Me and Wuffles Okay! Let me set the scene.
It was the year The Beatles started the 'Fab' British music revolution and U.S. President John F. Kennedy was so cruelly assasinated.
I recall I was having tea round my friend's house when the news of Kennedy's murder broke. Although I was just 14 years old, it distressed me a great deal as it did the majority of the British people.
Four years earlier, I had gotten my first ever pet dog. A cross breed, (a Heinz 57, we used to say). I called him Wuffles because he kind of made a nasal wuffling noise when he was a pup.
And I loved him to bits.
So, by 1963 Wuffles was four years old, and totally crazy.
And I do mean CRAZY!
His behaviour was very bizarre! For example, if a smoker member of my family dropped a lighted cigarette butt on the garden path, he would put the butt out with his paw... and then eat it!
And garden spiders! He acquired a taste for them and so would pluck the poor unfortunate creatures from their webs and gobble them up!
When we played 'rough and tumble' Wuffles would slowly get more and more agressive until he finally reached the point of actually attempting to rip my throat out! And believe me he meant it!
The only way to stop him was to flick the end of his nose. He would have a quick sneeze and then happily and lovingly lick my face wagging his rudder furiously as if to say; "hey, I was only playing!".
Every day I got home from school, I would take him for his regular daily drag, (yes that's what I said, drag!).
Wuffles was a very muscular dog and would pull on the lead so hard, he would literally drag little ol' me along, almost strangling himself in the process! But it didn't stop him.
Nothing and nobody could stop Wuffles.
No amount of training, cajoling, threatening, begging, bribing or pleading could stop him doing mostly what he pleased!
But I loved him and, I'm happy to say, he loved me too!
Back then we lived in a rambling, roomy 3 bedroomed house with upstairs toilet and bathroom, a downstairs front room, a rear dining room, a kitchen and an outside toilet, (sometimes called the outhouse, and usually full of cobwebs and spiders), in the garden.
Attached to the dining room was a large conservatory accessed through 2 glass framed patio style doors.
When Wuffles first arrived as a tiny black bundle of fur, my mum coo'd and ah'd and held him and stroked him. But as time went by, they kind of drifted apart until finally, Wuffles didn't exactly see eye to eye with my mum. And vice versa.
I s'pose, looking back on it, as he got older and stronger, his occassional aggression and odd ways worried her somewhat.
Then she wouldn't let him in the house very often, and when she did, he was only ever allowed in the dining room and kitchen, never in the front room. And so his main home became the conservatory, (a.k.a. 'Wuffles Den'), which was adequately warm and comfortable, furnished with an old overstuffed armchair, a wooden table and Wuffles blanketed basket.
His favourite domain was the garden.
Anyone venturing out there unannounced would be confronted by a teeth baring, wild eyed and snarling Wuffles.
It was all a front, of course. Wuffles wouldn't hurt a fly, (unless he caught one!).
Now, don't get me wrong, mum loved Wuffles in her own way, she just didn't quite trust him.
In fact, the only person he would take some notice of was me. I was like his pet human. But I didn't mind that.
Now, the house we were living in had been previously owned by a Royal Naval officer by the name of Captain Donovan.
He had committed suicide by hanging himself in the rear bedroom, (which was then my older sister's bedroom). No-one knew why the good Captain had decided to do such a thing.
Hence the house went up for sale and my parents had eventually purchased it through a mortgage agreement.
When I was about five years old, my mum and dad got divorced. My dad moved out and after a couple of visits to see me and my sister, we never saw him again. It wasn't that he didn't love us, it was just the way it was.
On the plus side, my mum's brother, my uncle Frank, moved in and eventually became a father figure to me and my sister. (Unbeknown to my mum, he often spoilt Wuffles, allowing him to stay in his room as often as he could).
For as long as I could remember, during the years we lived in the house, I, (and my sister), had regularly sensed a 'presence' of some kind hovering on that small square of the landing at the top of the stairs just outside the bathroom door.
Neither of us could put a finger on it. We just 'felt' something. And it scared us!
So, bearing that in mind, bath time could be an absolute nightmare.
Particularly if the landing light bulb had blown! (And that was quite a regular occurance).
So sure was I that something was waiting there, it would sometimes take me up to half an hour to pluck up the courage just to open the bathroom door!
I would literally pace the floor, telling myself there was nothing to fear, and failing miserably.
Once open, I would feel a terrible, inexplicable dread creeping over me knowing I had to switch off the bathroom light and plunge that small square of landing into inky darkness.
The worst part of it all was crossing that pitch black landing square to get to the stairs and down them to well lit safety! (I used to fly down the stairs two at a time!)
As you can no doubt imagine, going back up the stairs to bed was just as much a trial.
Anyway, although my dear sister and I had 'felt' this presence over the years, we hadn't actually, physically seen anything. That is until one Tuesday night in November when my friend Peter came over for a visit.
I remember it was a Tuesday because that was the - once a week - night my mum, a keen 'old tyme' dancer, would go dancing with her dance partner. And I remember it was November because it was shortly after bonfire night, (a.k.a. Fireworks night; Guy Fawkes night).
My sister, who was now married, no longer lived with us. Her husband was in the Royal Air Force and had been posted to Cyprus where she had joined him.
