“In their house on the outskirts of Cheltenham, the two sisters had a lovely bowl of roses, which they wanted to photograph. They fixed their camera for a time exposure and went away from the room. When the picture was developed, that, too, showed fairy life.”
During a holiday in Sheringham, Norfolk, my sister and I went by bus to Castle Rising to see the ancient castle. Nearby was a little wood, and as I strongly sensed the presence of fairies there, I went and knelt among the trees and played on my homemade bamboo pipe, while my sister photographed me. Fairies are attracted to music, and I knew that one or more fairy figures were building-up out of the ectoplasm from my aura. The print showed this, and it was admired by all my psychic friends, but the sceptics said, “What a pity the light got into the camera!” One cannot win!
As the writer Leslie Shepard said in one of his letters to me: “Nobody can be sure of anything with photographs or sound recordings. But even if found later to be untrue, they stimulate the imagination. I don’t mean that fairies are imaginary, but only that perception of them is in that area of experience reached through imagination, as opposed to hard, matter-of-fact ‘commonsense.’”
Chapter 12: A Fairy Sanctuary
The contributor of the following experiences is certainly not afraid of revealing his identity, but we both feel it is wiser not to divulge his name or the location of this wonderful Fairyland, as he wishes to protect it from publicity and hordes of pseudo-investigators. I have met “H” and have been corresponding with him for many years. During the long period of these occurrences, I found myself in touch with the Devic Guardian of the area, and had some curious experiences of my own, which I am unable to divulge but that linked up with those of “H,” so I can vouch for the truth of his statements and his absolute sincerity. Although he may sound otherworldly, he is also very practical and has always busily engaged himself in public affairs.
At the beginning of his experiences, “H” was residing in Nottingham but was in the habit of spending his summer holidays in a village near London in the latter part of June. In 1960, on the second Saturday of his vacation, he went for an afternoon stroll, taking a neighbour’s dog with him for exercise. About a mile outside the village, his walk took him by the site of a moated grange, which, three centuries before, had been sacked and burned by Cromwell’s soldiers. As it was not badly damaged, it was made habitable again and restored to its former glory until some time in the nineteenth century, when it was again damaged by fire and abandoned. Finally it fell into decay, and “H” remembers seeing, in his early days, some parts of the masonry. He walked on for perhaps another quarter of a mile. Then, not wishing to tire the dog, which was stolid and getting lazy in its old age, he turned for home. As they passed the site of the ancient building for the second time, the dog suddenly became rigid and stood looking towards it. “H” called to the animal to “Come on,” but it seemed terrified and, before he could see what it was looking at, it gave a howl, snatched the lead from his hand, and set off for home faster than he had ever seen it travel before. He tried to call it back, but without avail. Feeling very puzzled, he looked to see what had frightened it, expecting to see another dog or some other animal. Then he saw a movement, but as the ground was far from level at that point it was a few seconds before he could be sure what was there.
“I was astounded,” he told me, “to see what appeared to be three immense butterflies—two of them hovering in the air above one that was fluttering in the grass. They were many yards away, and their wings—the span of which was larger than an opened sheet of foolscap paper—obscured their bodies and made identification difficult. As regards colour, the two in the air appeared to be blue blended with chestnut-brown, the one on the ground being primrose or daffodil-yellow. The ground remained comparatively static for a few seconds, then moved away—the two still flying above the primrose one, which was travelling either on, or very close to, the grass. I noticed that its wings were fluttering much more rapidly than those of the other two, as if it was trying unsuccessfully to rise in flight. The wings of all three appeared indescribably rich, shimmering far more than the richest satin, and in shape closely resembling those of butterflies. They continued across the grass until the primrose one stopped on a raised hummock of ground, which may have been a large molehill, and began to beat its wings harder than ever, while the other two fluttered agitatedly round and round above it. Faster and faster beat its wings until their shape was lost in a blur of colour, and it left the hump of ground and began to move very quickly across the grass. I became acutely aware of a strained atmosphere as it went shimmering along. Then suddenly it left the ground and soared up, and the feeling of tension vanished as it fluttered delicately and lightly in the air. The three went flying towards the trees and then were no longer there. They had simply disappeared. I waited possibly half an hour but saw nothing else. A brief examination of the ground revealed nothing, and neither did several subsequent visits. The dog had arrived home on its own, very tired but none the worse for its fright. I explained away its behaviour by saying that it had been startled by a car backfiring. When I first saw the creatures, the time would be around 3 o’clock, and I reached home at about ten minutes to four, so I would assume that the experience and subsequent wait lasted approximately half an hour. There may be nothing significant in the fact that previously there had been a heavy downpour of rain.”
