It was a fine evening, and we had little else to do, so I packed up my camera and joined Hubby, together with our youngest, to take in the "Peel Ghost Walk” tour.
It was great value, and even I (the house hermit) found it much fun. About 20 others joined us for the gentle saunter round the harbour town.
This poor kid above found herself singled out from our group, tied up, and led around the town by a rope, to be tried on the harbour as a witch. (Much to her friends disappointment, seems “Health and Safety” prevailed, saving her from the actual ducking).
Our walk commenced at 7pm, in warm sunlight, and lasted three hours. Peel is a beautiful old fishing town, only a fifteen minute ride from where I live, and seemingly with a (mostly dubious) long and gruesome history of ghostly hauntings.
(I think I may return on my own sometime soon, with the luxury of more time to frame a better shot or two.)
Um, it has occurred to me, perhaps my camcorder would have better captured the mood..? Ah well, too late now. you’ll simply have to take my word for it, many folk have (reputedly) met a horrible and grisly end here, a great number of which (we are assured) still walk these old and narrow streets.
As day rolled into dusk, the setting took on the perfect atmosphere for all things that go “bump” in the night.
It wasn’t hard to imagine the murderous acts, deadly plots, treacherous love, and cold blooded deeds, which our guide so enthusiastically and gruesomely portrayed.
The lighting was nigh on perfect, I am pleased with how the shots came out. I felt surprised to find myself the only one with a camera in tow, since most of the other's in the group were tourists, and visitors to our isle.
Making our way over to Peel Castle, I couldn't help but notice the solitary, middle-aged biker guy hanging back at the rear.. whenever the guide started his spiel, he would resume examining the boogers up his nose. I couldn't resist sidling up to threaten if he didn't quit, I might have to take a picture.
Poor lad was mortified. I must learn to hold my tongue sometimes, not everyone appreciates a warped sense of humour.
I took this for my Australian fellow blogger, Fenella, whose mother is also from these shores. It’s the area from where her namesake originates.
Fenella beach lies just behind (sorry Fenella, I didn’t manage to pass that way on the tour, but I doubtless will later, at some point).
We did take a leisurely walk along the deserted sands of Peel Beach, as we retraced the steps of long-gone smugglers and ruthless pirates whom, rumour has it, still stand guard over their ill-gotten bounty amidst the numerous coves dotting these shores.
The tour wound up at a very welcome hostelry, where we gratefully slaked our well-earned thirst. My biker friend turned out to be from Australia, and graphically explained how he was still recovering from a bout of the 'flu he'd caught in Singapore, which I guess kinda' served me right, a just enough payback for prying into his mucus problem.
Still, it proved an exceedingly well spent, and extremely enjoyable evening, a spur-of-the-moment jaunt I'm glad we made.
So much so, I'm encouraged to haul myself off to see the open air "Merchant of Venice" performance, advertised for this Saturday. Not that any of my ungrateful urchins want to be seen dead there, of course, it's only poor hubby who has expressed any luke-warm interest (solely to humour me).
I'll be sure to pack a picnic, that'll cheer him up.
