glen vaudrey

About eleven years ago a blackbird landed in our back garden. For reasons now lost to Mrs H. she whistled to her feathered visitor. Nothing complex - just a series of random notes repeated several times. The blackbird looked at her and then flew off.

The following day Jackie was hanging out the washing when the same blackbird appeared on the roof of our garden shed. Once again, she whistled the same series of notes that she'd whistled the previous day. To her astonishment the bird promptly whistled the same notes back.

Everyone knows that parakeets and mynah birds can mimic the human voice but at one time few people imagined that this was a talent shared by blackbirds. But it is.

During that summer Mrs. H became good friends with the bird, whom she named Blackie. It visited our garden every day and became bolder and bolder in terms of how close it would approach. Jackie then began to feed it and within two weeks it was quite literally eating out of her hand.

Eventually the bird stopped visiting our garden and we assumed she'd flown off to pastures new. To our delight, however, Blackie returned the following summer. Once again Jackie had been hanging out the washing when she heard the peculiar whistle she'd taught the bird the year before. Startled, she turned round to see our old friend standing on the path.

Over and over Blackie whistled the same tune, in response to which Jackie whistled back. Once again she began to visit our garden daily. On one occasion Jackie was indoors when she heard her feathered friend calling for her. She went outside and smiled at the sight which greeted her. There, standing on the shed roof, were Blackie and four downy young blackbirds. We're convinced that she had brought her young to show us.

One by one the young birds joined Blackie on the path and they all waddled to within a yard or so of Jackie's feet.

Blackie continued to visit us until last year. With each passing summer the whistles become louder and more persistent. She would jump up and down on the garden fence or the shed roof until Jackie popped outdoors to see her.

When Jackie first told me of the almost psychic relationship she had developed with Blackie I was a bit sceptical. I didn't think she was making it up but I did think that she wanted so much to believe that the bird was repeating her whistle that her imagination was getting the better of her.

But then I heard it for myself and actually managed to tape-record a conversation between Mrs. H. and Blackie. I no longer doubted that an extraordinary relationship had developed between them.

Perhaps the most fascinating interaction between Blackie, Jackie and I occurred in the summer of 2000. We were sitting watching the TV early one evening when we heard a frantic scratching at the front door, accompanied by an intense flapping noise. We both went to investigate, and as we opened the door we heard Blackie's familiar whistle. The bird was extremely distressed. It flew towards a nearby bungalow in which lived some neighbours, both of whom had severe disabilities. It continued to fly back and forth between our front door and the other residence, and it was obvious to us that Blackie was trying to tell us something.

We both hurried over to the bungalow and knocked on the door. Our elderly neighbour opened it and whilst Blackie was whistling frantically behind us, said, "Oh, thank goodness! I was just about to ring you and ask for your help! Quickly…come in!"

Jackie and I walked down the hall and into the lounge. There, fluttering around wildly, was a young blackbird. It had flown through the open patio doors and couldn't find its way out. I took off my pullover, threw it over the bird and brought it to the ground. I gently uncovered it and held it in my hands until it calmed down. I then went into the back garden where – no surprises here – Blackie was waiting. I let the young bird go and it flew straight to its mother.

The only explanation we can think of is that Blackie scratched, flapped and whistled at our door because it wanted our help.

Last year Blackie returned once again. As usual, Jackie and her feathered friend talked to each other but what thoughts were running through her avian brain must remain a matter of speculation. All Jackie knew was that she'd found a true and honoured friend.

Sadly, things came to grief. One day last summer Jackie went out into the garden and found Blackie dead, lying in the ornamental bird bath where she often used to bathe and drink. We gave her a decent burial. I'm no expert, but I reckon eleven years or more must be a pretty good innings for a blackbird.

And that, we thought, was that. But there is a peculiar postscript to this story, which I find entirely baffling. Two weeks ago, Mrs. H and I were both in the garden when we heard what sounded like the unique whistle she'd taught Blackie all those years ago. It wasn't the same but it was eerily similar. Suddenly a young blackbird flew down and landed on the path near Jackie. Three times it repeated the whistle. The only conclusion we could come to was that the bird was one of Blackie's offspring and that it had somehow inherited the whistle from its mother. The bird is now a frequent visitor to our garden. It's like having Blackie back again. Like the original Blackie, this one has taken to whistling and will not desist until Mrs. H or I go out and show ourselves. Satisfied, Blackie II will then fly off.