In a footnote to his statement, “H” added that as a child he had spent many hours in the vicinity and had developed an affection for the place and its history, so that there was possibly an affinity with its atmosphere, which provided a common meeting-ground between himself and the nature spirits.
On 6 April 1962, I had a telephone call from “H,” who had just returned to Nottingham from another holiday—an earlier one than usual owing to the illness of his mother. I learned that he had paid several visits to the site of the moated grange in the hope that he might see another fairy, but nothing had transpired until the penultimate day of his holiday while he was sitting on an old fallen log smoking his pipe and waiting as before. The shadows were lengthening but it was not quite dusk.
“Then,” he related, “I heard a soft, fluttering, rustling sound. I looked round and there, not ten yards from me, was a fairy about as tall as my knee and apparently solid. She resembled a lovely girl and was wearing a ball gown of the eighteenth century, made of rich, deep crimson ‘satin,’ and where she held it up in front I could see a foamy puff of petticoats. Her wings were just ceasing to flutter; they were shaped precisely like those of a butterfly, but were far, far lovelier—plum-coloured patterned with deep crimson, shimmering, patiny petals of glowing fluorescent colour. They were large—the upper tips reaching well above her head to the height perhaps of my thigh, the lower tips almost brushing the grass. Her hair was powdered and dressed high, but not exaggeratedly so, in the eighteenth-century style. As I gaped in astonishment, I heard other rustling sounds and, turning round, saw other fairies (in size about 30 inches to the uppermost wing-tips) fluttering down, looking like lovely be-winged roses in their billowy, frothy-petticoated gowns of deep reds and primrose, and shimmering blues and greens. They seemed to glow all over, as if with an inner light, and their gleaming wings—breathtakingly beautiful—were patterned like those of tropical butterflies. They leaned back on them, their knees bent, their feet—in delicate ‘satin’ slippers—held high, and as each fairy neared the ground she straightened up and landed with a little bounce and a flurry of frills. They gathered together in a little crowd and strolled around like a group of fashionable ladies of centuries ago, except that these beauties had wings. They continued in this manner for several minutes, maybe five or even longer. I was too much engrossed to look at my watch, so can only guess. Then the one I first saw turned away from the others and picked up her gown, holding it high. She stood for several seconds with wings full-spread, then began to flutter and to trip daintily forward on tip-toe. Faster and faster she fluttered, then bending at
the knees and with an extra-strong flutter, she leapt lightly into the air and soared upwards. One by one the others followed her, and I watched them drifting around perhaps twelve feet high. Then I suddenly realised that one—in a particularly billowy deep lilac gown, with lilac-and-blue wings—was not with them but was still on the ground, fluttering desperately hard! She was holding a double armful of her oceans of skirts high, but so voluminous were they that her legs were still hidden by the foamy clouds of frills. Her wings were whirring as she billowed frantically along. Bending again at the knees, she leapt into the air but fell back. Again she tried, and again. Her movements attracted the others, who swooped over her, and at last she redoubled her efforts. The astonishing thing is that I could hear her—the stiff, rustling ‘frou-frou-frou-frou’ of her gown and the whirr of her wings. At last she threw up both her arms, releasing her skirts, and soared high into the air. Then all the fairies flocked together and, joining hands, began an aerial dance, whirling round in a circle. This soon ended and they flew round and round in ones and twos until, one after another they began to fade, eventually dissolving into a shimmering, coloured mist. For a few seconds I could still hear their rustling, then a clear, girlish laugh, followed by silence. It was almost dark. I felt absolutely worn-out, and very sick. I went straight home to bed, where I stayed for twelve hours before I fully recovered.”
From the depleted condition of “H” after his experience, it would seem that he has a loosely-knit etheric body, from which the fairies must have drawn lavish amounts of ectoplasm to enable them to densify their own bodies and to indulge more freely and objectively in their glamorous imitations of eighteenth-century costumes. The seated grange that once stood on that fairy-haunted ground must have been a fine house in the eighteenth century, and no doubt many grand balls were held there, attended by all the gentry from roundabout. The fabulous ball-gowns and hairstyles of that period must have left a deep impression on the fairies—hence their desire to adopt them.
