Days of Horror

Born in 1867, Samuel was the ninth child of parents, James and Eliza Hutton. His parent had married on 11th February 1849 and Eliza had given birth to her first child, Jane, in January 1850. In 1851, they welcomed John into the family but two years later and in 1853, Jane would sadly pass away. Six more additions into the family would come between the years 1853 to 1866 - Andrew, Alice, Charles, William, Thomas and David before the arrival of Samuel in 1867. As you can see, it was a relatively large family but one that appeared from the outside to be a well loved and respected family. On the morning of Tuesday, 8th August, 1871 - Samuel, like many young children, had awoken and after having his breakfast, had played with other children of similar age. He would spend a large portion of the day in and out of the house he had shared with his brothers and sisters. However, at around 5pm, Samuel went into a house at Brookside which was owned by Elizabeth Scholes where his mother Eliza had visited and was baking a cake. Laying down on the floor, he flung his legs around as if they didn't belong to his body - something Elizabeth would go on to tell at the later inquest. When laid down, Elizabeth said to Samuel, 'Sammy, if you fall asleep there I shall put you under the stairs, where the dog sleeps.' Samuel, seemingly a little disgruntled, sat up and looked at Elizabeth and then his mother. 'Get up and go into the house and lay you down on the sofa,' said his mother, Eliza. Samuel got himself up off the floor and did as his mother had asked. Between six and seven o' clock, and when Eliza had returned home, Elizabeth visited the Hutton's house and noticed Samuel laying on the sofa and sleeping. She then visited again around eight o'clock having gone on an errand, and Samuel was laying in the same place. Samuel would go on to having a restless night, often waking in a sweat, shivering and seemingly in pain, and at two o' clock he had asked his mother for a drink of tea and a 'butty.' Between half-past four and five o' clock in the morning, Elizabeth was woken by Eliza and asked if she would go and look on Samuel and offer any advice on how to ease his pain. 'Well, if we give him a little castor oil it would do him no harm.' she would tell Eliza. After administering a teaspoonful of the oil, Eliza said to her husband James, 'Jimmy, you will have to go to Bury, as our Sammy is a deal worse.' James put on his jacket and then went out to fetch Dr. Harris from nearby Bury. For more on this story, along with images etc, please visit our website at : https://www.daysofhorror.com Follow us on Twitter : https://www.twitter.com/dohpods Instagram : https://www.instagram.com/dohpods Youtube : https://www.youtube.com/@DaysofHorror?sub_confirmation=1 Music used in this video : ♪♬ Tender Remains - Myuu - No Copyright Music ♪♬ Casual Desire - Ugonna Onyekwe - No Copyright Music ♪♬ Contact - The Tower of Light - No Copyright Music

"Ta-ta. You won't see me again. Im going to shoot my wife and baby," - those were the last words spoken by 26-year old, Henry King on Friday 12th December 1958 to an acquaintance named Sheila Whipp at the Dun Horse Hotel in Blackburn. Her reply to such a statement was simple enough, "don't be stupid." King then handed her a small looking object that she initially believed to have been nothing more than a cigarette lighter. The object was in fact a bundle of around twenty-five bullet cartridges. Full more detailed information on this story, including photographs and more, please visit our website at https://www.daysofhorror.com Follow us on Twitter : https://www.twitter.com/dohpods Instagram : https://www.instagram.com/dohpods Youtube : https://www.youtube.com/@DaysofHorrorPodcast?sub_confirmation=1 Music used in this video : ♪♬ Exhale - Myuu - No Copyright Music ♪♬ Lake of Memories - Myuu - No Copyright Music ♪♬ Casual Desire - Ugonna Onyekwe - No Copyright Music ♪♬ Contact - The Tower of Light - No Copyright Music

As the light of day slowly began to fade away, the darkness that quickly descended brought with it a freezing chill that had already frozen a large area of deep water which had been left dormant at the foot of a quarry named the Tim Bobbin delph. Inside nearby houses, families where in full enjoyment of Christmas cheer, singing and dancing with some preparing themselves for their evening meals. And at number 2 Park Lane, just on the outskirts of Burnley, this is exactly what was happening within the home owned by Thomas Tattersall. But all the happiness and joyful scenes would soon come to a terrifying end as, just before 4.30pm on the 26th December 1887, the lives of one family would be forever changed in the most tragic of ways. For more on this terrible tragedy, please visit our website at https://www.daysofhorror.com You can also watch our video, detailing the events that occurred in 1887 - https://youtu.be/KDG6H3d3QuM

When Blackburn Rovers went on to lift the Premier League title in dramatic circumstances on the 14th May 1995, it would be the culmination of 5 years' worth of investments by a local man named Jack Walker, a lifelong supporter who would eventually change the fortunes of one of the former founders of the football league. Former Liverpool player and manager, Kenny Dalglish was appointed in October 1991, and as Rovers secured promotion to the FA Premier League at the end of the 1991-92 season as play-off winners, in 1992 they would make all the headlines by paying an English record fee of £3.5million for 22 year-old Southampton center forward, Alan Shearer. But behind the scenes, talks had begun on transforming the stadium and bringing it more UpToDate and to compete with the so called 'big boys' of the Premier League. The biggest stand at Ewood Park, and the home of Blackburn Rovers Football Club is named after its former owner, Jack Walker - who had sadly passed away in 2000. It is just one of three stands that were built during the Ewood Park's ground redevelopment in the early part of the 1900s. But it was during its construction, a sinister secret would be unearthed that would rock the entire town of Blackburn and bring to an end a ten-year search. On July 19th 1994, a workman called John Griffiths had been busy digging a boundary trench where a row of terraced houses that had been demolished along Nuttall Street had once stood. The morning had gone as normal, but he would soon be stopped in his tracks when the sight of a human head peered from under the rubble he was removing. For more on this story, please check out our website at https://www.daysofhorror.com Follow us on Twitter : https://www.twitter.com/dohpods Instagram : https://www.instagram.com/dohpods Music used in this video : ♪♬ Shattered - Myuu - No Copyright Music ♪♬ On the Chain - Myuu - No Copyright Music

Just after 10am on the morning of Tuesday, 9th June 1896, a young boy burst into the workshop of John Coates and his son Thomas, which was situated along the cobbled road of Bridge-street, Accrington and just behind the now forgotten, Brown Cow public inn. In a frenzied state of mind, the boy shouted, 'Oh, Mrs. Coates is murdered!' Not sure what was happening, Mr. Coates replied back, 'Nothing of the sort.' However, the young boy raised one of his arms and to the horror of Mr. Coates, what looked like fresh splatters of blood splatters could be seen. Alarmed, Mr. Coates and his son, Thomas, left his workshop and made their way back to their home which was only a few minutes away on nearby Warner Street. Upon their arrival, Mr. Coates quickly made his way upstairs and to his horror, his wife, Sarah, although alive, looked to be in a very distressing state and lying on the bedroom floor, only yards from the door. Upon closer inspection, it was clear she had suffered from a serious attack, with blood flowing freely from an open wound on her throat. She tried desperately to speak, but the injuries to her throat were so severe, she could only utter a few groans. Thomas, who had followed his father upstairs and upon seeing his mother in such a pitiful state, rushed downstairs to a neighbour named Mrs. Bradley, who in turn sent for Dr. Monaghan. Meanwhile, the boy who had alerted Mr. Coates and his son, Thomas, to the attack on Sarah, had himself set off to find a doctor, and in no time at all, he had arrived at the surgery of Dr. Clayton. "There's been a murder in Warner-street," he would scream upon entering the surgery. As particulars of the affair began to leak out, the identity of the perpetrator remained absolutely unknown, but it would soon transpire that a boy named Christopher Hindle who was just 15 years of age and a carpenters apprentice for both Mr. and Mrs. Coates, would soon become the center of attention - and it was this very same young boy who had raised the alarm at Mr. Coates workshop only half-an-hour so earlier! For more on this story, please visit our website at https://www.daysofhorror.com