This morning things took an even stranger turn. I went out into the garden and as usual, heard the familiar whistle. I looked up and saw what at first I thought was Blackie II sitting on a nearby rooftop. What surprised me was its size. It seemed to have grown considerably since the last time I saw it. The bird took off and headed straight for our garden. It landed on the roof of our shed and I stared at it. It wasn't Blackie II at all. In fact, it wasn't even a blackbird. It was a jackdaw. It looked at me, whistled Mrs. H's tune and then flew off.

To be honest, much as I'm fascinated by the whole thing I really haven't a clue what the hell is going on. Can blackbirds teach songs to their young? Can jackdaws imitate blackbirds? And why on earth would the jackdaw I saw this morning want to imitate the call Mrs. H taught to Blackie?

I'm sure there must be a rational explanation for all this but not being an ornithologist I can't think of what it might be. I'm really hoping that some readers out there will respond to this blog and give me their two-pennorth's worth….

MIKE HALLOWELL: Smelt Like Tyne Spirit

Brilliant! Great, eh? Spiffing! Amazing! Smelt are back in the River Tyne! I couldn't believe it! Good old smelt!

Mind you, I didn't know exactly what a smelt was, but its great to have them back anyway. Smelt and chips! Fried smelt and onions!

Seemingly, at one time the River Tyne was filled with smelt, had smelt coming out of its ear holes. Then they took the hump at the pollution and went somewhere else. Probably the Wear. But now they're back, and we Geordies have something to sing about.

Apparently, officers from the Environment Agency – God bless 'em, I say – had a quick plodge in the river to see if there were any other Swimming Things in the water other than salmon, dolphins and the odd leviathan or two. And indeedy-doody there was – bucketfuls of smelt.

Now the smelt is a funny old fish. It's not economy-sized – only reaching 25cm on a good day, apparently – and has a nice silvery set of scales. However, the interesting thing is that vegetarians and vegans can eat smelt without getting a guilty conscience. Why? I hear you ask, pray tell me!

Well, it's like this. The smelt looks like an ordinary fish, but is most peculiar in as much as it smells distinctly like cucumber (seriously). This means that if vegetarians and vegans shut their eyes they can pretend that they're actually eating cucumber and delude themselves into thinking that its okay. Now I'm the first to admit that there are one or two minor flaws with this theory, the main one being that the smelt is not really a cucumber, but a fish. To get around this difficulty I am going to propose that we reclassify the smelt taxonomically as a vegetable. Let's face it, it wouldn't be the first time.

Take the Chinese, for instance. (On second thoughts, don't take them; there are bloody millions of them and in any case where would we put them?). The Chinese eat this thing called a sea cucumber, which is an echinoderm of the Holothuroidea class. It's actually a slug-type thingie, but if zillions of Chinese people call it a cucumber then they can't all be wrong, can they? The Chinese also eat this delicious stuff called crispy seaweed. Except that it's not seaweed. Its cabbage. Or sometimes lettuce.

My point is that if we can call all these other things something they're not then why can't we do it with the smelt? My mate smelt a smelt (sorry) once, and he reckons that it really does smell like cucumber. However, to differentiate between smelt and, say, a sea cucumber we need to call it something else. I was thinking of something like a Sea Onion, a Sea Croissant or a Sea Cheesecake. It's not very conventional, admittedly, but it is creative.

Anyway, whatever the reason for their departure the smelt are now back in the Tyne, cucumber fragrance and all. I'd be interested to hear of any other animals that are called things that they're not, like the sea lion, which doesn't look like a lion at all to me, although it does look unnervingly like my paternal great-grandfather. I think this is probably just a coincidence, though, as you'll see by the photograph that accompanies this blog.

MIKE HALLOWELL'S GEORDIE MONSTERS: The Splitback Demon

I've already published two blogs on this site dealing with the curious appearance of a "Lizard Man" cryptid in the North of England. The creature, which I have been told Northumbrians call The Splitback Demon (although I've only the testimony of a singular Northumbrian up to now regarding this) looks pretty much like a cross between a1950s "B" movie reject and a diminutive Godzilla. Still, as cryptids go that'll do for me.

To be honest, and to quote Alice, the tale just gets curiouser and curiouser.

The Splitback Demon is, from what I can gather, an anthropomorphic reptilian-human cross with a mane of vivid-red hair, a long tail and a rather ostentatious spinal fin. He also sports two red, glowing eyes, scaly skin, four-inch long talons, a purple-red cockscomb and a dog-like snout. He is said to be about 5ft tall, which suits me fine as a 50ft tall version, although much easier to spot, would be a damned site harder to lasso.