After this experience, “H” recalled something that had held no significance for him at the time. When he was in the junior class at school, he was taught by a teacher who must have been very “fey.”
“She used to tell us fairy stories when we should have been doing lessons,” “H” said, “and of course we encouraged her! Nobody took much notice of what she said, as she was thought to be rather ‘queer,’ but I wish now that I had been old enough to understand and had paid more attention to her tales. We thought they were just imaginary, but they were centred around the area of the house site. ‘In the fields, up ___ road,’ or ‘Along ___ road,’ she would say, and the house-site stretches between those roads. She told us the fairies were dressed like great ladies of hundreds of years ago, and they had butterfly wings, yet couldn’t fly. I know she was wrong about the fairies being unable to fly, but she’d probably seen them trying and failing over and over again, as I had done. So it seems I am not the first to see them. I am sure she did, and I wish I could speak to her now.”
In June 1963, “H” went again to the village. He travelled on the Friday night, and the next morning (15 June), being unable to sleep, he rose at about 5 a.m. and went for a walk. Of course he felt drawn towards the scene of his previous fairy experiences, but the site of the old house was deserted and there was a feeling as though nothing was likely to happen there, so he went round a little wood nearby—another scene of many happy childhood hours. For a time nothing occurred, then he realised that about ten yards away, near some bushes, he could see a pair of wings!
“They were perhaps a foot in height, of an indescribable blend of dark and light blues and silver, shaped precisely like those of a butterfly and of the same rich, satiny texture, but incredibly sumptuous, putting the loveliest satin quite to shame. I could see no sign of a body; just those gorgeous wings fluttering daintily near the bushes, some three or more feet from the grass. I watched with breathless excitement until some few seconds later, they flew out of sight behind the foliage. I went after them, but, as I expected, there was no sign of them. Then, about twenty yards farther on, I saw them again. They flew from behind a tree, hovered for a few seconds, then went back behind the tree again. I waited for them to re-appear, which they did very shortly. They fluttered a little way towards me, then retreated to the tree, turned again, and hesitated. Suddenly I realised that I was being invited to follow them! As soon as I started forward, they flew behind the tree. I hurried on and, as I rounded the tree, I could see them crossing a little glade. I followed through the bushes into another glade, and then I suddenly realised that, as far as I knew, there never was another glade! I also realised that I could now see the body of the fairy who had led me—that of a lovely girl, dressed in a costume that was just like a short ballet tutu, with a wide, foamy, dark blue skirt. In that strange, dreamland atmosphere, I was unable to assess size and, for all I could tell, she might have been as large as me. That doesn’t mean that she was, of course, but normal, everyday standards of size and place seemed to have disappeared. She was so slim and beautiful in her frothy costume, with her long hair, soft and thick and black, reaching below her waist, as she fluttered with those oh-so-lovely wings only just off the ground, her long legs raised in front, her arms held like those of a ballerina. It was a vision of such bewitching loveliness that I shall never forget it. I followed the shimmering vision across the glade—then I realised with a thrill of wonder and awe that we were not alone. The whole glade was filled with fairies! They were all like lovely girls, but with such indescribably glorious wings. I can’t explain it, but if I tell you that they made butterflies’ wings look like those of moths by comparison, you will perhaps realise a tenth of their loveliness. Even the most expensive satin used for gala ball gowns would have looked like rags compared with their beauty. Some of the fairies wore what looked like inverted roses for skirts, others were in daffodils and primroses, and others in foamy frillies. They were laughing and dancing like happy children, playing with each other. One landed and immediately started to rise again, but two others took hold of her wings just as she made her little leap, and held her, laughing as children do. They played a sort of leap-frog, one bending over, wings upright and skirt foaming out stiffly, while several others fluttered up and over her, landing in their turn and bending over. Others joined hands and skipped in a circle, wings beating lightly. Because they were so close to each other their wings fluttered against their neighbours’, and one fairy broke away from the circle and looked over her shoulders, examining her wings as if to make sure they were undamaged. Then she tried to re-enter the circle but wasn’t allowed to, so she flew up and landed in the middle, dancing round and round on her own. One bewitching creature was all in black and silver, complete with black-and-silver wings. Round her hips was a foam of black frills, and her black bodice was decorated with