On the morning of Monday, November 10th 1890, 21-year old Elizabeth Holt had left her home in Dunscar to make her usual trek over to the school she was employed at in Belmont, which was roughly three miles away. But this would be the last time she would ever make the journey, and a tragedy so brutal in nature would soon unravel which would shock the residents of Bolton and nearby towns and villages. As head mistress at Belmont National School near to Bolton, 21-year old, Elizabeth made the routinely walk from her home at number 532 Darwen Road, Turton and head towards an unfrequented country road known as Longworth Lane, a walk that would take around fifteen to twenty minutes to complete. From here, it would take at least another hour or so before she would have reached the school. But not long into the walk, Elizabeth would encounter something so sinister, so horrible to even contemplate, it would go unknown for almost 5 days - until that is, when her body would be discovered buried underneath an overhanging crag and covered in dead leaves and ferns. It was Elizabeth's practice to leave her home on a Monday morning and return on the Friday evening. But it appears that the schoolmaster had assumed Elizabeth had been ill and she was not well enough to inform the school of her non-arrival. Meanwhile, back at her home, her family thought nothing different and that Elizabeth had, as she had always done, arrived safely in Belmont and her place of work. Four days past, and when Elizabeth failed to return home the following Friday, it was not until Saturday morning, 15th November, when Elizabeth's mother and sister became anxious about her absence. Just after noon, a young friend of of Elizabeth's family had been sent over to Belmont on his bicycle to inquire about Elizabeth's whereabout's. After quickly hearing that she had not been to school at all during the week, he rushed back to inform her mother and sister. For more on this story, please visit our website at https://www.daysofhorror.com Please follow me on social media; Twitter – https://twitter.com/dohpods Instagram – www.instagram.com/dohpods Youtube – https://www.youtube.com/c/DaysofHorrorPodcast Music; Casual Desire – Ugonna Onyekwe – No Copyright Music Melancholia - Godmode - No Copyright Music - YouTube Audio Library Contact - The Tower of Light - No Copyright Music - YouTube Audio Library

When Moses Clayton's body was laid to rest on Saturday, 1st March 1919, it would close the book on one of Rossendale's most notorious villains. A character that had once terrorised an entire district with his brutality and drunken carefree attitude would no longer pose a threat to the townsfolk of Accrington, Bacup, Haslingden and Rawtenstall, as well as other places such as Whitworth and Todmorden. Born in 1857 to parents James and Susannah, Moses was just one of nine siblings, and he had spent much of his childhood and early teens living in and around Crawshawbooth, within an area known as Lower Booths. In 1871, from the census records, we can see he was living at number 25 Holmes Terrace along with his father James, four brothers and three sisters. His mother had sadly passed away in 1870 at the age of 44. Interestingly, one of the earliest accounts of Moses getting into any form of trouble appeared in 1870, the same year as his mother's death. The Manchester Courier and Lancashire General Advertiser ran a small story detailing how a young lad, just 13 years old, had been arrested and charged by Inspector Hargreaves at the Salford Police Court under the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. Moses had been found working a horse that was in an unfit condition. His employer, Mr. George Pullett, a coal dealer from Pendlebury,would eventually pay a fine of 40s. Whilst this was obviously a serious charge, it would be nothing compared to what was to come. Please follow me on social media; Twitter – https://twitter.com/dohpods Instagram – www.instagram.com/dohpods Youtube – https://www.youtube.com/c/DaysofHorrorPodcast Music; Casual Desire – Ugonna Onyekwe – No Copyright Music Beyond the Lows – The Whole Other – No Copyright Music Missing Pieces – Sir Cubworth – No Copyright Music Edge of Life - Myuu - No Copyright Music

On Saturday, 22nd December 1866, the body of a young woman aged 18 years was recovered from a lodge adjacement to Holden Wood cotton mill, that was owned by Mr. James Maxwell and situated in a place known as Holden Wood, near Haslingden. At around half-past one in the afternoon, John Holgate, a spinner employed at Maxwell's mill, whilst passing by his place of work, had noticed something bobbing about just above the water level in a lodge that was within yards of the mill. Upon making his way over to the waters edge, it was then he saw the head of a young girl which was just above the water, with the remainder of her body submerged. Already knowing the depth of the water in the lodge was quite deep, reportedly around nine feet, he knew that trying to recover the body himself was an almost impossible task, so Holgate left to fetch for another worker, who in turn went off to search for a policeman. By the time a police officer had arrived, water from the nearby Holden Wood reservoir had been slowly filling the lodge, which in turn was by now submerging the victims head. And yet despite a struggle, all three men succeeded in retrieving the body. For more on this story, please visit our website at https://www.daysofhorror.com Please follow us on social media; Twitter – https://twitter.com/dohpods Instagram – www.instagram.com/dohpods Youtube – https://www.youtube.com/c/DaysofHorrorPodcast Music : Another Day - Myuu (free copyright sounds and music) Casual Desire - Ugonna Onyekwe (free copyright sounds and music) Contact - The Tower of Light (free copyright sounds and music)

Not since 1849 when Frederick and Maria Manning had been found guilty of murder, had a married couple been sentenced to death by the justice system. But 85 years later, on the 17th October 1935, James Henry Mills and his wife, Edith Mills would succumb to the very same fate after being sentenced at the Lancaster Assizes for a murder so brutal and ghoulish in nature, that what you are about to read and hear will ask more questions than it will give answers. On Sunday, June 30th 1935, little Helen Chester, who was just three years old, had spent the early evening playing with other children near to her home at number 22 John Bright-street, Blackburn. But when she failed to return home, her worried parents, Phyllis and Charles, after searching for her themselves, informed the police and shortly after 8pm, Helen was officially reported as being missing. An intensive search was made in the surrounding district, both by the police and by civilians. Mill lodges, buildings and workshops were searched but nothing was seen of Helen. Canals and ditches were dragged and a police presence was also made on the River Darwen. The search for her would continue throughout the next day, but it wouldnt be until Tuesday morning, just before 7.00 am, when a breakthrough would be made. For more on this story, please visit our website at https://www.daysofhorror.com Please follow us on social media; Twitter – https://twitter.com/dohpods Instagram – www.instagram.com/dohpods Youtube – https://www.youtube.com/c/DaysofHorrorPodcast Music : Remnants - Myuu (free copyright sounds and music) Casual Desire - Ugonna Onyekwe (free copyright sounds and music) Contact - The Tower of Light (free copyright sounds and music)

Ever since the death of her husband, Maurice, who had sadly passed away only two years prior in 1923; 82 year old Mary Ann O'Shea had lived alone at a place known as Tower Hill that was situated within the top end of a town called Haslingden, that lies within the boundaries of the Rossendale Valley. Residing at number 11, Mary had lived in a pitifull and frightening condition. Her house was extremely basic, having just two rooms of which one included the basement. Dampness, filth and grime had made living conditions a nightmare, not just for Mary, but for all of the other residents living at Tower Hill. And out of the 36 houses situated at Tower Hill, 16 of them had no real accomodation for food storage and a staggering 35 homes had no access for washing! In fact, it was the basement that Mary would mainly use as she had suffered terribly from rheumatism and along with an ulcer on one of her legs, it had become too painful to walk up the stone steps to her other room. From all accounts, Mary was a feeble old lady, often relying on the help of a single woman by the name of Margaret Flannagan, who would call on Mary to see how she was doing and if she needed any help. For more on this story, please visit our website at https://www.daysofhorror.com Please follow us on social media; Twitter – https://twitter.com/dohpods Instagram – www.instagram.com/dohpods Youtube – https://www.youtube.com/c/DaysofHorrorPodcast

