My father is a prodigious marathon runner who once ran from John O Groats to Land's End. He's run over a hundred marathons around the world.
Unfortunately, he's been unwell lately and he can no longer run, but he's been talking to the press about his life and this story emerged. My sister Marie is currently raising funds for MND research and I shall be joining her next year, as will my son.
Full story here:
Do you believe in ghosts? Well...read this...
The
Schoolhouse
by Tony Barry
(as told to Mark Barry)
I ran the coast-to-coast walking/fell route on three
occasions, running from west to east, through Lancashire, across Yorkshire, and
into Humberside.
There was one incident that’s worth recalling, an incident I
still cannot believe happened – but it did.
______
Throughout the trek, I would run around twenty miles a day
and my plan was to book a guest house “on spec” as I finished.
One day, half way across the country, because
of bad weather, mammoth fells and rocky terrain, I realised that I had
completely miscalculated the distance between villages and found myself
stranded in the middle of nowhere.
It was starting to get dark and cold and I was surrounded by
forbidding moorland and overhanging crags. Luckily, I kept running as best I
could in the remaining dusklight, and found myself in a tiny hamlet at the base
of a giant fell.
The place had no more than ten cottages and I knew instinctively
that I would be lucky to find a guest house here. As it was now almost
completely dark, I found a cottage with lights in the living room window and
knocked on the door.
A ruddy-faced old gentleman in a cap and a green pullover came
to the door, arms folded. I explained my position: He told me there was no
guest house for twenty miles, but – kind of him - he pointed out an old
schoolhouse at the end of the Hamlet, which was always unlocked and where
hikers and stranded runners like me could stay overnight: I was clearly not the
first to make this miscalculation!
I thanked him and ran swiftly to the schoolhouse, an old
stone building with two big windows, surrounded by trees and framed by a colossal
fell in the background, now illuminated by a full moon.
Opening the gate, I
walked up the path to the front door and with a shove, opened the door. It was warmer than I expected. The building was functional,
with two floors, connected by a rusting spiral staircase right next to the
door.
The room below was empty of furniture and deathly silent – it was
basically a long-empty space surrounded by four walls.
I removed my torch from my pack, climbed the rickety
staircase and investigated the upstairs space for something I could sleep on,
but that floor upstairs was empty too – it had been clearly a long, long time
since this place had ever been witness to a child’s education!
All I could see was a chalkboard at the far end, which the
faint guidance of my emergency beam revealed to be in serious disrepair.
I went
back downstairs, removed my sleeping bag and, exhausted after a twenty five
mile day, wrapped myself up, rolled up my sweatshirt as a pillow, and lay
staring at the moonlight coming through the windows. I am the type of person who can sleep on a
washing line, so it wasn’t long before I was asleep
________________________________________
That’s when it all happened.
At five, still dark outside, I
was awoken by a sound from upstairs.
I sat up, wondering what it could be. Strangely, it sounded
like the moving of a wooden chair being pulled across a concrete floor.
Then I
heard another.
I wondered who was in there with me, wondered if I were dreaming
and realised that I wasn’t. I could see little, the moon obscured by night
clouds and the morning darkness. I
unzipped my sleeping bag and rationally realised that someone had come in after
me and had obviously gone to sleep upstairs.
At least that’s what I thought before I heard a wooden desk
top being closed with a subtle click.
Not slammed, but closed carefully, with consideration. Then
footsteps walking across the floor above me, shuffling, beams creaking.
The hushed, mischievous giggling of children.
Curious, and, in general, no believer in the supernatural, I
got up, reached for my torch, and climbed the staircase not quite sure what I
was expecting to find.
Of course, when I got there, I was surrounded by darkness
and emptiness. There was nothing there and the sounds had stopped.
But just as I began to think I was imagining things, I could
feel a presence in the gloom.
Someone was there.
I cannot explain it even now,
but there was definitely someone there with me in that upstairs classroom.
And I also cannot explain how I know this, but that someone
was looking at me.
Curious no longer, I skipped down the rickety stair case.
Put on my running shoes, rolled up my sleeping bag and organised my pack in
double quick time.
Left the schoolhouse and put as much distance between that
place and me as I could.
That next three miles was the fastest I ran that week!!
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