was clearly male, a ‘boy’ of around 12 or 13, with short, light brown curly hair, wearing a light brown suit of course material – a short, boxy type jacket and straight-legged trousers finishing at his ankles. His hands and feet were bare.

We looked at each other for around 20 seconds. I blinked and when I opened my eyes he was gone. I stood there for a few minutes feeling quite shaken, and then went to sit on a nearby bench to gather my thoughts. After a while, I made my way back to the coach. I told no one about this encounter; after all, who would have believed me? I have been back to the same spot hoping against hope that he might appear again – but no luck. E.J.

By post (no address)