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Phantom Hitchhikers & Road Ghosts

What does pixie lead mean?
Traditionally, it was when fairies led people out of their way by magic, trapping them in an area from which they could find no exit, until the fairies tired of their game - so if someone gets lost in a field or a wood that they know very well and are unable to find the way out, they are pixie-led.

Alternatively pixie lead is what fairies load their rifles with.
 
Traditionally, it was when fairies led people out of their way by magic, trapping them in an area from which they could find no exit, until the fairies tired of their game - so if someone gets lost in a field or a wood that they know very well and are unable to find the way out, they are pixie-led.

Alternatively pixie lead is what fairies load their rifles with.
In a getting lost scenario then, but how does it equate to other road ghosts that are seen?
 
'And I found a statement by Hawthorne which helped to explain his method: “I have sometimes produced a singular and not unpleasing effect, so far as my own mind was concerned, by imagining a train of incidents in which the spiritual mechanism of the faery legend should be combined with the characters and manners of everyday life."'

(Ghost Story, by Peter Straub)
 
Also from Ghost Story ~

A shapeshifter speaks:

'I have lived since the times when your continent was lighted only by small fires in the forest, when humans dressed in hides and feathers, and even then our kinds have abhorred each other. Your kind is so bland and smug and confident on the surface; and so neurotic and fearful and campfire-hugging within. In truth, we abhor you because we find you boring. We could have poisoned your civilisation ages ago, but voluntarily lived on its edges, causing eruptions and feuds and local panics. We chose to live in your dreams and imaginations because only there are you interesting.

You make a grave mistake if you underestimate us. Could you defeat a cloud, a dream, a poem? You are at the mercy of your human imaginations; and when you look for us, you should always look in the places of your imagination. In the places of your dreams...'
 
Edited previous post for spelling, it’s ’Pixie ‘Led’. @Floyd1

Good article here from:

British Faeries

Changing the landscape or hiding the path​

Using glamour so that the human victim no longer recognises where they are is the commonest way to confuse and lead astray a person. A few accounts will exemplify this: Once a Week magazine in 1867 reported how a young farmer was pixie-led one evening in an orchard, where he was trapped for two hours. In a Welsh incident, two young women returning to Llandysul from Lampeter fair were led in a field next to their home. They were lost for hours on a bright moonlit night, yards from their house. Lastly, a Cornish man called Glasson, making the short walk from Ludgvan to Gulval near Penzance, got completely lost and went in circles. In all these cases, and more, a familiar place became strange; land marks disappeared and panic set in.

Hiding Gates​

Sometimes, the change made is to conceal the gate out of a field. Often, again, the enclosed space is very familiar to the victim and the moon may be shining, but the means of escape seems to vanish. To add to this, in several Cornish accounts the pixies also frustrate their victims’ attempts to get free by raising the field hedge whenever he finds a lower part he might have been able to climb over (Bottrell, Hearthside Stories, vol.1, p.57 and Enys Tregarthen, Folklore Tales, ‘The Enchanted Field’ (1911)).

Mist and Fog​

The pixies are known for their ability to control the weather and this can be used as a way of trapping victims. Men travelling across Dartmoor from Crediton to Exeter were advised that, if a cloud descended, they should strip and sit on their clothes for half an hour or so. The pixies would in due course raise the fog thrown around them. Patience is evidently important in such cases. A woman on the Quantocks became demented with terror when the pixies caused an evening mist to rise suddenly around her, so that she was lost in a field minutes away from her home. For other examples, see Briggs’ Dictionary of Fairies.

Music​

The pixies may lure people away from their route with music, thereby getting them lost. This has been reported in Devon and in North Wales.

Fairy Rings​

Just as a person may become trapped in a familiar field, they may step into a fairy ring and fall into the fairies’ power. A Somerset farmer coming home from market was led like this until he ended up exhausted by a briar bush that grew in three counties- a plant which magical properties that seems to have broken the spell he was under. Cornish fairy author Enys Tregarthen has called rings ‘Spriggan Traps.’

