Maps of the Lost volume 2
from behind the door in the sea
last of his kind
There's a giant who stalks the wild Pennines, his long legs taking him from hill-top to hill-top. His face, should you see it, is full of grief and despair. He does not want to steal, because he is good of heart, but he is desperate so now and then he will take a sheep, which most farmers will blame on foxes or poachers, although a few old and wise farmer will look up at the hills and say nothing.
When he was a young giant, not much more than a baby, he hid in a large pantry cupboard full of bowls and plates, terrified and holding back his sobs while his father was murdered in his sleep by a thief called Jack, who plundered their house and then made up a fanciful story to justify his actions. He is the last of his kind, and he knows it.
Notes from the Cartographer
A big thank you to everyone who has subscribed to this so far, I’m delighted and surprised. I hope that if you’ve read it, you’ve enjoyed it. Feedback’s really welcome - what you’ve liked or disliked, would like to see more of or less of, or which gratings in the road in Swansea never ever to step on when the moon is waning.
Speaking of warnings, this is a fascinating article about an amazing discovery close to Stonehenge: a 1.2 mile diameter circle of giant shafts around Durrington Walls, a henge monument a couple of miles from Stonehenge.
Each shaft is more than 5 metres deep and 10 metres in diameter. They have found 20 so far, through geophysical prospection, ground-penetrating radar and magnetometry, and there may have been at least ten more, each dug from the earth with 'stone, wood, and bone'.
But what took my fancy the most (of course) was the line: "The boundary may have guided people towards a sacred site within its centre or warned against entering it."
At Christmas this year (and doesn’t Christmas 2019 feel like, I dunno, a decade ago now?) I received a terrific present: the reissue of the Usborne World of the Unknown: Ghosts. It took me back through the years reading it - I can’t remember what happened to my tatty original. The most special part was the spread about Britain’s Most Haunted Village - Pluckley in Kent.
I grew up in Kent, and when we were about thirteen or so, me and my best friend Matt persuaded our parents to drive us to Pluckley and let us camp in a farmer’s field for three days, so we could go ghost-hunting. I’m not going to get into the tedious business of rose-tinted nostalgia, but writing that did strike me how different a place the world was then, as both sets of parents said something along the lines of, “Yeah, sure, here’s some Weetabix, beans, Angel Delight and a couple of torch batteries, don’t do anything stupid.”
So, these two thirteen-year-olds camped in a lonely field and wandered around Britain’s Most Haunted Village at night, looking for the ghost of the hanged Colonel in Park Wood, or the spectre of the highwayman at Fright Corner. But we saw none of them.
On our last night though, the other world caught up with us. We woke in the early hours, in our orange tent. Or rather, we were woken. Steady, hoarse, unpleasant breathing. Movement. Showered with condensation as something brushed the tent. We grabbed a spoon, a guidebook, those essential defences against the walking dead. This was it. The moment of revelation. Or maybe doom. Perhaps the Screaming Man was about to scream.
It breathed. We held our breath.
Then it mooed.
Me and the world lost Matt some years ago, and I miss him. We may not have discovered any ghosts, but we created memories.
I’m really hoping that Usborne reissue the UFOs and Monsters books too.
the decade door
Once every ten years, the combination of moon and earth and time of year and the wind means that the tide in a certain beach in the north-west of England will go far out, so far out, that at the lowest of low tides there is sand where there is always water.
If you walk out, right out, so far out that the land is just a distant dark line, like a memory of something you once knew, and go over that long line of low rocks that look like teeth, to the very edge of the water on the lowest tide of the decade, you will find a trapdoor, set in the sand. You only have moments before the tide turns and comes back in, and the door will not be seen again for ten years.
So, make your decision. Open it and go down to the kingdoms below the water, where you will risk your life but see the most wondrous of things and understand what really lies behind the world we think we know. Or leave it shut and walk away, safe and sound, but never knowing.
Quick now. The waves are coming.
clack clack
One day you might notice, walking through Norwich, that a nondescript man walks behind you. You’d have trouble describing him to anyone, he is so lacking in character. He is wholly unthreatening in demeanour, but you do notice that his shoes sound as if they have wooden heels, they clack so on the paving stones. You also notice that he will try and match the pace of your steps exactly. Clack. Clack. Clack. No matter how foolish you feel, walk, skip, hop, do anything but let him match the rhythm of your steps for more than a moment. If you thwart him, he will soon give up. If you do not, and he matches you…you will be gone.