For six consecutive days, heavy rain had battered the hills surrounding Holmfirth, sending hundreds of tons of water streaming through the narrow gorges and several valleys down into the lowlands where it would be collected. Normally, plenty of rainfall wouldn't be a problem and in fact would benefit the many large mills and cottages that were dotted alongside the hillside whose businesses were reliant on fast flowing water, and in the summertime, the true benefit of having such large amounts of water would become apparent as, when any prolonged dry spells occurred, it would often render many operational businesses redundant due to the lack of rain. To solve such issues, a group of businessmen and mill owners formed the Holmfirth Reservoir Commissioners, which would ultimately construct a series of reservoirs - one being the Bilberry Reservoir that was situated around three and-a-half miles above Holmfirth. Unfortunately, during the early house of Thursday, October 5th, 1852 - the embankment, after withstanding days of severe rainfall, suddenly breached, sending an estimated 86 million gallons of water thundering down the Holme Valley, along the River Holme and towards the small picturesque town of Holmfirth, and the decision to plug the discovered spring would prove to be a fateful one. For more on this story, please visit our website at https://www.daysofhorror.com Please follow us on social media; Twitter – https://twitter.com/dohpods Instagram – www.instagram.com/dohpods Youtube – https://www.youtube.com/c/DaysofHorrorPodcast

During the autumn of 1950, residents within the sleepy village of Ewood Bridge were shocked to have learnt of the brutal murder of a young Yugoslavian man, whose body had been discovered within a platelayers cabin that was situated just a few yards away from the East Lancashire Railway line. On the 9th of October, a man by the name of Alvar Howarth was making his usual trek to the cabin, which was someway off the beaten track, ready to begin his shift as a platelayer, or in simple terms, an employee who inspects and maintains railway lines. Having to walk along within inches of the East Lancashire Railway line, he would soon arrive at his place of work. The cabin was nothing more than a small wooden hut, and was situated just off an embankment that was only several feet from the main railway line. On entering, he instantly noticed the body of another work colleague, lying face down on the cold floor, with his head facing towards a fire place. For more on this story, please visit our website at https://www.daysofhorror.com Please follow us on social media; Twitter – https://twitter.com/dohpods Instagram – www.instagram.com/dohpods Youtube – https://www.youtube.com/c/DaysofHorrorPodcast

More than a century after his death, the ghost of James Maybrick would rise from his grave in an explosion of furor and excitement that would rock the foundations of many crime historians, lecturers and most certainly wannabe detectives, all of whom had spent decades trying to uncover the real identity of the world's most notorious murderer, the grandfather of the modern day serial killer, if you will; that of Jack the Ripper. Back in 1991, a 'diary' was uncovered, lying dormant underneath the floorboards of a bedroom within 'Battlecrease House', the former home of James and his wife Florence. The room in question was James Maybrick's bedroom, and the place he had spent the last few weeks of his life in excruciating pain, suffering from acute poisoning that would eventually claim his life. But it was whilst Battlecrease House underwent some renovation work, workmen came across the diary; a leather bound scrap-book, with many pages missing but containing 63 pages of legible writing with around 9,000 written words. The diary itself is perhaps one of the most intriguing and possibly most important historical pieces of work to ever be discovered in terms of its importance in solving the most unsolvable puzzles of all time - who was Jack the Ripper? But for this, we need to delve into the life of James Maybrick. For more on this fascinating story, please visit our website at www.daysofhorror.com Please follow us on social media; Twitter – https://twitter.com/dohpods Instagram – www.instagram.com/dohpods Youtube – https://www.youtube.com/c/DaysofHorrorPodcast

Shortly after three o'clock on the morning of Tuesday, 3rd January 1882, a murder so savage in nature occurred at number 4, Brook Row over in a place known as Lowerhouse near to Burnley. A man by the name of Robert Templeton, who was 36 years of age had arrived in Lowerhouse around nine months prior, sometime around April, 1881. He quickly managed to find employment as a machine printer, working for A. Drew and Sons. Although quite in nature, he still managed to keep on friendly terms with most of his acquaintances and was known for being an excellent time keeper as well as a reliable workman. Not too long after arriving in Lowerhouse, he managed to find lodgings within the home of Betty Scott, a widower who was just 33 year old, and mother to three children; one boy - John, who was eleven years of age, and two girls - Martha Ann, aged nine and Hannah aged three. Having married at a young age to a man called William Scott, who sadly died in October 1876, she had fought bravely to look after herself and her family, by taking in other people's washing, and as well as lodgers. Having resided in the village since a child, Betty was a well-known and well-liked by the majority and was generally considered as one of the most industrious, clean and hard working women in the area. Not too long after taking up lodgings with Betty, it appears that some form of romantic friendship had begun between the pair, and it was rumoured that they were soon to be married. However, as time passed, Robert had began to drink heavily, leaving Betty feeling ashamed, deceived and at times, ill-treated. For more on this story, please visit our website at www.daysofhorror.com Please follow us on social media; Twitter – https://twitter.com/dohpods Instagram – www.instagram.com/dohpods Youtube – https://www.youtube.com/c/DaysofHorrorPodcast

When the Titanic finally lost its battle with the North Atlantic sea and disappeared into the abyss below the waves, it was and still is one of the worst maritime disasters to ever take place. Taking with it over 1,500 lives, it is without a doubt one of the most famous tragedies in modern day history. The story itself is well known. Nicknamed the "unsinkable ship", after having departed Southampton, England on the 10th April 1912, the Titanic set sail on its maiden voyage to travel to New York City. The ship had contained a mixture of class of passenger, from millionaires and businessmen, to the lower class of society who were eager to begin a new life in America. But just five days into the journey, disaster struck when the ships starboard side scraped alongside a giant iceberg that had already been reported floating around 400 nautical miles south off the coast of Newfoundland, Canada. The rest, as we know is history, and the story of the Titanic has been written in many books, as well as turned in movies and documentaries, with some perhaps adding mythology into the mix. And this brings us to the story of a small group of courageous men, and one in particular, who have quite rightly become the epitome of the heroics that took place during that frightening and devastating morning on Monday, 15th April, 1912. For more information on Wallace Hartley and his story, please visit our website at www.daysofhorror.com

On the morning of Friday, 2nd December 1904, the people of Burnley, would be shocked to their very core when police finally forced their way into number 20 Stock-street and the bodies of a man and a women would be discovered lying in pools of blood, both with their throats cut. But whilst news of this shocking discovery was quickly circulating throughout the town, some residents of Stock-street had already witnessed a brief and horrific scene as a man by the name of Michael Walsh had appeared at the front of his house, brandishing a blood-soaked razor, before returning inside. Hearing screams emanating from inside the house, one of the neighbours went off in search of help and it didn't take long before Police Constable Heap arrived at the scene. After being told of the events prior to his arrival, P.C. Heap made his way into number 20. Making his way into a small room, he was presented with a ghastly sight. Pots and pans had been smashed and furniture was scattered all over. A dresser and chairs were wrecked, scattered to pieces near to a staircase leading to a bedroom. Numerous ornaments had been wiped from the top of the dresser and broken on the bare floor. On the floor lay Elizabeth Alice Walsh, 46 years of age and the mother of six children. She was lying in a heavy pool of blood. And on top of her was her husband, Michael Walsh, aged 47, also covered with blood. It seems the fears of the neighbours had been acted out and whilst shocked at the awful nature of the tragedy, the discovery of the two bodies was exactly what they had expected to find. If you wish to find out more on this sad and tragic story, please visit our website at www.daysofhorror.com. Please follow us on social media : Twitter @dohpods Instagram @dohpods Music; Casual Desire – Ugonna Onyekwe – No Copyright Music Contact – The Tower of Light – No Copyright Music Classical Piano – No Copyright Music