Perhaps related to this phenomenon is that of following a ‘piskey-path.’ Enys Tregarthen also described how these mysterious green paths can be seen on cliffs or meandering across the moors, still verdant when the bracken is dry and brown. Writing in 1630 in his View of Devonshire, Thomas Westcote mentioned how a person who got lost on Dartmoor would be “led in a pixy-path.” Here there is some definite, if unclear, link between these paths and being pixie-led.

Never Arriving​

In one Cornish story a man called Nicholas Annear was punished by the pixies for always rushing and hurrying. One day, he set out for market with his horse and cart. The pixies made it appear that the church tower at his destination was ahead, but he never got there. He drove his cart all day and never arrived.


Apologies for this veering off topic.
 
Edited previous post for spelling, it’s ’Pixie ‘Led’. @Floyd1

Good article here from:

British Faeries

Changing the landscape or hiding the path​

Using glamour so that the human victim no longer recognises where they are is the commonest way to confuse and lead astray a person. A few accounts will exemplify this: Once a Week magazine in 1867 reported how a young farmer was pixie-led one evening in an orchard, where he was trapped for two hours. In a Welsh incident, two young women returning to Llandysul from Lampeter fair were led in a field next to their home. They were lost for hours on a bright moonlit night, yards from their house. Lastly, a Cornish man called Glasson, making the short walk from Ludgvan to Gulval near Penzance, got completely lost and went in circles. In all these cases, and more, a familiar place became strange; land marks disappeared and panic set in.

Hiding Gates​

Sometimes, the change made is to conceal the gate out of a field. Often, again, the enclosed space is very familiar to the victim and the moon may be shining, but the means of escape seems to vanish. To add to this, in several Cornish accounts the pixies also frustrate their victims’ attempts to get free by raising the field hedge whenever he finds a lower part he might have been able to climb over (Bottrell, Hearthside Stories, vol.1, p.57 and Enys Tregarthen, Folklore Tales, ‘The Enchanted Field’ (1911)).

Mist and Fog​

The pixies are known for their ability to control the weather and this can be used as a way of trapping victims. Men travelling across Dartmoor from Crediton to Exeter were advised that, if a cloud descended, they should strip and sit on their clothes for half an hour or so. The pixies would in due course raise the fog thrown around them. Patience is evidently important in such cases. A woman on the Quantocks became demented with terror when the pixies caused an evening mist to rise suddenly around her, so that she was lost in a field minutes away from her home. For other examples, see Briggs’ Dictionary of Fairies.

Music​

The pixies may lure people away from their route with music, thereby getting them lost. This has been reported in Devon and in North Wales.

Fairy Rings​

Just as a person may become trapped in a familiar field, they may step into a fairy ring and fall into the fairies’ power. A Somerset farmer coming home from market was led like this until he ended up exhausted by a briar bush that grew in three counties- a plant which magical properties that seems to have broken the spell he was under. Cornish fairy author Enys Tregarthen has called rings ‘Spriggan Traps.’

Perhaps related to this phenomenon is that of following a ‘piskey-path.’ Enys Tregarthen also described how these mysterious green paths can be seen on cliffs or meandering across the moors, still verdant when the bracken is dry and brown. Writing in 1630 in his View of Devonshire, Thomas Westcote mentioned how a person who got lost on Dartmoor would be “led in a pixy-path.” Here there is some definite, if unclear, link between these paths and being pixie-led.

Never Arriving​

In one Cornish story a man called Nicholas Annear was punished by the pixies for always rushing and hurrying. One day, he set out for market with his horse and cart. The pixies made it appear that the church tower at his destination was ahead, but he never got there. He drove his cart all day and never arrived.


Apologies for this veering off topic.
I have read modern accounts of such things, people being unable to get out of fields or copses that they know very well, there's probably a thread on it on here somewhere.
 
It's conveniently easy for moderns to dismiss people of the past as ignorant and gullible; but these stories echoed down the generations, and evidently something led those folks not to mock these witnesses' anecdotes into non-existence then or later. Something rang true, and must have made them resist dismissing these accounts as excuses for absences due to drunkenness or romantic assignations and so on.
 