Maps Traced By Other Hands
This section of the newsletter is about inspiration and further reading, books and films and links that may have nothing in common other than that in my mind they live in the same neighbourhood as Maps of the Lost. A neighbourhood where you can knock on any door and they'll understand that you need to borrow a cup of salt to make a circle with, very urgently.
In the last newsletter I linked to Robert MacFarland's fantastic article on the English eerie. Broadening this theme, and including some books which are not folk horror, or horror at all, but share a sense of eeriness and focus on place, is this article from David Barnett on what he terms folk realism, living on the borderlands between folk horror and magic realism:
'painting pictures that disorientate and confuse, yet captivate nonetheless, reminding us that under our veneer of sophistication we are of the soil that still breathes and remembers the old ways under the layers of tarmac and concrete we hide it beneath.'
Whatever you think of David's categorisation (and I think there's a lot in it: I'd read all of these books and thought they all had a certain ill-defined shared sensibility - or more crudely, they all pressed the same button for me and pressed it hard), if you've not read them, all of the novels featured are well worth your time. I'd love to know your thoughts on this.
But enough navel-gazing…time to get out and about, put some boots on, grab a hat because it looks like rain (and it always looks like rain), and go for a Weird Walk.
One thing in the last couple of years that is making me both happier and poorer is the rise of some excellent, beautifully produced zines. I'll touch on another that I love, next time. Weird Walk is a ‘journal of wanderings and wonderings from the British Isles’, produced by a group of friends who’d always had an interest in folklore, walked the Ridgeway one day and decided to put the two things together.
Walking, magick, walking, dolmens, walking, flat roofed pubs, walking, acid folk - it's interesting, funny, and just a downright lovely thing to hold and look at. Highly recommended. You can buy an issue at their online shop, or follow them on Instagram or Twitter. But word of warning, if you are interested - previous issues have sold out quickly. Keep Walking Weird.
(photo from the Weird Walk store).
Last month's hat tip to Bob Fischer's Haunted Generation blog touched on the musical side of the weird and eerie experience. Over the last few weeks I've been enjoying exploring Whinny Moor, both for the music and for the fantastic design. So, whether you want to check out the Viewmaster discs for 'Suburban Poltergeists' or 'Witches & Their Craft' or listen to the lost theme tune from a lost Welsh children's TV show, check it out.
I'll leave you with their words on the latter. Check it out.
'Hereford Wakes' was a five-part ITV children’s drama originally transmitted over the summer of 1972 and produced by Harlech Television based in Wales.
Set in a village outside Hereford the story follows the preparations for the annual Wakes event when dark forces are unleashed as the organisers decide to build a ‘Witch’s Hat’ ride on an ancient burial mound.'
The Ooser Speaks
(taken from the wonderful Readers Digest 'Folklore, Myths and Legends of Britain').
Near Holborn Farm, in Nethyn, Caenarvon, a particular thorn bush is known as Y Goeden Bechol - The Tree of Sin. It is said that in recent times, a woman near the thorn bush saw a phantom coach coming towards her, and a few days later...she was dead.
our little friends
Watch for when the snow falls, in the villages to the west of Whitby. Be up very early in the morning, and you may see small strange footprints in the snow outside, leading to and from a downstairs window. Be early, as even the slightest of breezes will make blow every trace away.
If the footprints lead up to the window, but not away, you should probably leave the house and never return to it.
Secrets the Wind Whispers
If you’re having trouble sleeping, why not listen to the electromagnetic signal from Saturn translated into audio and understand what Hell sounds like.
the name of this band of brigands is Talking Heads
There's a well in the Welsh hills that it's best not to drink from, as it's where the local tribe once threw the heads of their enemies. Although they are centuries dead, and the water is clean now, if you drink it, after a time you will hear a click and a clack as the jaws of the skulls in the well open and close, and no matter how far away you go the leathery heads will speak into your mind and tell you many things that you do not want to know.
Beyond This Point There May Be Dragons
You’ve been reading Maps of the Lost. Or have you? It’s hard to tell. Maybe this is all just a dream. Or a prophecy, or a forewarning. I hope you enjoyed it. Feedback is always welcome, as I’d really like to shape this newsletter to be what you’d like to read and hear. So, ideas, suggestions and comments welcome. You can just reply to this email if you like.
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