Seriously, though, I'm leaning towards the idea that their may be a degree of credibility to the two eye-witness testimonies which I've secured first-hand to date. I'm currently compiling a detailed report – which is looking more and more like a book manuscript with every passing day – but still need more anecdotal evidence regarding other, similar creatures which may have been seen preferably (but not exclusively) in the British Isles. I'm pleading with ANY CFZ supporters who may know of lizard-man type stories to send them to me, please, with their sources.

And here's another funny thing, as if lizardy-type blokes running around the Northumbrian peat bogs wasn't funny enough; It has recently come to my attention that around the time Witness B, as he prefers to be called, espied his lizard-man, another unconnected witness had an extremely odd UFO encounter at exactly the same location. I really didn't want to go down the UFO-Reptilian route with my research, as I've hitherto thought it to be a load of old baloney, but I wouldn't be much of an investigator if I deliberately turned down the opportunity to glean insight into the matter simply because it didn't juxtapose well with my philosophical leanings. The truth is that the location where Witness B saw his lizard-man is so obscure and remote that two unconnected Fortean encounters occurring there at the same time is a hard concept for me to swallow.

Soooo….I'm also looking for accounts of lizard-man appearances that are ostensibly connected with UFO sightings. Now I'm going to have to be tactful here, but – how shall I put this – I'm not incredibly keen to hear tales of the late Queen Mum being a human-munching reptoid, Gordon Brown being the secret head of an Intergalactic Council which is trying to take over the earth on behalf of the lizard-men, etc. (My, how times change. It's only a couple of months ago that our own Mr. Downes was being accused of this and worse).

Anyway, I think you'll get my drift. I'm looking for tales of lizard-men and, if there are any, a UFO connection to them. If there isn't a UFO connection, then plain ol' lizard-men stories will do.
For your edification I've attached an artist's impression of what the Splitback Demon allegedly looks like. Witness A tells me that looking at it brings his arms out in goose-bumps, which, I think, means that it is reasonably accurate.

If you should bump into this dude whilst out shopping, or whatever, please tell him to get in touch.

MIKE HALLOWELL: Geordie Monsters IV

There's an old maxim in Geordieland, that says it's always darkest just before it goes completely black; or, if you like, as one door shuts, another one slams in your face. As you'll have gathered, we Tynesiders are an optimistic lot, and we have to be when it comes to cryptozoology. Our kingdom is veritably teeming with cryptids and zooforms, but hardly any of them ever get identified. Its not for the want of trying; its just that we have other things on our mind, such as paying the rent and getting the kids back from the pawn shop.

One of the advantages the Geordie nation possesses when it comes to cryptozoology is our environment. We have mountains (although they're not very big ones), hills, moors, forests, lakes, rivers, a sea and a profusion of urban-cum-industrial sprawls. All of these provide a perfectly natural environment for just about any kind of cryptid you care to mention, and then some.

It never fails to amaze me what a spectacular collection of unidentified fauna we've accrued over the centuries - and how terrible we are at singing their praises.

We have hairy hominids (the Beast of Bolam Lake), dragons (The Laidley Worm of Spindleston Heugh), sea monsters (the Shony), alien big cats (the Cleadon Panther), black dogs (the Boldon Black Dog), cylathines (probably, such as the Boojum of Jesmond Vale), wolves (the Hexham Wolf) and dozens of others too many to mention.

To be honest, despite our incredible cryptozoological menagerie, I still end up feeling frustrated. To date, I haven't found any evidence of swamp monsters, for example Mind you, this could just be due to the fact that we haven't any swamps, although we do have some swamp-like bogs in Northumberland where, I have recently been told, a creature of unknown provenance dwells.

I don't want to say too much about it at the moment, as I'd like to get another book out of the story if it proves to have some substance to it, but the tale goes something like this:

Last summer, a rambler was out walking in Northumberland when he saw something run across his field of vision and dive into a bog. He described the creature as five ft. in height, brown/green in colour and scaled. The beast was essentially anthropomorphic, but also possessed a tail, had no discernible ears and sported a reddish, serrated crest upon its head and spine. Its face was, he said, "snout-like" and resembled that of a German Shepherd in shape.

The chap who related the story to me was himself the eye-witness, but was very cautious about getting his name splashed all over the press. He didn't mind me telling the world about his encounter with "the thing", providing that his name was not released as he felt that it wouldn't do his career prospects much good. Trust me, if you knew what he did for a living, you'd understand why. I have given him my solemn word not to divulge his personal details to anyone until he feels its appropriate to do so.