@SimonBurchell

I think it is on here somewhere, but basically
It was the summer of 1971 and not long after my grandfather died, so my mother was grieving. She was coming back from Swindon to where we then lived at Kingston Lisle. She went through Sevenhampton and decided to park and go into the church for some quiet thought and maybe a prayer. She was sort of quietly religious all her life.



So she walked along the path to the church and was almost at the church door when she felt like something fell on her, like a cloud of absolute malevolence, and also alien, not human.



She turned around and bolted back up the path and said she was actually waving her hands in the air and shouting ‘Get away from me!’ as if there were a flock of awful ‘things’ divebombing her and screeching.



She got home and was so upset she had a tot of brandy.



Later I would ask her about it, but she hated re-living it. She said although she was sad, she was quite calm and not really thinking about anything much as she walked to the church. It was a lovely still summer day. This just came right out of the blue and really terrified her.
 
@SimonBurchell

I think it is on here somewhere, but basically
It was the summer of 1971 and not long after my grandfather died, so my mother was grieving. She was coming back from Swindon to where we then lived at Kingston Lisle. She went through Sevenhampton and decided to park and go into the church for some quiet thought and maybe a prayer. She was sort of quietly religious all her life.



So she walked along the path to the church and was almost at the church door when she felt like something fell on her, like a cloud of absolute malevolence, and also alien, not human.



She turned around and bolted back up the path and said she was actually waving her hands in the air and shouting ‘Get away from me!’ as if there were a flock of awful ‘things’ divebombing her and screeching.



She got home and was so upset she had a tot of brandy.



Later I would ask her about it, but she hated re-living it. She said although she was sad, she was quite calm and not really thinking about anything much as she walked to the church. It was a lovely still summer day. This just came right out of the blue and really terrified her.
Thanks for that. Sounds similar to an account on here somewhere about a malevolent presence near a beach, in Ireland I think.
 
Yes, this quote strikes me (though my mother never saw or heard anything). And it reminds me of the Ouija Board debacle I was involved in the tail-end of when we were away with the school in Wales. There was that kind of ‘feeling’ like things trying to get into your mind that weren’t human and would make you go mad. That’s on here too, somewhere. It must have been about that time I questioned my mother ore fully on her experience at Sevenhampton.

I broke into a run, feeling ridiculous as I did so but the rising panic in my chest spurred me on. I glanced backwards, now unable to see the cloud but still hearing the buzzing noise, which now seemed to be coming from all around me. A weird phrase kept repeating through my mind, over and over again – ‘it’s not human and it never was’.
 
I certainly think we are chosen targets, not random witnesses of something that happens whether anyone is there to witness or not.
Which does pose the question 'do weird things happen when there is nobody there to see?' And if it does. perhaps the side effect is things mysteriously vanishing or moving?
 
Yes. That happened to me in Clapham Woods a few years ago. Think I posted about it at the time.
That's odd. The same happened to me. This was a good few years ago. I had a look at Cissbury Ring, almost next door, then decided to have a walk around Clapham Woods because of it's Fortean reputation. I didn't think too much of it at the time or since then until I read your posting. I twice walked around in a circle.
 
A cracking tale from Haunted Bedford by William H. King, p. 46.

Hammer Hill
Mr C. W. Taylor from Surrey was driving north-west along the A600; he had passed Deadman's Cross and was just approaching the top of Hammer Hill when he had a strange and frightening experience. Illuminated by his headlights, he could see what looked like a man walking in the same direction as he was travelling. He noted that the figure was wearing a long, dark coat which reached down to its feet and on the back of its head was what looked like a child's straw hat. As the area is a quiet rural one, Mr Taylor decided to stop and offer the man a lift - a decision he would later live to regret.

As he drew level with the figure he saw that it had no face and that the hat was perched in mid-air - as there was no head for it to sit on. Suddenly the figure gave out the most horrible of screams, which proved too much for Mr Taylor who fled in panic.Later he related his story to a clergyman, who told him that he had seen an elemental.