My uncle Frank was still living with us. But on that particular tuesday evening had decided to go for a drink with some friends at his local pub, 'The Lord Chichester', (or 'The Lord Chi', as he used to call it), since he reasoned that, now I was 14 years of age, I was 'big enough and ugly enough' to look after myself, for a few hours.
So, I invited my friend Peter round for the evening.
It was a good evening. A coal fire was burning merrily in the grate and we played Monopoly and had a few laughs. We discussed girls and watched TV. Against my mum's strict orders, I brought Wuffles in from his 'Den' into the front room for a rough and tumble.
About 10pm, Peter said he had to go home. I put Wuffles back in his 'Den', tidied the room and then accompanied Peter along the hallway to the front door to say goodbye.
The stairs were just behind me.
Peter stood at the door chatting about the prospect of school the following morning. Suddenly he stopped talking, frowned and pointed past me towards the dark unlit square of landing at the top of the stairs .
"What's that?" he said at length, in a matter of fact voice!
"What?", I said, turning to look where he was pointing.
It was then the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and I felt a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Clearly, at the top of the stairs, I could see an opaque formless shape, shimmering!
I swallowed hard, as a feeling of dread encompassed me. "I - I think its a ghost, Pete".
As I spoke, the shape began to move, gliding toward the rear bedroom door. When it reached the door, it disappeared!
I begged Peter to stay, but he was having none of it. Obviously terrified, he just wanted to go home.
And boy, did I ever want to go with him!
Peter left and I reluctantly closed the front door. Now terrified and alone, I wasn't sure what to do. Then I suddenly remembered I wasn't alone. Wuffles was in his Den!
With my heart thumping hard against my chest, I kept a nervy eye on the square of landing and tiptoed along the hallway, past the stairs, toward the dining room and the conservatory. I had never been so frightened in my life!
But worse was yet to come!
Wuffles was in his basket, strangely subdued. Normally, he would leap out of his basket at first sight of me. But this time he just looked at me with big sorrowful eyes.
I was sure he was sensing something!
I quickly caught him up in my arms and carried him along the hallway past the stairs to the living room convinced that at any moment, the ghost would leap out on me and... well I didn't know what, nor cared to imagine! All I knew was that I was now very, very scared!
Once in the room, I put Wuffles down and shut the door.
Almost immediately, Wuffles began running around the room whining, sniffing the air and then the furniture. I sat in a chair by the fire, begging him to calm down and calling him over to me. I so desperately wanted him by my side!
But he paid no heed.
I tried to concentrate on the TV programme currently being shown. But Wuffles was beginning to really unnerve me.
Then, he suddenly stopped running around and looked directly at the door. He was silent and as still as a statue.
Although there was music and vocal sound emanating from the TV, the house appeared to be deathly quiet!
Wuffles was barely breathing, still eyeing the door.
And then I saw his hackles visibly rise as a low soft growl rumbled in his throat. I'd never heard him growl like that.
I called to him, gently, softly.
And then my heart leapt into my mouth as, without warning, Wuffles flew at the door, growling ferociously and scrabbling with his claws, scratching and gouging the paintwork. I was now beside myself with terror, convinced that the ghost of Captain Donovan was right outside the door trying to get in.
Leaning against the fireplace was a long heavy metal poker. I grabbed it, stood up and rushed to the window, deciding that if anything came through that door, I would smash the window, jump through it, and run!
By now, Wuffles was in an absolute frenzy. With deep throated warning growls, he continued to scrabble at the door. Whatever was behind that door, my brave little dog was prepared to face it and, if need be, attack it!
The room lights started to flicker and I feared they were about to blow and plunge the room into darkness.
And then, quite abruptly, the lights returned to normal. Wuffles stopped growling, moved away from the door and sat down, his head on one side, one ear cocked as if listening to someone.
After a short while, I called to him and to my relief, he came running over to me, his rudder wagging. It was a gesture that, to me, said everything was back to normal.
Even so, I kept hold of the poker as I sat back down in the chair. Wuffles, my brave little buddy, climbed up on my lap and went to sleep.
When my mum came in, she saw Wuffles on my lap and began to admonish me for bringing him into the front room. And when she saw the gouges in the door, she was even more annoyed.
At least she was until I told her the full story.
I could see she was visibly shocked.
After making sure I was okay, she actually gave Wuffles a cuddle and a biscuit and, although she was still a little wary of him, she allowed him free reign of the house from that day on.
I never saw the ghost of Captain Donovan again.
There is a footnote however.
One night, again a Tuesday, I was alone in the house with Wuffles. I was feeling unaccountably tired and so decided to have an early night.
I settled Wuffles in his basket and headed off to bed.
Snuggling under the covers, I switched off my bedside lamp and closed my eyes.
Quite suddenly, I distinctly heard the sound of gentle rythmic breathing right next to my bed. The odd thing is, I didn't feel threatened or afraid. On the contrary, I felt soothed, very safe and warm and after several minutes, I fell asleep.
Was that the ghost of Captain Donovan? And was he trying to make amends for frightening me?
I don't know, although I like to think so.
All I do know is that I really did encounter the ghost of Captain Donovan...
And more to the point, so did Wuffles!
And I dedicate this true story to the eternal
memory of my brave little buddy.
WUFFLES.
Note: I have changed the names of the people in the story for obvious reasons. The only true names are; Wuffles and Captain Donovan. Oh, and 'The Lord Chichester'.
