Time, more specifically the concept of time, has always been a subject of fascination. It governs our lives and can dictate our actions. The popularity of films such as Back to the Future, and programmes like Doctor Who shows just how intrigued we are by time and the possibility of being able to manipulate it. Is it something that stubbornly can not be changed? Or is it, in the words of The Doctor, a ‘big ball of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey stuff’?
This brings me to ‘time slips’; a situation where a person, or persons, experience a sudden shift in their surroundings to, what they perceive to be, a different time era. Time slips are not a new phenomenon, they have been reported throughout history and within different cultures, puzzling scientists, philosophers, and paranormal enthusiasts alike. Here are just a few of the many tales of time slips:
On the 10th of August 1901 Charlotte Anne Moberly and Eleanor Jourdain travelled to visit the Palace of Versailles. They were walking through the gardens and became lost after they missed the turn for the main avenue. They carried on walking and Charlotte noticed a woman, shaking a white cloth out of a window. Eleanor recalled seeing an old farmhouse with a plough outside. They were approached by a few men whom Charlotte described as ‘very dignified officials, dressed in long greyish-green coats with small three-cornered hats’, and they ushered them to go straight on. Both women noticed a change in the atmosphere, with Charlotte later writing ‘everything suddenly looked unnatural, therefore unpleasant; even the trees seemed to become flat and lifeless like wood worked in tapestry. There were no effects of light and shade, and no wind stirred the trees’. They reached the edge of a wood and saw a man, his face marked with smallpox and with an ‘evil’ expression (who they later believed to be the Comte de Vaudreuil). Charlotte then noticed a lady on the grass who was sketching away, wearing an old-fashioned dress; she would later come to believe that this was Marie Antoinette. Charlotte and Eleanor returned to the palace and suddenly they were back with a group of other visitors. Neither mentioned it to the other until later. The two wrote down their separate accounts of what happened and compared their stories, concluding that they had seen events from August 1792, mere weeks before the French monarchy was abolished.
In 1912 James Cobbold was helping the butcher, George Waylett, with deliveries, in Bradfield St George, Suffolk, England. Riding on the pony and trap there was a sudden noise, causing the pony to rear up and throw George from the cart. Briefly, a Georgian house appeared in front of the two, before a mist descended and they were in their present-day once more. Once he got up, George complained ‘That bloody house! That’s about the third time I’ve seen that happen!’. And they weren’t the only ones who saw the house. It was October 1926 and a local teacher, Miss Ruth Wynne and a female pupil took a walk to the next village, which happened to be Bradfield St George. When nearing the church they discovered a grand Georgian house, surrounded by high walls, and wrought iron gates, mostly hidden from sight by the impressive trees growing on the grounds. The following Spring Miss Wynne and her pupil decided to participate in the same walk however, when nearing the church once more, they realised the Georgian house, and its surroundings, were completely gone.
In 1932 newspaper reporter, J. Bernard Hutton, and photographer, Joachim Brandt, were sent to the Hamburg shipyard in Germany to do a feature. They had completed their assignment and were leaving the area when out of nowhere, they heard planes and looked up. The sky was full of fighter planes, bombs were going off, buildings were being destroyed and people were dying. Bernard asked a security guard if they could help and what was going on, but they were told to leave. They drove until suddenly, nothing. There was nothing in the sky, no noise, no chaos, no damage. As if nothing had happened. Later, the newspaper office did not believe them and the pictures that Joachim had taken during the attack showed a calm sky. It was 1943 and Bernard was reading the paper. One story made him stop: a story about a successful raid by a Royal Air Force squadron on the Hamburg shipyard. Exactly how he and Joachim had seen it 11 years previously.
In 1935, Sir Victor Goddard was still a Wing Commander and was under instruction to inspect an inactive airbase near Edinburgh, Scotland. Sir Goddard flew over and found the airbase was in a terrible state, overgrown and very run down. Later on, he was flying his biplane and the weather took a turn for the worse. Not wanting to risk his luck, Sir Goddard decided to land at the airbase until the weather improved but, while approaching, the weather turned suddenly from torrential rainstorms to sunshine. The airbase was no longer run down but in excellent working condition filled with yellow planes and mechanics wearing blue overalls. Sir Goddard didn’t recognise a single plane; the Air Force painted all their planes silver and mechanics would be in khaki uniforms. 4 years later, he happened to visit the same area again. There he found yellow planes, being serviced by men in blue overalls. But this time, they were actually there, a new addition to the Air Force.