[...] [elementals] first appeared in the works of Paracelsus in the sixteenth century and are used by people working with natural magic who believe in nature spirits. They are very odd things for a member of the clergy to believe in.


I didn’t include the whole description of elementals, since it is rather besides the point, and only included that bit of all because the alleged witness was sufficiently disturbed to mention his encounter to a clergyman and I agreed with the author's opinion of a clergyman believing in elementals. This is a horrifying encounter, if true, but it fits in with road ghosts far more naturally than it does with "elementals".
Well, quite a (semi)coincidence on todays walk. My route took me 17 miles from Flitwick to Bedford, along sections of the John Bunyan Trail, including the section on this map I posted upthread. I saw Hammerhill Farm signpost and thought "Woah, I must be on Hammer Hill". In fact I was! I was about 500-600 meters southwest of the A600 where the horrific encounter I quoted is alleged to have taken place. Semi-coincidence because the whole reason I'm reading up on Bedfordshire is because I'm hiking across it, but I didn't plan to pass Hammer Hill.

Hammer Hill.png

The hill is quite prominent, overlooking the River Great Ouse valley, with views all the way to Bedford, making it a prominent landmark - much like Blue Bell Hill (although not as active):
20231216_135802.jpg

The next photo is the view looking northeast towards the line of the A600, which I have marked (although it passed behind the woodland in the middle of the photo) - it appeared fairly close, and I could see the traffic moving along it:
20231216_135948.jpg

No boggarts appeared to send me fleeing in panic, but it did add a bit of atmosphere to this section of the hike!
 
Wait, are we all just going to ignore the amazing similarities in the description of the figure and hilly location in this account from Bedfordshire and that of our own dear @Quercus on Ditchling Beacon? Compare and contrast:
A cracking tale from Haunted Bedford by William H. King, p. 46.

Hammer Hill
Mr C. W. Taylor from Surrey was driving north-west along the A600; he had passed Deadman's Cross and was just approaching the top of Hammer Hill when he had a strange and frightening experience. Illuminated by his headlights, he could see what looked like a man walking in the same direction as he was travelling. He noted that the figure was wearing a long, dark coat which reached down to its feet and on the back of its head was what looked like a child's straw hat. As the area is a quiet rural one, Mr Taylor decided to stop and offer the man a lift - a decision he would later live to regret.

As he drew level with the figure he saw that it had no face and that the hat was perched in mid-air - as there was no head for it to sit on. Suddenly the figure gave out the most horrible of screams, which proved too much for Mr Taylor who fled in panic.Later he related his story to a clergyman, who told him that he had seen an elemental.

[...] [elementals] first appeared in the works of Paracelsus in the sixteenth century and are used by people working with natural magic who believe in nature spirits. They are very odd things for a member of the clergy to believe in.


I didn’t include the whole description of elementals, since it is rather besides the point, and only included that bit of all because the alleged witness was sufficiently disturbed to mention his encounter to a clergyman and I agreed with the author's opinion of a clergyman believing in elementals. This is a horrifying encounter, if true, but it fits in with road ghosts far more naturally than it does with "elementals".

Well then, first thread... and I thought I'd start with the tale that brought me back to this forum, in a roundabout way.

Story first - and then what came after, in separate posts in case anyone wishes to quote certain sections back at me. Apologies for the length, future posts shouldn't be so episodic!


One night, in either December 2004 or January 2005, I was driving back towards Brighton from my workplace near Lindfield in Sussex, around 11pm.

I worked in a care home, and the hours were unsociable. It was a very cold night, the temperature hovering a little over freezing point – I’d had to use de-icer and scrape the frost from the windscreen after finishing my shift – and there was a stiff wind blowing. The journey was a familiar one, along the B2112 from Wivelsfield through the village of Ditchling, before a left turn onto Beacon Road took me up the very steep, winding road which topped out at Ditchling Beacon, the tallest peak on the Sussex Downs.

