TIMESLIP PART 1

This post was published in the co-written book with Pete Haines titled 'So You Think We're Alone'. It is written through Pete's eyes.

 

A quick look at the baffling phenomenon of timeslip. It’s nothing new.

            While researching this book, two odd events took place for which timeslip might provide an answer. They each happened to me and after discussing them with Clive he suggested timeslip. Maybe he’s right. Our home in Gloucestershire had been devastated by the summer floods of 2007. The ground floor was a mess and it was a stressful and unpleasant time.

I’d spent the morning upstairs in my study working on the manuscript. It was time for a break and as I was about to wrap up a chapter when I heard the front door open. Then there was the sound of a footfall on the tiles of the hall followed by the door closing. Clearly my wife was home for lunch. It was usual for her to shout a greeting to me, but on this occasion there was nothing but silence. Odd, thought I. I shouted, “Hello darling.” Still no response. Odder still. I went downstairs to investigate but there was no sign of my wife. I opened the front door and looked around outside. No, she definitely wasn’t home.

For a moment I forgot about this while I made a cup of tea and went into the back garden for a smoke. Then my wife appeared with a bemused look on her face. She had just arrived home that very second. “That was funny,” she said. “When I came in I heard you shout ‘hello darling’. But you’re out here.” By ‘out here’ she meant that it would have been impossible to hear me shout anything from the back garden. I am guessing but the time between me shouting “hello darling” and my wife arriving home would have been about 8 to 10 minutes.

The very next day another incident made me raise my eyebrows. My 15 year old son was working in my study, allegedly doing his homework. I heard him call out to me, “What?” as teenagers do. I went to the bottom of the stairs to see him standing at the top. I must have had a stupid expression on my face. “What is it?” he said.

“What’s what?” I replied rather lamely.

“What do you want?”

This was turning into a farce. Before this exchange gets too boring I’d better skip a few lines.

“You called me,” he said.

“Actually, I didn’t,” I replied.

“Yeah, you did. I heard you clearly.”

Well, I had called him some twenty minutes earlier but hadn’t received a response. What was going on here? Clive explained that the energies in the house might easily have been upset by the floods and the huge damage our home sustained. Well, maybe so and that would certainly explain another odd series of events, although I don’t see that they were linked to timeslip.

The flood had ravaged the back garden, a garden on which much time, expense and love had been expended. Many trees and shrubs were dead and dying, weeds were growing and it looked a mess. Thankfully the shrubs in the many pots had all survived the wretched inundation.

 One such potted plant was a Japanese acer. Around the base of the tree was a layer of fossils, the kind you pick up on the limestone paths and hills of the Cotswolds; the mulch with a difference. The lip of this pot stood some 20 inches (51cms) off the ground. For several mornings in a row some of the pebbles and fossils were removed from the pot and sprinkled around on the ground.

I puzzled over what might be the culprit or cause. Too heavy for birds, too high and heavy for hedgehogs, cats didn’t seem likely since I’d never seen cats picking up stones. No way dogs could get into the garden, nor foxes or badgers. I was bemused. Only one thing for it. I phoned Clive. For a moment there was silence as he digested my weird story. To my considerable surprise he proposed a solution to the mystery.

“I think you’re being nudged by the garden devas. They’re telling you that they’re not happy that you’re neglecting the garden. Tidy it up, Pete. I think you’ll find that the fossils will stay in the pot then.”

I hung up and thought for a moment or two. Checking there wasn’t anyone in earshot I said aloud, “OK, OK, I’ll sort the garden out.”  I confess to having felt a little foolish.

Sure enough, next morning none of the fossils had been disturbed; nor the morning after, nor again the morning after that. However, on the next morning there was one fossil on the ground. The following morning there were several, and then there were piles all over the place. Could Clive be right?

 Saturday arrived and I vowed to devote the whole day to a garden tidy up. From dawn to dusk I toiled without a break for lunch. Short breaks for tea and cigarettes I did allow myself. Before it was too dark to see anything, I decided I was done. I looked around with a sense of satisfaction and a mild backache.

Would next morning see fossils and pebbles displaced from their pot or would they remain in place? It was with a certain anticipation I hurried into the back garden early next morning. Not one out of place. All was just as it had been left the previous evening and to this day that is the way it has remained. Never once has a single fossil left the pot since my Saturday exertions. So, was Clive right? I leave that to you.

A delicious event marked the writing of the few paragraphs above. It was around half past midnight. Something hit the back of my head, rolled to the front of my head, landed on my chest and fell to the floor. I turned all the lights on trying to see what it was. Lying on the carpet was a tiny L-shaped piece of ancient leather, just 2cms (0.79 inches) at its longest. No amount of searching gave me any indication from whence it had come.

Clive and I wondered if this was a sign of approval as we continue to write this book? We wondered at the significance of its L-shape. It wasn’t until my wife came home that light was shone on the possible relevance. “It’s L for Lily,” she said. For several years now I have been advised that my own spirit guide is a young teenager called Lily. And maybe it was Lily who was removing the pebbles and fossils to motivate me to tidy up her garden?

More in part 2 later.