Tales from the Tent (28 page)

Now, it wasn’t unusual to see the odd tramp wander round our fire in the night and take comfort from what was left of its welcome heat, so I didn’t wake anyone. Instead I curled my
knees up under my chin and watched him from my perch. No doubt, I thought, after warming himself he would blend into the night and be gone, but soon it became clear he had other things in mind.
From a bag he pulled out a length of rope, rose to his feet and made over towards the bus. Very swiftly he slipped the rope between the split door of the bus and tied it into knots. Instantly he
went back to the fire and lifted a flaming stick, then before I could open my mouth to warn my parents, he shrieked, ‘burn, bastard gypsies, fry in your filth!’ Suddenly flames darted
up the side of the bus, and with demonic ferocity engulfed a curtain tail that had found its way from a small cracked window. I screamed at the top of my voice, ‘Mammy, Daddy, girls, wake up!
We’re on fire!’ while pulling at the tied door with all my might. ‘Help, help me, there’s a shan gadgie trying tae pagger us, he’s fired us, wake up, come
on!’

The fire was terrible and spreading with a madness I’d never witnessed in all my nine years. But more awful than the unfolding evil was that no one was stirring, it was like they were all
dead. I pulled and punched at all of them, yet still they slept. I leapt upon my parent’s bed and threw punch after punch onto their heads, but there was no response.

With relentless fury the flames, now totally engulfing the bus, hissed and spat sparks onto the curtains, then ran along the roof, down and under the exposed flesh of my sisters. I watched them
fry. Then the flames, as if with a mind of their own, gathered in a giant ball and rolled over me. I screamed and writhed on the floor. And it was within this nightmare that my mother shook me
awake. ‘You’ve been dreaming, pet, the thump your body made as you fell out of bed wakened me, are you alright?’

‘Oh, thank God for that, Mammy, the bus was on fire, it was a living terror. Yes, I’m fine, I think.’ I held her close and sobbed, feeling my skin to see there were no
burns.

‘There now, go back to sleep, lassie. It’s as quiet as the grave this night, nothing but a moth stirs in the place.’

What a relief I felt, but oh, how lifelike it was, that bearded face and fiery red eyes.

Next day we’d packed early, and before eight were once again trundling along another winding country road. Just before midday, as yet another bend approached, Daddy slowed down to overtake
an old man standing on the byway. I glanced down at him as we passed by. I was about to give a friendly wave as I always did when passing a road tramp when my hand fell like a dyke stone. Staring
up into my eyes was the arsonist of the Devil, who had crept within the deep recesses of my mind the previous night and torched my whole family! The dirty, bearded face and fire-red eyes seemed to
recognise me. I changed places with one of my sisters to look out another window.

I shook uncontrollably, calling on Daddy to find an open campsite, anywhere but a wood-end. Thankfully we met up with other travellers and were able to stay several days on a deserted beach,
back-dropped by the mighty Ben Hope in the county of Sutherland.

On the last day as we packed to move on, a Highland policeman came cycling along. He stopped and propped his bike against a tree, removed his hat and sat down on a boulder. My mother noticed his
face was pale and he’d the look of sickness. ‘Would you like us to make a cup of tea for you, lad?’ she asked him.

He shook his head, rose and came over to where Daddy was watering the bus engine.

‘Do you know of a family of travellers who were hereabouts, a week or two ago?’ he enquired.

Daddy asked what their names were. The policeman mentioned a name we did not recognise. My father talked a while with the man before he set off again on his rickety bike. I forgot about him
until I heard my father tell Mammy that a family of travellers who had camped back in the forest had been burned to death in their tent!

‘Poor souls,’ she said. My mother’s next words froze my spine. ‘Some folks can be right reckless with fires.’

The unexplainable, perhaps, reader?

29

SUPERNATURAL APPARITIONS

W
hile we’re recalling the days on the bus I remember another night visitor, whom I called the ‘Tall Man’. I saw him one
night—well, not all of him, only the back of his head. It had been one of those darker than normal nights when it takes a wee while for eyes to adjust to the pitch black. I awakened, sat up
and saw it, the head, propped on the seat at the front of the bus. ‘Is that you Daddy?’ I enquired, thinking he’d risen, unable to sleep.

‘No,’ said the head, ‘it’s me, now go back to sleep, Jessie.’

I froze solid with fear as I sat there in almost total darkness, before finding enough courage to cry for my parents. Mammy rose and went down to the front seat, only to find no one there. Our
door and windows were locked tight. Next day, news came that Granny Riley had passed away. This brought with it all the pain and grief of losing a loved one, and I put the night visitor out of my
mind, thinking him a dream anyway. However, months later, he appeared again. Same scenario as before, but this time I noticed his shoulders. My family, plus Tiny, were jolted from their beds at my
screaming, and as before he just vanished.

Mammy was sure I’d been eating cheese too near bedtime, and hoping she was right I left that food in the cupboard the next night. However, when the news came that a close relative had
passed on, the apparition left a cold shiver lingering in my mind.

Months went by before I awakened in the dead of night again, and there he was, as before sitting eerily silent and still. I forced out the words, ‘who are you?’, then waited. But
nothing came from my visitor. Without a word I slid under my blanket and curled into a ball between Mary and Renie. I lay there, not moving, until I heard a cock crow.

Yes, as before, another of our kin soon went into the soil.

I have no explanation why this visitor thought our bus a place to be days before a relative died, and to this day nobody has given me one. Was he a long-gone relation, or just the product of a
child’s imagination?

I know for certain, however, I did not imagine his last visit. He’d left my nights alone for almost three years and I’d forgotten him. Then, on the eve of my Granny Power’s
leaving us, he came back. This time he rose from the seat, stood up and walked up the aisle and out through the rear end of our bus. A figure so tall his head almost touched the roof. In the dark I
could not see his face, but something told me he meant no harm. From that night to this I have never seen him again.

I want to share some of our superstitions with you now, friend, for we are steeped in them, we travelling folk.

Of course, folks, I could go on and on, but that tale about the dog with the ‘ringle ee’ I promised to tell you, well I think I’ll do it now.

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RINGLE EE