I'd dropped off some other staff members in Haywards Heath, Wivelsfield and Burgess Hill, so I was alone by the time I passed through the quiet village of Ditchling and onto Beacon Road. As the streetlights came to an end, I flicked on my main beams and shifted into low gear to negotiate the tight bends which snaked their way up the hillside, trees reaching in from either side of the road to meet in the middle. There was no other traffic. The car was nice and warm after half an hour with the heater on, though.

As I made my way around the fourth turn on the ascent, about two-thirds of the way up the incline, my headlamps illuminated the back of a tall male figure, striding up the right hand side of the road and travelling in the same direction as me. High leather boots, a long, dark coat and a wide-brimmed hat were clearly picked out in the Ford Escort’s halogen main beams. My immediate impulse was to avoid hitting the unexpected walker, who I assumed to be a farmer, perhaps making his way home from one of the pubs in the village. High earthen banks and dense trees lined both sides of the road, and there was nowhere for a pedestrian to move out of the way of traffic.

As I steered around the walking figure, who didn’t turn round or acknowledge my presence in any way, it then occurred to me that maybe something was wrong. Maybe his car had broken down in the village, and he could use a lift up such a punishingly steep hill on such a cold, wild night. I eased off the throttle, coming to a halt halfway between the two bends with my foot on the brake pedal, and lowered the driver’s window. The chill night air rushed into the cabin. I could clearly see the figure reflected in my door mirror, still striding up the side of the road towards me, and brightly lit by the Escort's brake lights. As he drew closer I cleared my throat and prepared to ask him if he needed a lift up the hill – and then I noticed one tiny detail.

The figure walking towards me, reflected in the mirror, had no face.

The hat, the coat, and even a scarf knotted at the throat were plain to see in the bright red brakelights - but where the face should have been was nothing but darkness. It wasn't in shadow from the hat, as the brakes were low down and lit the figure completely. It wasn’t a balaclava or any other face covering, as that would at least have shown an outline. Above the scarf and below the hat, there was simply nothing at all. Only a void.

My brain scrabbled to process what I was seeing, and everything seemed to slow down. I knew what I saw, reflected there before me, and equally I knew I couldn't really be seeing it. My mind seemed to be locked in a loop, unable to work out what was unfolding and hence unable to take action. And all the while the figure was drawing closer, step by step by step.

Suddenly, as if surfacing from beneath water, a jolt of adrenaline hit me and I grabbed at the gearstick, stomped on the accelerator and pulled away, fast.

With a primeval fear prickling at me, I ragged the car around the next bend and onward towards the top of the peak, leaving the walker behind in the darkness beneath the clusters of bare branches. I wound the driver's window back up, trying as I did so to rationalise what I'd seen, and attempting to second-guess whatever optical illusion had made me think that the long-coated traveller was faceless.

But I couldn't come up with anything. The image of the figure, with every crease of the coat and twist of the scarf picked out by the high-intensity brakelights, was burned into my memory – and the awful, indisputable nothingness up top.

Cresting the top of the hill, I hammered along the open road, twisting across the open moorland towards Brighton and home, my mind still churning. Then it struck me that there was nowhere up here for anyone to be walking to - there were no houses, or barns, or anything at all up here. Just miles and miles of wind-blasted heathland and stunted trees across the Downs, until the road met up with the A27 near Coldean. I saw no other cars, either moving or parked, all the way along. And, even with the heater turned up full blast, the inside of my car felt like an industrial freezer all the way home to Hove.

I didn't sleep well that night, even with several hot water bottles in the bed with me. I just couldn't seem to get that chill out of me.

After that, I started going the long way home, along the main A23. There may have been a perfectly plausible explanation for what I saw, or thought I saw – but I didn’t fancy trying my luck with the walker on the Beacon Road again.



So, that's what happened to me.

Is this another variation on the apparently ubiquitous man in the hat? (We've got more than one thread on that phenomenon, but I can't find any of them...)
 