silver. She did not join in the games but spent her time frothing out her frillies with her hands, spreading, folding, and re-spreading her wings, and posing and re-posing, occasionally making little fluttering flights, obviously very vain. All of them seemed able to fly with the utmost ease, floating around like thistle-down, as lightly as butterflies but without the erratic darting of that insect, and with none of the desperate whirring beating of sings like the other fairies I saw. The whole glade was alive with fluttering wings and rustling frills and shimmering ‘satin’ and rich colours, and the atmosphere seemed filled with a magic, gauzy light such as I cannot describe. Then, all too soon, they were gone, and all I could see was the original tiny (by comparison) pair of blue-and-silver wings. They fluttered away and I followed back to the other glade, then they, too, were gone. I looked and looked, but all I could find were the trees and bushes and tangled undergrowth. The magic glade had quite disappeared, and I know in my heart that it never really existed in the world in which we live. Now, at long last, I know what they meant in those old books by ‘Fairyland.’ A few other things occur to me. First, the grass was saturated with dew—except in the glade of the fairies. Se
cond, although I could hear them, it was more that I could sense the sounds. There was a strange, all-pervading perfume—sweet and slightly piercing, yet flower-like and very delightful. The skin of the fairies was silky, yet with exactly the texture of a rose-petal, creamy-pink and white, and their eyes were limpid and shining. They seemed to shimmer slightly all over; they were like magic flower-butterflies in human form, and their frills were not just frills, as humans’ are, but frothy puffs of rustling foam. I should explain that these fairies in the magic glade gave no indication of having any knowledge that I was there. They never came nearer than a few yards, and I was far too spellbound even to think of trying to touch or speak to them.”
On 23 June 1963, “H” wrote me a further letter: “I have had yet another fairy experience! This time it was different from the other three. I returned to the wood in the evening to endeavour to contact the fairies. It was about 9:45 p.m. I went to the first glade and waited. Presently I realised that I felt very tired, so I sat down on the grass, thinking that my weariness might be the result of so much walking about after the train journey and rushing around in the morning. Soon, however, I was fighting off a heavy fatigue that was so strong that I could hardly keep my eyes open. Suddenly I became very dizzy and I felt myself falling through a void, as if I were ‘going under’ gas at the dentist’s surgery. Then, in an instant I was all right; I felt not only perfectly fit and energetic but also exhilarated and very happy and carefree. The glade was no longer drowsy in the approaching dusk but bathed in light—not sunlight, but a shimmering, cobwebby sort of radiance, as if I were looking through a very fine film of delicate gauze, which made it seem unreal and without substance; soft and without the hard brilliance of daylight. All around were fairies, lovely creatures with gleaming wings, dressed similarly to those I told you of last time. On this occasion, however, there were no games and dancing. Instead, they all seemed to be concerned with trying to make themselves as pretty as possible, as if they were preparing for a party or a ball… There was an air of great excitement, bustle and hurry, which transferred itself to me so that I felt ‘tingly’ and stimulated. Incidentally, once again all the fairies seemed of full human size, and there was that strange perfume all the time. At length, one of them, in a very rich blue ballet tutu, began to beat her elaborately patterned, multi-coloured wings very rapidly, but without rising or moving… She just stood there, poised like a ballet dancer, then she began to trip forward, running (but very delicately, with no effort such as it would be to a human) round the perimeter of the glade. The others joined in behind, until they were a fluttering queue of fairies. Then they rose in the air and with legs raised and arms uplifted in front, went rushing round and round, spiralling upwards with a sound like the soughing of the wind. The excitement rose to a terrific pitch—then I became very dizzy and suddenly felt that I was falling again through a void, but this time falling forwards, as if returning to where I had come from—and then it was all over. I was in the glade and it was pitch dark. It was raining slightly and everything was real and ordinary. As I blundered out of the wood I felt very shaken and ‘trembly’ as a result of the intense excitement. In the darkness my hand was pricked several times by thorns—one of which pulled a thread out of my jacket. Other things occur to me as I think. These fairies seemed to be more richly dressed than the others in the magic glade, for their costumes had gold and silver threads in them and were scattered with flowers, and I seem to remember that whereas the satiny-winged fairies had little gold, silver, etc., slippers, the gauzy-winged ones were barefoot—but I am not certain of this.”
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