On the morning of Monday, 3rd September, 1894 - 34 passengers made their way onto a sail-powered boat that would, on a normal day, have taken them on a leisurely trip over to Grange-over-Sands, located on the north side of Morecambe Bay, Cumbria. But what should have been a day of fun and enjoyment, it would quickly escalate into a day of tragedy. Departing from Morecambe promenade and the Princess Sailing Company Landing Stage at around 10 o'clock in the morning, the passenger list comprised of a large contingent of holiday makers who had travelled over from Burnley. The 'Matchless' was a small fishing vessel, commonly known as a 'Lancashire nobby' and was used for fishing during the winter months and for pleasure trips in summer. Seventeen years old, the Matchless was roughly 33 feet (10m) long and weighed around five tons. It also contained a mainsail, foresail, topsail and jib. Operated by its owner, 54 year old Samuel Houghton, who was an experience skipper with many years of sailing, after departing from the landing stage, the vessel wouldn't take long to reach a stretch of water just off Silverdale and approximately six miles from where they had departed. The passengers, who, by now were in a merry mood and singing "Dare to be a Daniel!", were oblivious to the impending danger that was fast approaching. Moments later, the Matchless seemed to slow down and to the right, the water had darkened slightly. One of the passengers said to Houghton, "I think we have stopped altogether," and then there was a lull, with the waters becoming still but very dark looking. Out of nowhere, a huge gust slammed into the right side of the vessel, filling the sails and pitching it from left-to-right. And in no time at all, another gust struck from above, followed by a sudden squall, this time throwing the passengers into the water, leaving them no time to grab onto anything. The Matchless began to rock from side-to-side before finally succumbing to the wind as she keeled over, and as the frantic passengers tried desperately to keep themselves afloat, it would only take a few minutes for the Matchless to disappear beneath the water. Just over one-hundred yards away was Edward Gardner, a fisherman of Morecambe, who was also sailing his boat with seventeen passengers, taking the same route as that of Samuel on the Matchless. Having just crossed over a junction in the channel and making headway towards Grange-over-Sands, Edward himself felt the gust of wind as it hit his boat. Looking over towards the direction of where the wind had originated from, he admitted to thinking to himself at a later inquest that the next breeze would be an ordinary breeze and did not think about altering the course of his boat. He would later go on to mention that the wind was more akin to that of being like a whirlwind, first crashing along one side before rounding his boat and hitting it head-on the opposite side. However, whilst he had managed to control his boat, he would see the Matchless pitching over and disappearing into the sea. Instinctively, he turned his boat around to make haste towards the panic-stricken passengers in the water. In total he helped to recover six passengers who were alive and one, unfortunately who had died. For more on this interesting story, please visit our website - www.daysofhorror.com

When 16 year old, Thomas Oxford, began loading his cart with milk churns, he could never have envisioned the events that would take place later that same day. Thomas was a farm servant living with John Clark, farmer, at a place known as Shuttleworth Hall that still is situated to this day in a place called Hapton. It was around 6.30am in the morning on Saturday, 19th January 1889, when he left the Hall in the usual way, with his milk-cart fully stocked and ready to be delivered by going on his rounds by the way of Cheapside and Burnley Lane. And by half-past nine, he had already finished delivering the milk and had made his towards Elm Street, just off Burnley Lane. Happy that the morning had gone as planned and relatively stress free, Thomas began on his journey back to Shuttleworth Hall when, coming from the direction of Burnley, another boy by the name of William McMenemy met up with him. William, who was a little older and aged 18, was known as "Jimmy" to his friends, as he was rarely ever called by his Christian name of William. "See thee, Tommy, look what a nice hammer I have found" William spoke as he pulled out a joiners hammer from his trouser pocket and handed it over to Thomas. Impressed by the find, Thomas replied, "Ay, give it me." Thomas then offered William two pence for it, but William shook his head and turned down the offer. Thomas placed the hammer into his cart box but no sooner as he had done so, William took it back out, remarking that it would come in useful as he put it into his trousers pocket and covering it with his waistcoat. Both boys then got onto the cart and began to make their ways towards Ashfield Road but had to jump out and walk some way as there was a hill and the horse pulling the cart was beginning to struggle. As they did this, Thomas started to count the weeks earnings from the sale of milk. Nearing the Burnley Spinning and Weaving Company Mill, William hopped back into the cart whilst Thomas carried on walking up to the top of the street. After counting the money, Thomas was about to put it back into his pocket, but William, who had been watching Thomas, said to him he had miscounted. Not sure, Thomas thought he'd better check and so began to recount the money. It would later emerge that Thomas was carrying £2 3s, the equivalent of just over £273 in today's value. Thomas's return journey would normally see him make his way back along Burnley Road before turning right onto what is now known as Manchester Road. He would then normally have passed the Bridge public house before turning left onto Castle Clough lane and then towards Shuttleword Hall farm. However, on this occasion, the two boys, after being talked into it by William, would instead make their way towards a place known as Stone Moor Bottom. For more on this story, please visit our website at : www.daysofhorror.com Please follow us on social media : Twitter @dohpods Instagram @dohpods Music; Casual Desire – Ugonna Onyekwe – No Copyright Music Contact – The Tower of Light – No Copyright Music Another Day – Myuu – No Copyright Music

The walk from Smiths Place Farm, that was situated just on the outskirts of the small village of Huncoat, to the home of Susannah Holt at Houghton Barn Farm in Altham, is roughly just one mile in distance and something which would usually take on average, around fifteen to twenty minutes to complete. And this walk was nothing unusual for James William Walker, who was just sixteen years old back on the 16th September 1889, when our next story takes place. It had been a relatively mild day with just the odd outburst of rain which had blighted pretty much all of the North West of England, and for September, it felt much warmer than usual. Making his way on the uneven and at times slippery footpath alongside the Leeds and Liverpool Canal, it was around 8.00pm when James would eventually arrive at a small bridge that overlooked the canal. He was also only around 100 yards from Houghton Barn Farm, the home of is aunt, Susannah Holt. As James left the muddy footpath and began the short walk to his aunt's farm, he noticed the figure of a young man stood next to a fence on the opposite side of the path. "Eigh, mate, has ta got a copper?" asked the stranger. James replied with a simple 'no' as he passed the stranger. Moments later, the stranger caught up with James, saying; "Good night" as he put one of his arms around James' neck. Thinking the stranger was larking around, James tried to shrug him away but as he tried his hardest to break free, the stranger drew something that glittered from his breast pocket with his right hand. Seconds later, and not realising what was happening to him, James then felt a piercing pain emanating from the left hand side of his abdomen. With a sharp instrument, the stranger began stabbing James, not once or twice, but five times in total. For more on this story, please visit our website at : www.daysofhorror.com Please follow us on social media : Twitter @dohpods Instagram @dohpods Music; Casual Desire – Ugonna Onyekwe – No Copyright Music Contact – The Tower of Light – No Copyright Music Classical Piano – Myuu – No Copyright Music Identity Crisis – Myuu – No Copyright Music

Today's story takes us back to Wednesday, 24th December 1856 and to the inquest of how a young girls body was pulled from an old pit situated only yards from her own back yard, the week before on Friday, 19th December. At the Whittakers Arms Inn, Mr. H. W. Hargreaves opened the proceedings on the body of Alice Nuttall, a 13 year old girl whose was found drowned in a pit near Highbrake Mill on Friday, 19th December. The pit from where her body was removed from was roughly eighteen yards long and five to six yards wide. It was also only twenty-five yards away from where Alice had lived at Highbrake Terrace. At around 6.10pm, Esther Smith was making her way home to Highbrake Terrace after finishing work at the nearby mill. She was being accompanied by John Nuttall who was also employed at the same mill as her. After arriving at Nuttall's house, which was only a five minutes' walk at best, she saw her sister, Alice standing and talking to Alice Nuttall at the bottom of the flag steps leading away from the house. Alice (Smith) was holding a jug which their father had given to her upon leaving work. Waving at both girls, Esther continued on her way home which was only a few doors up from that of John Nuttall. Ten minutes later, Alice Smith, in a state of panic came rushing into the house. She was wet from head to foot, her brow covered in green slime. "Oh! Mother, two men have drawn us through the pit ; go after Alice, they have taken her!" For more on this story, please visit our website - www.daysofhorror.com where you can read it in its entirety. Follow us on; Twitter : www.twitter.com/dohpods Instagram : www.instagram.com/dohpods To donate to our memorial plaque - please visit : https://gofund.me/548edd62