It was Autumn in 1957 when 3 trainee soldiers walked through the village of Kersey, Suffolk, England. One of the soldiers, William Laing, noticed that the trees had changed colour, as though they were in Spring and not Autumn. When they looked around, it appeared they were in medieval times. The church bells that had been ringing previously went deathly quiet, with the building itself nowhere to be seen. There were no people, no streetlamps or telephone wires. The three men continued walking and found small cottages, although there was no sign of life anywhere. In a butcher’s shop, they found 3 skinned oxen hanging, but they were aged and covered with cobwebs. They had an eerie feeling that they were being watched by someone, or something, that didn’t want them there. After nearly half an hour they heard the church bells again and saw the smoke rising from the chimneys, as they had done before. The church had been built in the 12th century so, if it was a time slip, it must have taken them back before this time.
It was June 1968 and Mrs Charlotte Warburton was shopping with her husband in the town of Tunbridge Wells, Kent, England. At one point they went their separate ways, deciding to meet up later, Mrs Warburton was unable to find her usual brand of coffee from her regular grocer so decided to try the supermarket. When walking through the doors she noticed a café entrance on the left-hand wall, a café she had never noticed before. She described the café as old-fashioned looking, with wood-panelled walls, and all the light coming from bulbs in frosted shades due to the lack of windows. The women had on long dresses and the men were in suits. None of this struck Mrs Warburton as strange at the time, simply believing she had never paid attention to it before. She left and went to meet her husband. The next time the couple went to the town shopping. Mrs Warburton suggested the cafe to her husband, somewhere new to try. Only, there was no café. The supermarket staff denied there ever being a café, they must be thinking of somewhere else. Confused, the couple then found out that the Kosmos Kinema had stood where the supermarket was now. They went to see the steward of the Tunbridge Wells Constitutional Club where they were informed that the premises used to have an assembly room and a small bar area with tables. Mrs Warburton’s description of the ‘café’ matched that of the old, long-gone, bar in the Kosmos.
It was 1973 and Paul, then 21 years old, was driving back from a dance at 2 am, through the village of Little Houghton, Northamptonshire, England. He drove past the church and suddenly found himself walking through Bromham, around 15 miles away. He was soaking wet, despite there being no rain, there was no sign of his car, and it was 7 am according to the church clock. Later, Paul had a friend help him find his car which was in a field near Turvey, a 15-minute drive from Little Houghton. Strangely, the gate was locked and there were no tire tracks in the muddy field. A very similar incident would occur in 1988 in Little Houghton to Paul Rainbow, who lost 90 minutes and was unable to explain why.
It was the 1980s and Caroline Anders moved to Devon, England, so she could take a job with the NHS. It was a weekend, and her colleague was driving her to Plymouth to attend a party. On the drive Caroline recalls seeing a stunning church as they approached their destination: ‘The windows were full of colour from the light streaming through the stained glass and, as we passed the front doors, I saw a large congregation’. A few weeks later, Caroline’s boyfriend was driving her past the same spot, and she cried out in horror; the church was completely in ruins. Her boyfriend explained that the church, the Charles Church, had been bombed during the second world war and had been left as a memorial.
It was the 7th of July 1996, and off-duty policeman, Frank, was planning on meeting his wife at Dillon’s bookshop on Bold Street, Liverpool, England. Whilst walking down the street a van, with Caplan’s’ on the side, sounded the horn, indicating for Frank to get out of the road. This was confusing, to say the least as in 1996 Bold Street was pedestrianised. Frank, looking across the way for Dillon’s realised that it was now called ‘Cripps’ and the people milling about in front were dressed as though they were from the 1940s or 1950s. Spotting a woman dressed in modern clothing, he followed her into the shop; she was as confused as he was. Suddenly, the shop was Dillons, and it was 1996 again. This is a delightfully interesting case. Two witnesses had the same experience and there was an interaction between the van driver and Frank when he beeped to warn him to get out of the way. The story was spoken about on a live radio show by Tom Slemen and people rang in, confirming there used to be a local firm called Caplan’s and that Dillon’s, in the 1950s, was called Cripps.
Many people believe that there are no such things as time slips, it seems simply too out there, a storyline belonging to sci-fi and not reality. But then how would you explain the many accounts from numerous people? Some seem to fit in with the narrative of alien abduction; suddenly realising that there has been a period of time that cannot be accounted for. Others believe that time slips are a glitch, an error in a matrix simulation. There have been discussions about the place of these time slips; can some areas have unique energies that can cause them, such as Stonehenge?
Of course, there is the simple explanation that they are merely hallucinations, illusions triggered by stress, trauma, or fatigue. But, of course, this would not explain the historical accuracy, or group sightings, in some of these cases. As always, let me know what you think in the comments, thanks for reading, take care and I will see you next time.
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