[Tealeaf]

The first time was many years ago. I suppose I was 13 or 14 at the time, and with several chums. It was a cold december evening, and we had set off down the Dunkenhalgh with air rifles and a few flagons of Strongbow to kill a few riverside rats and rabbits. I remember there was ice on the ground and it was very dark as we left the canal bank and proceeded down the path past Ponthalgh farm.

In those days, of course, there was no motorway cutting through the estate, so there was no artificial light. We reached the bridge where the Aspen/Tinker brook joins the Hyndburn and walked into a wall of mist...and absolute silence. You could see no more than your arm's length...suddenly, from behind, came this eerie, low pitched sound and as we turned, a wind hit us in the face...and yet the mist did not appear to move. Then suddenly, upon us was a hugh black beast of maybe 16 or 17 hands, and on it was mounted an English Roundhead, one arm outstretched with mighty sabre in hand, the other holding the reins. But where his head and helmet should be...there was nothing...just a plume of blood erupting from his neck and cascading over the front of his silver breastplate. He was past in an instant and behind him the mist slowly cleared.

Needless to say, we shot neither rat or rabbit that night.