QUOTE
Frank, an off-duty policeman from Melling, and his wife Carol, were in Liverpool one Saturday afternoon shopping. At Central Station, the couple split up. Carol went to Dillons Bookshop in Bold Street to purchase a copy of Irvine Welsh's book, Trainspotting, and Frank went to a record store in Ranelagh Street to look for a CD. About twenty minutes later he walked up the incline near the Lyceum which leads out to Bold Street, intending to meet up with his wife in the bookshop, when he suddenly noticed he had somehow entered an oasis of quietness. Suddenly, a small boxvan that looked like something out the 1950s sped across his path, beeping as it narrowly missed him. Frank noted that the van had the name 'Caplan's' emblazoned on its side. When the policeman looked down, he noticed that he was standing in the road, and immediate thought that was strange, because the last time he had seen the bottom of Bold Street, it had been pedestrianized. Frank crossed the road and saw that Dillons Bookshop was no longer there. In its place stood a store with the name 'Cripps' over its two entrances. The policeman was understandably confused. He looked in the window of Cripps and saw no books on display, but womens' handbags and shoes. The policeman turned around and saw that the people were wearing clothes that would have been worn in the Forties and Fifties, and this really unnerved him. He realised that he had somehow walked into the Bold Street of forty-odd years ago. Suddenly, Frank sighted a girl of about twenty, dressed in the clothes of a mid-1990s girl; hipsters and a lime-coloured sleeveless top. The bag she carried had the name Miss Selfridges on it, which really reassured the policeman that he was still somehow partly in 1996. It was a paradox, but the policeman was slightly relieved, and he smiled at the girl as she walked past him and entered Cripps. As he followed her, the whole interior of the building changed in a flash to the interior of Dillons Bookshop. The policeman was back in his own time. He grabbed the girl by the arm at the entrance of the bookshop and asked her: "Did you see that then?" and the girl calmly said, "Yeah. I thought it was a new shop that had opened. I was going in to look at the clothes, and it's a bookshop."
The girl just laughed, shook her head, and walked out again. Frank said the girl looked back and shook her head in disbelief. When he told his wife about the incident, she said that she had not noticed anything strange, but Frank was really adamant that he had not hallucinated the episode.
I gave an account of this strange timeslip on the Billy Butler show, and within minutes, people were ringing me and Billy at Radio City to tell us that in the late 1950s and early 1960s there had been a store called Cripps in the exact location where Dillons Bookshop now stands, and there had also been a firm called Caplan's in existence around the same time. What's more, I also received letters and phone calls from listeners who had also experienced strange things in the part of Bold Street where the policeman stepped into another era. A man who worked on the renovation of the Lyceum building in Bold Street said his digital watch went backwards for two hours one day, and on another occasion, he put down his safety helmet, and when he looked down literally seconds later, it had vanished, yet no one was within fifty feet of him.
A Radio City listener named Emma Black sent me a fascinating cutting from a 1970s magazine concerning a timeslip which apparently allowed a telephone conversation to take place between two people spaced thirty years apart. The following summary of this strange story may seem like an episode of The Twilight Zone, but I have heard of three other similar cases. An old woman named Alma Bristow of Bidston, Birkenhead, tried to phone her sister (who had recently lost her husband) in Frodsham, Cheshire. Alma always had difficulty dialling numbers on the old British Telecom analogue telephone because she had stabbing arthritis in her fingers. Alma had evidently misdialled her sister's number, as a man's voice answered. The man said "Captain Hamilton."
Alma asked if her sister was there, but 'Captain' Hamilton replied haughtily, "This is not a civilian number. Who are you?"
Alma gave her name, and as she did, she heard a sound at the other end of the phone that she hadn't heard since she was a young woman: an air raid siren kicking. "Sound like World War Two there." Alma joked.
There was a pause, then Captain Hamilton replied, "What are you talking about?"
"The air-raid siren. Sounds like the war's still on." Alma said, about to hang up.
"Of course the war's still on. Where did you get my number from?" said Hamilton.