For at least twenty years, youth gangs had become a prominent and menacing way of life within parts of Manchester that had festered within the slums of places such as Hope Street, Greengate, Ordsall, Gorton, Angel Meadow and Ancoats to name but a few. Young lads between the ages of 14 and 18 found solace by joining gangs that gave them a feeling of importance and by fighting with rival gangs, it also gave them the respect they felt they deserved as well as a sense of belonging. And for many, it was a way out of the monotony of day-to-day life that had offered them very little hope. With smart haircuts and their own unique dress code, which included bell-bottomed trousers, silk scarves and brass-tipped pointed clogs, they would roam the back streets and alleyways of Manchester in gangs that reflected the territories they were formed in. For example, The Bengal Tigers came from the streets around Bengal Street in Ancoats, Meadow Lads from Angel Meadow and the Grey Mare Boys from Grey Mare Lane in Bradford. And to coincide with this ever increasing wave of gang violence, a name would emerge out from the streets that would become synonymous with each gang - the "Scuttlers." For more on this case, please visit our website at https://www.daysofhorror.com Follow us on; Twitter : www.twitter.com/dohpods Instagram : www.instagram.com/dohpods

Shortly before midnight on Saturday, 5th November 1910, P.C Greenwood had barely made his way into an area in Carlisle known as West Walls, when, after checking on individual premises, he came across an unlocked warehouse door at number 15. As the area was well known for beggars and vagabonds who would use the narrow street when passing through the City, it seemed odd that someone would leave the doors to their business unlocked and at the mercy of those passing through. Out of curiosity, P.C. Greenwood turned on his lamp before opening the door, and as he crept inside the building his attention was quickly brought to the sight of a body lying close to the bottom of some stairs directly in front of him. And upon making his way over, it was clearly obvious to the police constable that something truly horrific had occurred as not only was blood smeared on the walls, the body at the foot of the stairs was lying slumped over on its right hand side and covered in blood. The constable continued to search the premises, going into every room. After being satisfied that there was nobody else in the building, he was about to leave when he came across an axe that had been placed on top of a box. Upon closer inspection, he noticed what looked like human hair which had adhered itself to the blood that covered most of the axe. Immediately, the constable left the building and quickly summoned for assistance in the form of Chief Constable George Hill who immediately proceeded to the scene of the murder. For more on this case, please visit our website at https://www.daysofhorror.com Follow us on; Twitter : www.twitter.com/dohpods Instagram : www.instagram.com/dohpods

Towering over the town of Haslingden, Cribden Hill imposes its presence in a grand demeanor. And whilst it may look picturesque from spring right through to the autumn months, it can arguably be as intimidating as well as beautiful looking during the winter months, and it's during this period back on Sunday, 6th March, 1910 our next story takes place. Young Isabella Walker, who was just 2½ years old, had spent the best part of the day outside playing with other children. Although it had been a cold and mixed type of day, this hadn't stopped any of them from enjoying the rare opportunity of making the most of their free time together. By mid-afternoon, many of the children had returned home, leaving Isabella pretty much alone. It seems that she still had an abundance of energy still to burn off and so she went back to her home to spend time with her elder brother and sister, John and Hilda. John was seven and Hilda, ten years of age. Unbeknownst to her, both John and Hilda had already been sent out to a farm a short distance away to collect some milk and so, after finding only her mother and father at home and with her brother and sister nowhere to be seen, she left the house to go and look for them, or so it seems. Time would soon pass, and despite John and Hilda returning home with the milk, it would be around 5.45pm when Isabella's parents, Frederick and Margaret would for the first time realise Isabella was missing. The home of Frederick and Margaret Walker was situated on the slope of Cribden Hill in an area known as Cribden 'Side', with several farm buildings separated by dry stones walls and the odd hedgerow. They had four children, with Isabella being the youngest at just 2½ years of age. John and Hilda, as we have already mentioned, and also Isaac, who was five years old. With Isabella now apparently missing, Frederick set out to scour the moors, frantically searching for his daughter. But as a thick layer of mist soon began to fall and with darkness quickly descending, his search would turn to frustration, and with a gaslamp as his only source of light, visibility was extremely poor. Shouting out into the thickness of the fog, the sound of his voice would be muffled out just as quickly as it left his mouth. For more on this story, please visit our website at https://www.daysofhorror.com

The Lancashire Witch Trials of 1612, that saw twelve people accused of witch craft, has throughout the ages continued to fascinate people from all around the world. Many books have been written about the now infamous, 'Pendle Witches' but none so relevant as the one written by a man called Thomas Potts, the clerk to the court at the Lancaster Assizes where the trials took place on the 18th and 19th of August 1612. His book, The Wonderfull Discoverie of Witches in the Countie of Lancaster is quite extraordinary in detail as it outlines what took place all those years ago. It takes into account the complete story of not just the Pendle witches but also those known as the Samlesbury Witches which saw in total, twenty men and women being accused of witchcraft with eleven being found guilty and subsequently hanged and one being sentenced to stand in a pillory (a device made of a wooden or metal framework erected on a post, with holes for securing the head and hands and was used as a form of punishment by public humilation and often physical abuse). The other seven were eventually acquitted. But it isn't the Pendle witches or the Samlesbury witches that have perked our interest for our next story. Instead, we are going to take a step back into 1705 and to the small village of Woodplumpton that is situated in the City of Preston, Lancashire. Within the small graveyard of St. Anne's Church, there is a large boulder that can be found alongside a path which seems to be out of character amongst the old headstones and that of the 13th Century church. And alongside this boulder is a small plaque with an inscribed message that simply reads; "The Witch's Grave. Beneath this stone lie the remains of Meg Shelton, alleged Witch of Woodplumpton, buried in 1705." Margery Hilton, or "Meg Shelton" and "The Fylde Witch" as she was and still is known as, was by all accounts a loner who would prefer to be in her own company rather than mix with the locals of the village and was often looked down upon as a figure of fun. Surviving mainly on haggis (which was in common use at that time in Fylde), made from boiled groats and herbs such as thyme and parsley, Meg was a poor woman - a beggar by all accounts, and was known for her shape-shifting abilities which, if stories are to be believed, allowed her to change into all manner of things ranging from animals and various kinds of inanimate objects. It's unclear as to where Meg had lived as many stories will say she had lived in a small cottage in the village of Singleton, whereas others will say she lived in nearby Catforth, less than an hour's walk away from Woodplumpton. However, one story that we have uncovered is that of Mrs. Margaret Parr who was a native of Catforth and who lived until the age of 91. The daughter of a farmer, she lived her whole life working on the farm and was a familiar figure often seen with her horse and cart travelling between Catforth and Elswick. She would tell stories of how the Corn Laws had affected her family, as well stories of the Lancashire Martyrs. But the one thing that she found hard to deal with during her life in the late 1600s was the difficulty in practicing her religion as a Catholic. Interestingly, she would on many occasions recall living close to Meg Shelton, which, as already mentioned, was in Catforth. But no matter where she lived, the stories of Meg all agree on one thing; she was a lady who would cause, it seems, plenty of mischief!

Between the months of June and November back in 1980, a bizarre strange of events took place in the small town of Todmorden that today, still remain unsolved. For several weeks leading up to and after the 6th June, reports of strange lights in the night sky were being received by the Todmorden police who, despite investigating them, could never give a definitive answer as to what they were. Despite a flurry of phones calls and people going to the police station to report what they had been seeing, one of the most strangest and what would soon be one of the UK's most high profile cases of what we now call the UFO phenomena as well as alien abduction, would soon take place. On the 28th November, 1980, Police Constable, Alan Godfrey, who was based at the Todmorden branch of the West Yorkshire Metropolitan Police Force, had been sent out to check on reports of cattle wandering around a local estate. His shift was supposed to finish at 6am that morning but at around 5.15am, as he was travelling along Burnley Road in his Ford Escort Panda, he was about to turn right onto Ferney Lee Road when suddenly, and apparently out of nowhere, a bright white light appeared in front of him. Stopping his police car, what Godfrey saw that night would possibly be the accumulation of events that had not only engulfed the residents of Todmorden leading up to this point but also something more sinister for Godfrey himself. For more on this story, along with photographs, please visit our website at www.daysofhorror.com