Wait, are we all just going to ignore the amazing similarities in the description of the figure and hilly location in this account from Bedfordshire and that of our own dear @Quercus on Ditchling Beacon? Compare and contrast:




Is this another variation on the apparently ubiquitous man in the hat? (We've got more than one thread on that phenomenon, but I can't find any of them...)
About a month ago I drove up the same road at about 10.30pm one Sunday on a wet, cold and windy evening. Oddly enough I was also driving back from Haywards Heath to where I live in Brighton having visited a friend who was rushed into A & E there having had a heart attack. He is now on the long road to recovery.

I remembered the posting about Ditchling Beacon and the phantom walker and all along the 30/40 minute drive from Haywards Heath to Ditchling part of me wanted to see the phantom walker and part of me screamed NO I DON'T. As I drove along the 2 odd miles from Ditchling to the start of the climb up the tightly curved road to Ditchling Beacon the adrenalin was flowing. That road has always given me the creeps at night time. After leaving Ditchling, there's a few houses then nothing but moorland and fields.

With each turn up the climb I was dreading what I might see and a large part of me screamed at myself 'WTF are you doing'. I drive a largish Transit van and flooring it from a faceless hill walker would be a bit of a joke. I saw nothing at all and I was immensely relieved when I reached the top only to discover there was a dense hill fog the other side of the Beacon as the road is then on a gentle down hill slope the 3 or 4 miles to Coldean Lane and the start of something like civilisation or at least other vehicles. That road is also so desolate. Nothing but fields and farm land either side. That drive in the pitch black and thick fog at 15 to 20mph was also tense and took ages. I usually when driving that road drive at 40 to 60mph. My mind kept playing tricks and the few wind blasted hawthorn trees at the side of the road in the fog light illuminated thick fog suddenly became potential human type shapes. Again, no phantom hill walker. No other traffic either which added to it all.

Then at end of the road that goes from the Beacon is another seriously creepy area, Stanmer Woods. It's even creepy during the day with loads of misshapen green algae and moss strewn trees that have stunted growth. Even the large Elm trees seem miserable.

Then it was over the staggered cross road and over the bridge over the A27 and along another deserted road, Ditchling Road, in the thick fog and the 2 or 3 miles down into the outskirts of Brighton and where the houses start. Even that took ages due to the thick fog. At one point I was driving at around 10mph following the white line at the edge of the road. I kept having a feeling of not knowing where I was and lost in time and space. Very eerie. All the time my mind was doing somersaults and thinking why the f*ck didn't I use the A23 which is a brightly lit for the most part, and also dual carriage way.

As soon as I reached the part where the houses start and where there are no fields either side the fog instantly vanished and I breathed a sigh of relief, relaxed and realised I had been holding the steering wheel so tightly that my hands were aching. By the time I got indoors all my fears and tensions seemed so stupid. Expectations of seeing the same hill walker then seemed so ridiculous and childish.

I am now thinking to drive again up that twisting, turning road from Ditching to the Beacon at night time just in case. What is wrong with me? It's not even far from where I live. If I saw the same as the original OP I think my pants would turn brown but still, I want to give it another go.
 
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Traditionally, it was when fairies led people out of their way by magic, trapping them in an area from which they could find no exit, until the fairies tired of their game - so if someone gets lost in a field or a wood that they know very well and are unable to find the way out, they are pixie-led.

Alternatively pixie lead is what fairies load their rifles with.

I'm pretty convinced that this is the explanation behind what is happening in the TV series  From even though it's all meant to be a bit of a mystery so far. The fae were also featured heavily in the fiction podcast series The Bridgewater Triangle. Apparently fae and fairies are meant to be distinct species in folklore but I thought they were one and the same.
 
Apparently fae and fairies are meant to be distinct species in folklore but I thought they were one and the same.
They're one and the same, any distinction being invented in modern fiction or by New Agers. The use of the word fae seems to have developed due to the modern childish view of fairies as a friendly insect-winged race, thanks to the Victorians and Disney.
 
They're one and the same, any distinction being invented in modern fiction or by New Agers. The use of the word fae seems to have developed due to the modern childish view of fairies as a friendly insect-winged race, thanks to the Victorians and Disney.