"The war ended years ago, in 1945." said Alma, suspecting she was a victim of the Candid Camera Show.
Captain Hamilton was heard to whisper to an associate, then resumed the surreal conversation. "It isn't 1945 yet. If we trace you you'll be thrown into prison for this lark you know? You're wasting valuable time woman."
"Eh? It's 1974. The war's been over for years." Alma retorted, and then she heard the unmistakable rumble of bombing coming over the phone.
"We'll deal with you later don't worry." said Captain Hamilton, and he slammed the phone down. Alma listened eagerly for him to pick up the handset of his telephone, but Hamilton never did. Alma never knew if she had been the victim of an elaborate hoax, or whether she had really had talked with someone in wartime Britain.
The two previous stories about timeslips suggest that the events of the past are still going on somewhere along the fourth dimension. Isn't it ironic how the clock rules all our lives, yet we know virtually nothing about time? Our ignorance regarding the nature of time reminds me of a thought-provoking remark Einstein once made. He said: "What does a fish know about the water in which he swims all his life?"
The girl just laughed, shook her head, and walked out again. Frank said the girl looked back and shook her head in disbelief. When he told his wife about the incident, she said that she had not noticed anything strange, but Frank was really adamant that he had not hallucinated the episode.
I gave an account of this strange timeslip on the Billy Butler show, and within minutes, people were ringing me and Billy at Radio City to tell us that in the late 1950s and early 1960s there had been a store called Cripps in the exact location where Dillons Bookshop now stands, and there had also been a firm called Caplan's in existence around the same time. What's more, I also received letters and phone calls from listeners who had also experienced strange things in the part of Bold Street where the policeman stepped into another era. A man who worked on the renovation of the Lyceum building in Bold Street said his digital watch went backwards for two hours one day, and on another occasion, he put down his safety helmet, and when he looked down literally seconds later, it had vanished, yet no one was within fifty feet of him.
A Radio City listener named Emma Black sent me a fascinating cutting from a 1970s magazine concerning a timeslip which apparently allowed a telephone conversation to take place between two people spaced thirty years apart. The following summary of this strange story may seem like an episode of The Twilight Zone, but I have heard of three other similar cases. An old woman named Alma Bristow of Bidston, Birkenhead, tried to phone her sister (who had recently lost her husband) in Frodsham, Cheshire. Alma always had difficulty dialling numbers on the old British Telecom analogue telephone because she had stabbing arthritis in her fingers. Alma had evidently misdialled her sister's number, as a man's voice answered. The man said "Captain Hamilton."
Alma asked if her sister was there, but 'Captain' Hamilton replied haughtily, "This is not a civilian number. Who are you?"
Alma gave her name, and as she did, she heard a sound at the other end of the phone that she hadn't heard since she was a young woman: an air raid siren kicking. "Sound like World War Two there." Alma joked.
There was a pause, then Captain Hamilton replied, "What are you talking about?"
"The air-raid siren. Sounds like the war's still on." Alma said, about to hang up.
"Of course the war's still on. Where did you get my number from?" said Hamilton.
"The war ended years ago, in 1945." said Alma, suspecting she was a victim of the Candid Camera Show.
Captain Hamilton was heard to whisper to an associate, then resumed the surreal conversation. "It isn't 1945 yet. If we trace you you'll be thrown into prison for this lark you know? You're wasting valuable time woman."
"Eh? It's 1974. The war's been over for years." Alma retorted, and then she heard the unmistakable rumble of bombing coming over the phone.
"We'll deal with you later don't worry." said Captain Hamilton, and he slammed the phone down. Alma listened eagerly for him to pick up the handset of his telephone, but Hamilton never did. Alma never knew if she had been the victim of an elaborate hoax, or whether she had really had talked with someone in wartime Britain.
The two previous stories about timeslips suggest that the events of the past are still going on somewhere along the fourth dimension. Isn't it ironic how the clock rules all our lives, yet we know virtually nothing about time? Our ignorance regarding the nature of time reminds me of a thought-provoking remark Einstein once made. He said: "What does a fish know about the water in which he swims all his life?"