As the sound of the slow moving waters in the near distance began to reemerge, the startled birds which had fled to nearby pastures could still be heard in the darkened sky above as the figure of a man stumbled onto his feet. In the distance, the low rumble of thunder could be heard, menacingly making its way towards him. With his hands shaking and holding a small bottle, he turned around but could barely look at the sight in front of him. Lifting the bottle to his lips, the stranger nervously opened his mouth, slowly emptying the contents and taking a couple of gulps in the process. He then paused for a few seconds before collapsing back onto his knees as the darkness of the night slowly encompassed him. And with the first specks of rain beginning to fall, he laid himself down onto the ground, closing his eyes for one last time – or so he thought. The week leading up to Saturday, 3rd July, 1926 had been one of ups and downs for the Barker family, with Willie Stanworth Barker, a weaver by trade, apparently becoming tired of his wife's whereabouts in recent weeks. But life wasn't always like this and after Willie and Sarah had married on the 19th August, 1911 – they had enjoyed a relatively happy marriage up until the end of the war in 1918. Together, they had three children, a daughter who was 14 years old and two son's, one aged 11 and the other being 3. Sarah was one to enjoy socialising and it appears that since the end of the war, she had began staying out late at night, and although she would always inform her husband of where she had been, it appears Willie would turn a blind eye and apparently believe everything he was being told. However, on Monday, 28th June, and after another late night outing, Sarah returned home and despite her reassurances that she had been with friends, Willie complained, telling Sarah that she had to stop in her ways and spend more time with her family over that of her friends. Whilst no row took place, Willie made it clear he was unhappy with his wife's apparently wayward lifestyle. As the week wore on, the tensions that had been apparent between Willie and Sarah would become a thing of the past and by Saturday, 3rd July, Sarah would spend some time with her children, taking them into Burnley. Her daughter, Alice, had been poorly and so Sarah had been out to pick up some medicine. As for Willie, he had left home at around 1.30pm in the afternoon to help his brother-in-law with haymaking over at Haggate House Farm. However, when he returned home later that evening, at around ten o'clock, his youngest son would soon inform him that Sarah had ‘gone out'. Three days later, and at four o'clock in the morning on Tuesday, 6th July, twenty-six year old, Richard Kay Massey stood at the front door of his home, which he had shared with his mother, Ellen, at number 16 Hill Street. Shaking, he knocked nervously on the door and waited for someone to answer. It didn't take long and as the door opened, he smiled at the welcoming figure that appeared in front of him. “Feel at me, mam.” he said in a soft tone of voice. “I have killed that woman and I have taken poison.” For more on this story, please visit our website : www.daysofhorror.com

With much of the country blanketed under deep snow and underlying frost that had brought hundreds of mills and factories to a close with over 15,000 workers within East Lancashire alone all being left unable to work, for children – it brought an unexpected break from their daily chores of not just work but that also of school. Many took to the parks and playing fields to enjoy the extended break, throwing snowballs, making snowmen and if they had the means, they would find somewhere steep enough to enjoy the rare opportunity to sledge down. And it's within the township of Haslingden that we are once again travelling back to, and to the evening of Wednesday, 3rd March 1909 as we delve into the story of the Charles Lane toboggan misadventure. Fifty year old, James Roberts, a waste breaker who was employed at Spring Vale mill, had left work at around 7.40pm to make his way home at nearby 27 Prospect Hill. With him was a man named Havelock Bond, an engineer who also worked at the same mill as James. Taking a pipe out from his jacket, lighting it and after a couple of puffs of smoke, Havelock patted James on his back, telling him it wouldn't be long before they both reached their homes, despite the lane ahead being in a hazardous condition. “Aye, perhaps your ‘reet.” replied James as he lit his own pipe.

On a bitterly cold morning on the 27th January 1937, police officers had been alerted to an incident that had taken place high upon the bleak moorland that overlooked the town of Burnley in the North West of England. Quickly making their way to the scene, upon arrival they would be horrified at what they encountered as lying outside on the ground was the body of 73 year old William Pickup. Roughly five yards away lay the body of 18 year old Jane Ellen Wilkinson. Both had been shot, suffering horrific injuries to their bodies. But this wasn't to be the end as, not too far away, the body of 30 year old, Joseph Scriven would shortly be discovered lying in a shippon close to the farm house. He too had been shot. The events that took place that morning would shock not only the residents of Worsthorne but that of entire county, and with it placing the village under a dark haze for many, many years. Locals would ask how could a tragedy as shocking as this possibly occur on their very own doorsteps. Foulds Wilkinson was a farmer living at Saville Green Farm that was situated high up on the moors in the village of Worsthorne. A widower since 1929 after the death of his wife Martha, Fould's shared his farm with his daughter, Jane Ellen as well as his father-in-law, William Pickup. On the morning of Wednesday, 27th January 1937, he had left home at around half past eight to deliver milk to a local firm in nearby Burnley. He had left his daughter, Jane, to help with chores around the farm, along with her grandfather, William. Both were consumed by the work and seemed in good spirits as they carried out their usual duties around the farm. Inside the shippon, recently hired farm labourer, Joseph Scriven was also busy working hard. Foulds would be gone for around an hour, returning back at the farm at around half past nine. Passing down a long, but straight lane that exited off from Gorple Road, nothing could have prepared him from what he was about to encounter as, after parking up his van in the yard and making his exit, his attention was quickly diverted to seeing the body of a man lying on the ground. Not sure what to think, as he made his way over to where the body was lying, he soon came across another shocking discovery – the body of his young daughter was also lying on the ground, around five yards from where the body of William Pickup was laying. Without wanting to investigate further, he immediately jumped back into his van and drove to the Burnley Police station. To read the full story on this case, please visit www.daysofhorror.com where there are photos and newspaper articles that accompany the story.

On the morning of Tuesday, 29th December 1903, a notice was posted outside of Walton gaol prison; "I, Arthur Price, surgeon of his Majesty's prison of Liverpool, hearby certify that I this day examined the body of Henry Bertram Starr, on whom judgement of death was passed, and that on examination I found Henry Bertram Starr was dead." And with this, it would bring to an end the sad tale of how a young man with a promising career in poetry, had ruined his own life by allowing himself to wander down the path of the so-called, demon drink. Blackpool, I think it's safe to say, has seen its fair share of violent and gruesome crimes over the last hundred years or so and this next story is no different.

When 56 year old, Robert Haworth, a tobacconist residing at a place called Church, near Accrington sadly passed away on Wednesday, 7th February 1906 – the fears of Dr. Fox and Dr. Greenhalgh as well as local government officials became all too real. What was originally thought to be cases of isolated food poisoning that had struck the residents within a small catchment of Accrington at a place called Woodnook, it would quickly transpire that the numbers were much higher than originally thought and to the horror of the authorities and public alike, it wouldn't just be Accrington that would be affected. The first reported cases of ptomaine ‘food' poisoning appeared in the Manchester Evening News on the 3rd of February when it appears a large number of sufferers had been medically treated in the town of Accrington, more specifically, the Woodnook district. The Medical Officer of Health, Dr. Greenhalgh, had visited all those affected and it seemed they all had one thing in common. Upon investigating further, all those who had become ill had consumed locally bought tinned ‘potted meat', which in this case was pork. Being an affordable source of meat which was already precooked, it had a long shelf life, making it suitable as an emergency food supply should families struggle long term financially, as it can be bought and the stored for when needs must. What at first seemed to be a straight forward case, Dr. Greenhalgh, having soon identified the cause of the wholesale poisoning to that of the potted meat, it didn't take long for him to find the source of the supply. However, many more people would soon become ill, with entire families suffering from the effects. In the family of James Annis there were four sufferers; the mother and three children and even the family cat which had been fed some of the meat suffered the same fate! All of them were suffering from distressing stomach pains which were accompanied by vomiting and diarrhea. For more, please visit - www.daysofhorror.com

Amid a deathly silence, the crowd that filled the gallery within the Crown Court at the Manchester Assizes all waited with baited breath as to what sentence would ultimately be handed down to perhaps one of the most callous and cold hearted men to ever stand in front of his Lordship, Mr. Justice Branson. With great indignation and under deep emotion, Mr. Branson began his passing down of his sentence. “The story we have just heard is the most horrible to which I have ever listened – a cold, calculated and fiendish attempt to be avenged upon your wife through this unfortunate little girl. I am afraid no punishment that I can inflict upon you is adequate for your crime, but there is a maximum I can give, and I intend to give it. The sentence of the court is that you go to penal servitude for life.” And with these damning words, 32 year old, John Whalley would be led from the dock and sent to the waiting cells down below.

