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UFO Magazine. Page 26 of 50.

heads are missing." I thought from the way Beryl spoke she probably exaggerated things; although I had read in some UFO magazines I had purchased to research this work of them kind of activities.

I decided to err on the side of caution, because as a tobacconist Beryl had them same magazines racked-up on her shelves. I thought she might have been reading too many of her shop's contents.

I inquired as to whether there was any unidentified lights or traffic in the skies around this way? UFOs maybe! As I posed that question to them a gentleman entered the shop; the bell above the door exploding as he did so. He caught the last part of my inquiry and sought clarification. I repeated my words, and he said, as he purchased twenty Marlboro and counted out the money for Beryl: "The UFOs play chase." I badgered him.

I asked who played chase?, as he placed his cigarettes in his pocket and began to leave. "The military and whatever they are." I told him that sounded cryptic! He informed me that when your knowledge of a thing limited, it would always be cryptic.

I encouraged him to describe events. He thought about it a second, then replied casually: "In the early hours there's activity; out across hills beyond village.

You sometimes see a configuration of lights, normally three little red ones, and a central white one. The UFOs move slowly over land as though searchin' for somethin'. After that, army ones comes in, helicopters mainly. I've seen them fly formation, three, sometimes four at a time.

They hang around for at least an hour or so, then quickly disappear back over horizon. It's a right game!" I thought his statement genuine, although I never had an explanation for it. He never appeared to construct his tale, as most was told extemporaneous.

He even suggested I had a word with a guy known as Jack Spiller: (Name change), and he would put me on the right track. I asked if this Jack person worked local?, which seemed to create spontaneous laughter amongst them. I failed to observe the joke.

I looked to the four of them for an answer. "Does E work local, that's a good'en," said the man as he ripped open the shop door. Beryl was still highly amused by my assessment of this illusive character.

She said, still smiling Jack Spiller was a village local, went off to join the army about twenty years ago and returned back here about four years since. She said Jack now lived at his parents' old cottage since they sadly passed away, and made his living catching things! I asked, rather naively what sort of things? Beryl said fish mainly, salmon, trout and the occasional deer.

I said, she meant he was a poacher? Beryl informed me they didn't see it that way, Jack only caught what he needed, and everyone locally got a bargain. "Besides," she added: "What he takes comes off Lord Xs' huge country estate, and he wouldn't miss the bit Jack took." I asked her if Jack was in the pub most evenings.

Beryl assured me Jack was in the pub every night. She said Jack liked his pint, but wasn't a drunk. I thanked them kindly for their assistance, and insisted I would keep Jack in mind, if I decided to head back this way. I left the village armed with directions and moved directly out to Paula's place.

What I found was a collection of old farm buildings, three in all, neatly renovated, that now looked modern, only with an aesthetic feel to them. They were grey stone, their windows and roof had been replaced - and inside, of a more architectural construction for modern life.

Most of the original timbers remained, as did an old grate fireplace and oak pillars. Yet the rooms had been knocked through and modern furniture applied. I complemented Paula as I crossed the threshold.

She had greeted me on the doorstep, warmly, with a simile and handshake, then invited me inside. She apologised for her husband not joining us, and made what I thought was an excuse.

Paula said he had to visit the city on business. But the way Paula's eyes distanced themselves from me, I felt he had abandoned her. I thought maybe he never believed her version of events. We both walked directly through her home, out back to a massive kitchen area of recently fitted hardwood, and dark brown units.

I could witness from the kitchen window large tracks of open fields, the countryside lifting and falling beyond, and Paula's two dogs wrestling each other in some playful doggy banter. They were two golden retrievers and

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