The witness who saw the creature strikes me as perfectly reliable and I got no indication that he was fibbing. What threw me completely was being contacted by a second witness less than two weeks later who claimed to have seen the very same beast - or at least, something very close to it. This time, the witness managed to keep the creature in view for around two minutes.

Normally I'm a trusting soul, but I couldn't help but be suspicious. It wasn't so much that two people claimed to have seen the same creature that bothered me, but the location of the second sighting. It was literally miles away from the first location, and by no stretch of the imagination could I conceive that the same animal could have moved from one to the other without being spotted many times. It had to be a different beast of the same species, or I was being set up to look like an idiot. Another problem was the nature of the second location; it just seemed the most unlikely place for some sort of lizardy dude to be living. Still, in the weird and wonderful world of cryptozoology, you never can tell. After all, the woods at Bolam Lake aren't much bigger than my front lawn, but there was a hairy hominid dodging about in their for bloody months.

Over the coming weeks I'll try to put together some more detail and, if possible, release more of the story via this blog. Are the accounts true? At this stage I honestly don't know, but I've seen nothing which makes me intrinsically suspicious - yet. Naturally, if anyone in or around Tyneside or Northumberland has seen this creature - or knows someone else who has - I'd like to hear about it.

Like I say, watch this space...

GUEST BLOGGER MIKE HALLOWELL: Geordie Monsters 3 - this time its personal

At the last Weird Weekend, my friend Steve Jones kindly offered to send me two dusty tomes penned in the mid-19th century by a chap called T. Fordyce. Fordyce was a Geordie, thus making any other positive references regarding his character entirely redundant.

The books are essentially diaries of events which took place in the Northumberland and Tyneside areas and surrounding places during that time, and they make for interesting reading. Should you ever happen upon one or more of these volumes, entitled - wait for it - LOCAL RECORDS; or, HISTORICAL REGISTER of Remarkable Events, which have occurred in NORTHUMBERLAND AND DURHAM, NEWCASTLE-UPON-TYNE, and BERWICK UPON TWEED, with BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES of DECEASED PERSONS OF TALENT, ECCENTRICITY and LONGEVITY, then I would suggest that you purchase them. Indeed, no Fortean should be without them.

Fordyce was a strange cove; never once in his writings did he mention some of Geordieland's finest achievements, such as landing the first whippet trainer on the moon (1846), our invention of the radioactive truncheon (1859) or the fact that we were the first nation to cure the vapours with intravenous transfusions of liquified stottie cake (if you don't know what a stottie cake is, look it up).

Seriously, though, Fordyce was an amazing bloke who, had he lived in our own era, would undoubtedly be giving the keynote address at every Weird Weekend from now till eternity. He delighted in accruing, as did Mr. Fort, weird tales and stories of enigmatic events. Until Geordie Dave and I came along, there had been nobody like him.

One of Fordyce's fascinations was the curious appearance of frogs, toads and other critters in blocks of stone. He detailed many instances of labourers cracking open boulders, only to find inside healthy, living specimens that had, seemingly, been there for untold millennia. Personally I think they hid there to avoid paying the Pleistocene equivalent of the Council Tax, but I'm only guessing. Geordie cryptids are devious buggers.

But Fordyce didn't restrict himself to the appearance of ordinary animals in extraordinary places. He also detailed the use of ordinary animals in extraordinary ways. He mentions this bloke, for instance, who - seriously - tethered a gaggle of geese to a barrel. He then got into the barrel and persuaded the geese to drag him up the River Tyne. It seems he was trying to replace steam power with goose power, but it never did catch on. He was outdone by a Mr. Kent, who, on May 16, 1822, according to the author, "exhibited his marine velocipede upon the River Tyne. Being Ascension Day, and the weather very fine, he fired his musket, and performed a variety of evolutions with much ease and dexterity, to the great delight of a large concourse of spectators. June 3rd, Mr. Kent exhibited his apparatus at Sunderland to at least 20,000 spectators"

I might have known those Mackems would have stuck their oar (or marine velocipede) in there somewhere.

Fordyce also mentioned the regular appearance of oarfish which appeared (mostly deceased) on our beaches. There were bloody dozens of the things, and, funnily enough, there was a picture of one in The Shields Gazette last night. Fordyce would have loved it.