When Joseph Holden walked along Railway Street situated over in Radcliffe, he was fully aware of the ramifications his recent actions would have not just on his own life, but also on the lives of all those close to him. Making his way along the cobbled road just off Blackburn Street, he saw the figure of Sergeant Thomas. As they reached each other, Holden stopped Thomas and what came next was as confusing as it would eventually turn out to be shocking. “Lock me up!” Holden would ask of the Sergeant. A little bemused as to what Holden had just said, Sergeant Thomas took a couple of seconds before asking, “What for?” “You'll see.” replied Holden. Both men then made their way to the police station which was a few seconds walk away from where they stood and back inside the station, Holden would again ask be to ‘locked up'. When asked by Thomas why he was insistent on being locked up, Holden would unravel a story that would go on to shock not only the police officers present in the station, but also that of an entire nation as the story would soon spread to all major news outlets of a man who had killed his grandson and the manner in which he had committed the crime would prove to be just as disturbing.

Walking along the rain sodden path, the stranger could see in the near distance the silhouette of building. Hoping this would prove to be a somewhat ideal refuge, it may at least be of help to him to shelter from the rain that hadn't stopped beating down for most of the day and into the evening. Off and away from the building was another, much larger one and a light was coming from one of the rooms on the lower floor. Obviously realising the land he was on was private property, he knew he had to creep silently if he was to get to the other building without causing too much alarm. The stranger, full of a cold and carrying a chesty cough, would finally make it to the smaller building. It was barn that at least for now could become his savior. The door was firmly locked but as he pulled on one door and pushed forwards the other, a small gap opened, just wide enough for him to squeeze through. It may not have been ideal, but for now, it was better than being outside in the freezing cold and rain. Unfortunately, it would also be the last place he would ever see. Our story today takes us back to a mid-afternoon on Monday, 15th February 1909 when a young man by the name of Emanuel Woods, and at around 4.00pm, would make a shocking discover inside a barn that was situated at Two Tree Farm, where he lived and worked. Making his way across the yard, he walked a short distance along a muddy path made all the worse by the recent inclement weather which had seen it rain heavily for the past couple of days. The barn was situated just a minute or two walk away but was rarely used as other, newly built outbuildings had more space as well as them being located a little closer to the farm. In fact, the barn itself hadn't been used since late summer and as the months passed by, it would be left redundant by Emanuel and his father and hardly ever given a thought too. After struggling to unlock the heavy bolts, Woods finally managed to force the door open just enough to squeeze his body through and into the inside. Obviously, the last the thing he was expecting was to come face-to-face with the body of a deceased person, but that is exactly what was awaiting him as he made his way into the shippon that adjoined the barn. Lying on a truss of hay in front of him was the body of man with his arms folded. It was obvious to Woods that this person had been dead for quite a while and the smell alone gave indications to Woods that he had been there for some time. Shocked by his discovery, Woods ran from the shippon and out of the barn, shouting for his father to come quickly to see for himself what he had found.

When 49 year old, Joseph Schofield bid his farewells and left the Hare and Hounds public house just before midnight on Saturday, 30th September 1848, his walk back to his home at nearby Under th' Shore would normally only take him around ten minutes, but on this particular evening perhaps a little longer as he was slightly intoxicated. Making his way along Bury Road, Joseph headed towards Tootill Bridge which was only around two hundred yards from the public house. His house was a further sixty or eighty yards there-on from the bridge itself. The bridge itself passed over a footpath that over the years the people of Breightmet had inadvertently made when making their way to and from their homes at Under th' Shore, and it stands at around 39 feet high from the base of the footpath to the road at the top of the bridge. Apart from the odd person lingering outside and close to the Hare and Hounds public house, the walk home was a quiet one for Joseph but one he had done so many occasions before. But something transpired during the early hours of Sunday, 1st October that would ultimately end in tragedy for poor Joseph.

Jack Usher was a player many years ahead of others in terms of quality and his statistics back that up. After having joined Haslingden Cricket Club from Whalley, he soon established himself as perhaps one of the finest slow-left-arm bowlers that the Lancashire League had ever witnessed. A native of Liversedge, Usher quickly made a name for himself at several Yorkshire clubs, including Heckmondwike, Holbeck and Holmfirth. It was in 1888 that he was asked to partake in a trial with Yorkshire County which ultimately led to him playing at Lords against Cheshire as well as the Yorkshire Colts at Sheffield. At some point in the early 1890s, he left Yorkshire and moved to Lancashire where he would become a professional for Bacup in 1892 as well as Rishton in the Lancashire League. He would later move to the Ribblesdale League when he signed for Whalley and he would stay with them for five years, winning the Ribblesdale League Cup in the process. In 1900, Haslingden would come calling for his services and despite them having one of the worst seasons recorded in Lancashire County Cricket the season before, Usher didn't hesitate to sign for them. Less than twelve months later, Usher would be pivotal in them winning the league for the first time in their history. Both Church and Haslingden ended the 1900 season with the exact same points, both having played twenty-six games, winning seventeen, drawing six and losing three - with finally ending on forty points. In the end, Haslingden would beat Church by 116 runs over two matches that began on Saturday 8th September and concluded on the following Monday, 10th September. Both innings would be played at Accrington in front of over 10,000 spectator's. The scenes where incredible. Haslingden town center was brought to a near standstill as well-wishers and bystanders all took to the streets to welcome home their heroes. Setting off from Accrington and the scene of their triumph, the players all returned by stage coach drawn by six horses. Behind them came the waggonette carrying the committee and board members and as they all arrived at Hudrake, the Haslingden Temperance Band welcomed them by playing a vast number of songs, with one being, "See the conquering hero comes." Perhaps the biggest scenes, however, occurred at the four junctions in the center of Haslingden and near to the Commerical Hotel where a sea of people, all laughing, shouting and cheering had congregated. Fireworks were then let off further down Blackburn Road. The procession made its way around to Bury Road and Manchester Road and returned a short time later at the Commercial Hotel where the team and committee members were treated to an extravagant tea. It seems everything was going well not only for Haslingden Cricket Club but also for that of Jack Usher. But the title triumph that had amazed everyone within the cricketing world had been overshadowed by controversy when back on Saturday, 18th August, 1900 - a match between Nelson and Haslingden, played over at the Seedhill Ground, resulted in serious accusations of attempted bribery from Usher to a Nelson player being made.

As the sun rose over the City, the lush green landscape would reveal its secrets that lead to many a person frequenting the meadow that at times became their home-from-home. The chorus of pleasant sounding birds, the sound of the slow running river that contained a plethora of wildlife from cray fish to eels added to the calming ambient atmosphere that the meadow had to offer. In the fields surrounding the area, farmers would go about their morning routines of herding their cattle ready to take to the markets or back to the farms ready for milking. The aptly named Angel pub would be preparing for the day's trade, making sure enough ale was ready to serve on the regulars as well as passers-by, all willing to throw a shilling or two down onto the counter. Meanwhile, over in the distance, the dark spectre of change was fast approaching. Smoke billowing from huge chimneys had blanketed parts of the skyline and was visible from the hillside heading down and into the City and the sounds of machinery echoed into the narrow streets and snickets that weaved in and out of the close-knit suburbs. Angel Meadow was changing. By the mid 1800's, the expansion of the mills and factories had spread like a virus all over the City, taking with it the pastures, the meadows and the green hills that had once graced the northern sectors. Soot that poured endlessly from the towering chimneys blanketed most parts of the Meadow, attaching itself to the buildings and anything else that got in its way. And even today, you can still evidence of this on a few of the buildings that are still standing now. Simply rubbing a hand over the brickworks within the archways of the passing railway line will a dark shadow on your skin. The river Irk, once a clean looking river that had teamed with an abundance of life was now nothing but a cesspit of brown, murky filth containing rotten food, human excrement and even dead animals. As for the Angel pub, this had long since closed its doors, being replaced perhaps by those lodging houses containing those people on the lowest rung of the ladder, those struggling from day to day both physically, mentally and financially and who would do almost anything to survive – even if it meant murder. And beneath those lodging houses, more people would live in cramped conditions in the basements and damp cellars. With no windows, the air stank and would become unbreathable – especially during the hot summer months, and this would often lead to outbreaks of cholera, typhoid or tuberculosis. The walls of the lodging houses were so thin, everything could be clearly heard by neighbours. From threats to beatings, nothing that went on behind closed doors was ever kept secret. But it would be poverty that would enshrine Angel Meadow as thousands of Irish immigrants would flood into the area, many coming into the City of Manchester because of the great famine and obviously all trying to find work simply to survive. But with poverty came a huge increase in crime and soon gangs would be formed in territories so close to each other that you would have one gang on one street and another directly opposite on another. These gangs were known as the Scuttlers; young boys aged anywhere between 14 and 19 years old, and they would often end up fighting with other gangs using knives, belt buckles and stones as their weapons of choice. The belt and its buckle was the favourite for most as they were often made of brass and measure around 3″ in diameter. By wrapping the belt around a hand with the buckle showing, it would make a formidable weapon when used in a fight.