I've always liked Sidhe - if only because shee seems to me to have a potentially onomatopoeic quality to it.

I can well imagine that on a late autumn afternoon, the wind rushing around the rath, or whistling through that straggly stand of yews in the old graveyard, might make a sheeee sound. And when that white shape you catch out of the corner of your eye seems to disappear with a whispered shee as you turn to look at it in the half light of the fading afternoon...well, it was probably just the wind we were talking about.
 
I've always liked Sidhe - if only because shee seems to me to have a potentially onomatopoeic quality to it.

I can well imagine that on a late autumn afternoon, the wind rushing around the rath, or whistling through that straggly stand of yews in the old graveyard, might make a sheeee sound. And when that white shape you catch out of the corner of your eye seems to disappear with a whispered shee as you turn to look at it in the half light of the fading afternoon...well, it was probably just the wind we were talking about.
I refuse to use the word fae to describe fairies, partly because it sounds pretentious to my ear, partly because all the fairy vengeance folk tales I read while on holiday as a child used to terrify me enormously (in a good way), so I feel obliged to make a vain attempt to reclaim the word.
 
Well, quite a (semi)coincidence on todays walk. My route took me 17 miles from Flitwick to Bedford, along sections of the John Bunyan Trail, including the section on this map I posted upthread. I saw Hammerhill Farm signpost and thought "Woah, I must be on Hammer Hill". In fact I was! I was about 500-600 meters southwest of the A600 where the horrific encounter I quoted is alleged to have taken place. Semi-coincidence because the whole reason I'm reading up on Bedfordshire is because I'm hiking across it, but I didn't plan to pass Hammer Hill.

View attachment 72180
The hill is quite prominent, overlooking the River Great Ouse valley, with views all the way to Bedford, making it a prominent landmark - much like Blue Bell Hill (although not as active):
View attachment 72181
The next photo is the view looking northeast towards the line of the A600, which I have marked (although it passed behind the woodland in the middle of the photo) - it appeared fairly close, and I could see the traffic moving along it:
View attachment 72182
No boggarts appeared to send me fleeing in panic, but it did add a bit of atmosphere to this section of the hike!
Had an uncle who lived in Flitwick and would visit on the train. Never got out into the countryside and I feel people who only see the transport corridor of the motorway probably get the impression it isn't as rural and scenic as it clearly is.

A mention too for haunted Flitwick Manor that featured on Michael Aspell's 'Strange But True?'. I once knew a chef who had worked there and attested to it being haunted, as do many guests it would seem:

"Sorry to disappoint, but nothing actually went bump in the night, although I did believe that I felt some sort of presence in the room. Perhaps I wanted to believe it, but I did say to VIP that the hotel must be haunted – it was so old that people must have passed there. The presence I thought I felt wasn’t intimidating though – it felt like we were just being observed, so I felt safe enough to not pay too much attention."

https://www.homeandhorizon.com/hallmark-hotel-flitwick-manor-review/
 
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Well, quite a (semi)coincidence on todays walk. My route took me 17 miles from Flitwick to Bedford, along sections of the John Bunyan Trail, including the section on this map I posted upthread. I saw Hammerhill Farm signpost and thought "Woah, I must be on Hammer Hill". In fact I was! I was about 500-600 meters southwest of the A600 where the horrific encounter I quoted is alleged to have taken place. Semi-coincidence because the whole reason I'm reading up on Bedfordshire is because I'm hiking across it, but I didn't plan to pass Hammer Hill.

View attachment 72180
The hill is quite prominent, overlooking the River Great Ouse valley, with views all the way to Bedford, making it a prominent landmark - much like Blue Bell Hill (although not as active):
View attachment 72181
The next photo is the view looking northeast towards the line of the A600, which I have marked (although it passed behind the woodland in the middle of the photo) - it appeared fairly close, and I could see the traffic moving along it:
View attachment 72182
No boggarts appeared to send me fleeing in panic, but it did add a bit of atmosphere to this section of the hike!
I've just realised that this is on @RuthRoperWylde 's patch. Do you know anything more about this one Ruth?
 
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