Fordyce also collected tales of longevity. Hardly a page can be turned without hearing of people who were aged 102, 104, 116, etc, and were still vigorous enough to get down to the pub every night. Wisely, Fordyce refrained from announcing the secret of Geordie longevity to the world. Had he wished, he could have told those in foreign parts, such as Yorkshire, that Geordie longevity owes its legendary status to the holy trinity of baccy, brown ale and bacon sandwiches.

Another Fortean penchant of Fordyce was searching for prehistoric trees; not fossilised ones, mind you, but those still living. Now I hasten to add that the rather boring pass-time of finding supposedly extinct plants still with us didn't interest the great man in the slightest. Rather, he preferred to find trees that had begun to grow millions of years ago and were still budding forth in the 19th century. Alas, even this was too tame for Geordie Forteans (or more properly, Geordie Fordyceans). It wasn't enough, say, to find a 50,000,000 year-old tree still growing in a field in Bensham. Fordyce wanted to find living trees in more exotic places.

Hence, in July 1822, he announced the discovery of a living oak tree thirteen feet underground. This sturdy specimen was uncovered when labourers were digging new foundations for Morpeth gaol. What happened to it I do not know, and it may still be flourishing there with only a few simple needs like rain and Baby Bio. Fordyce related other discoveries of subterranean plants, much to the amusement of his followers.

I could go on ad infinitum relating the cryptozoological and other discoveries of Mr. Fordyce, but time prevents me. Mind you, if readers want I can scatter them around future blogs for their edification.

Those who wish to know more about the bizarre flora and fauna of Geordieland, or our Fordycean legacy, may apply to embark upon a degree course at one of our nation's universities, such as the Royal and Accredited University (formerly the old Co-op "8 til' late" store), in Dock Street. Course fees begin at the moderate amount of £17,000 (per term) but include a free finger buffet on a Friday afternoon.

GUEST BLOGGER DAVID CURTIS: It's not so grim up north now the CFZ is in town!

David Curtis is one of my dearest friends. I have known him for a long time and over the years we have created quite a lot of mayhem up and down the country, and it is with great pleasure that I am publishing his first (but not, I am sure, his last, guest bloggo)

Things were, indeed, looking grim up North on a Saturday night in early February 2009.

The choice was stark in Seaham On Sea, it was either, go to the local bar to see Maurice The Gimp perform Gregorian Chants set to music by Motorhead, or stop in and watch Celebrity Curtain's; a four hour in-depth documentary on the agony Katie Price and Peter Andre went through while choosing living room haberdashery.

Luckily for me, things were a lot chirpier slightly further north! Richard Freeman was doing a talk at the Alum Ale House (South Shields) on his recent trip to Russia in search of a Big Foot type creature called the Almasty. Hurrah! I duly headed north for my entertainment. I had arranged to meet Richard at 7.30pm and as I waited outside the pub in the gloom, with the mist from the river Tyne rolling in, a car door opened 50 feet away and two figures came towards me.

One spoke to me and I recognised this as Richard's voice but what was this broad squat figure approaching me speaking in some strange language? Had Richard captured the Almasty and brought him back to the North of England to perform around Working Mens Clubs? No! It was, of course, that wonderful Geordie researcher of all-things-Fortean, Mike Hallowell!

Relieved, I shook their hands and went inside and down the stairs to the cellar bar. What a wonderful little place it was, perfect for a group chin wag about the weird and wonderful! The new owner seems to think so too because he is going to make a feature of it, so good luck to him!

I grabbed a pint, did my bit for the cause by selling some raffle tickets for Mike and took my place to hear the talks.

First up was Mike with a short talk about a giant rock (hard) lobster and a sea serpent (this is featured elsewhere on the CFZ site so I wont repeat it here but obviously Mike knows his stuff and has dug deep to bring this all to light, so well done Mike).

After his talk Mike did the raffle (the prize being a book he had just written on Haunted Pubs) while singing the praises of an elderly gentleman in the crowd. Mike informed the crowd that without this man's knowledge his book would not have been written.

He then asked this great sage to pull out a ticket, whereupon he proceeded to pick his own ticket ! “Well, you said he was good!” someone quipped. “How Fortean is that?” said another. Still on with the show!

Next up, Richard and his talk about his Russian trip and not a Ivana Humpalot joke in sight! The talk was very well received, the ale did flow and it was a very good night. I met up with some old friends and I hope it will not be too long before the CFZ returns Up North again to tell us tales of high adventures around the globe!

Because while others sit at computer screens, the CFZ are there, in the thick of it, hanging on to a cliff..... for dear life sometimes. But that is another story...

Davy.C
Feb 2009