Situated between the town of Bury and the village of Norden lies the small hamlet of Birtle, nestled away in the North West of England. Dotted along the rolling fields are many farm buildings and small businesses that have been passed down through many generations, and it's within this setting we are travelling back almost two hundred years ago and to the evening of Saturday, 1st October 1825. It was a miserable and wet evening with localized flooding take place in some parts of the area and with fields saturated by a downpour of rain that had struck the area only a few hours prior. Benjamin Cass was a farmer but on a small scale who owned his own property as well as several others that he rented out, and as standards of living where to go, one could say he and his wife had a comfortable life. Benjamin, who was 65 years old, was known by many in the local area to be a man of careful habits, someone who had his head screwed-on when it came down to business and he was never short of a penny or two. Having only married a few years prior, Benjamin shared his home with his wife, Alice, who was older than him at the age of 76. At around 7pm on the 1st October, a man by the name of John Chadwick called at Marr Crofts, the home of Benjamin and Alice. This in itself was nothing unusual as John would often call on his friend on a Saturday evening where they would share jokes, often talk about how well business was doing as well as take on a few shots of brandy or whiskey or whatever else was on offer. John would stay at the Cass's farm until around 10pm and after reading a pamphlet together, John bid his goodbye's to both Benjamin and Alice. Benjamin rose from his chair that was situated close-by to a fire and he escorted John to the door. Meanwhile, Alice was sat alone at the end of a couch which was also next to the seat that Benjamin had been sat in for most of the evening. She had begun to rouse herself from where she was sitting, apparently readying herself to retire for the night. Outside, it was still raining as both John and Benjamin walked 10 to 15 feet out into the yard. There, they spent a few moments talking before John made his way into the darkness of the night and towards his home that was only around 300 to 400 yards away. Unbeknownst to him that this would be the very last time he would ever see his friend, Benjamin, alive ever again.

On the morning of Tuesday, 16th June 1885, Lewis Spencer, waggon inspector for the Midlands Railway Company, was getting ready to leave for work at around 5.45am. Having checked in on his wife, Elizabeth, who was lying in bed, he leant over to give her a kiss on her forehead, telling her he would soon be back home and that all would be okay. Confined to her bed, Elizabeth was preparing for the birth of their fourth child, after already having three children, with the youngest being just eighteen months old. Helping the Spencer's was Mrs. Mary Irving, who resided at nearby Muncaster Place. Aged 78 years old, Mary had spent most of her adult life working as a midwife, helping the most vulnerable of woman whilst in their confinements. But just like many other midwives at that time, she had never undertaken any training prior to taking on work. However, it seems that Elizabeth had trust in Mary as she had helped deliver one of her children only a couple of years previously. Also, Elizabeth would never entertain the idea of calling on a doctor when the time had come to deliver her baby. Mary had arrived at the Spencer's home early in the morning and duly began preparations for the birth of Elizabeth's child. She had placed towels on a table in the bedroom and had already given instructions to a younger girl by the name of Sarah Jane Magee to watch over Elizabeth's three children whilst she was busy attending to Elizabeth. At 7.45am, Lewis returned home for his breakfast. He found Elizabeth lying in bed with Mary also in the room. It was obvious the Elizabeth was in pain but he simply put this down to the effects of child birth. He asked both Elizabeth and Mary if he could help in any way but Mary assured him all was fine and soon thereafter left to return back to work. By around 8.30 in the morning, Elizabeth was in a lot more discomfort so Mary asked Sarah to go to where Lewis worked to ask if he would purchase some spirits. He duly obliged, spending a shillings worth on Whiskey and another shillings worth of Brandy to which he passed over to Sarah so she could take it back to Mary. Back at the Spencer's home, Sarah placed the spirits onto a mantlepiece in the bedroom and it wasn't too long after that Mary would pour a small amount of brandy into a glass to give to Elizabeth. By eleven o'clock, Lewis would again return home, this time for lunch and after going to see his wife, she replied saying she was "about the same" and "there was no danger." Lewis asked her if should bring someone to help, but Elizabeth would still object to seeking out a doctor. With this, and just like he had done earlier in the morning, Lewis finished his lunch before returning back to work. As the afternoon wore on, it was becoming more and more obvious that Elizabeth was struggling whilst in labour. The pain was intensifying but despite this she would still refuse the help of a doctor. What would transpire over the course of the next 50 minutes would be truly horrifying.

On the evening of Tuesday, 12th July 1910, Margaret Taylor, proprietor of number 29 Back Bank Terrace, upon noticing a terrible smell coming from somewhere within her house, would make a shocking discovery. After wandering around from room-to-room to find the cause of the smell, Mrs. Taylor would eventually make her way down into the basement. In there she spotted an array of items, from clothing to furniture that had been left behind by a previous tenant. After rummaging around for a short time, she came across a small tin-box. The smell at this point had gotten much stronger and it seemed to be coming from within the box. Curious as to what was inside, she managed to break it open. Recoiling from the odious smell that instantly escaped from the box, Mrs. Taylor, cupping her nose and mouth with one hand, leant back over and peered inside. What she found inside the tin was a cardboard box, and inside that and wrapped in a dark blue coloured cloth and clothed in a white nightgown, were the feet of a young baby that peered through. Horrified at the discovery, Mrs. Taylor immediately left the basement and went into town to inform the police of her find. Quickly, Sergeant Walker made his way to number 29 and after investigating the basement, he took possession of the tin box, lifting it onto a table top. Opening it, Walker discovered the remains of a baby, but with decomposition in such an advanced state, he was unable to determine the sex. The following morning, on Wednesday, 13th July, Dr. Harrison performed a postmortem ready for the inquest that would take place that afternoon. Meanwhile, Sergeant Walker whom had spoken to Mrs. Taylor had made his way over to Loveclough, a small village in nearby Rawtenstall and based on information given to him, he called at the home of Sarah Hannah Barnes. Informing Sarah of the tin-box being found and after asking if she owned such an item, Sarah asked him, "Do you think they will send me to prison?" Sergeant Walker, obviously could never answer her question and instead asked if she would accompany him back to Haslingden so she could attend the inquest that afternoon. In front of Mr. Robinson, the inquest into the body of the baby being found at number 29 Back Bank Terrace would take place in the Haslingden Town Hall. First up would be Sergeant Walker who would tell of when Mrs. Taylor first approached him about the finding of the tin-box in the basement and how he took possession of it. He would also mention his subsequent visit to Loveclough to speak with Sarah Barnes. Next up, Mrs Taylor would take to the stand. Along with detailing the events that took place the previous day, she would mention of how Sarah Barnes had been a neighbour living next door to her and her husband William from Christmas until around the end of February. When leaving, Sarah had asked Mrs. Taylor if she could leave behind some items of furniture which she would remove at a later date to which Mrs. Taylor had agreed too. She had known Sarah for around twelve-months and saw no reason to deny her request. A couple of months passed and Sarah then returned to number 29 on Saturday 9th July, to drop off some more items, such as a flock bed and some bed clothes as well as a tin box. Two days later and on Monday 11th July, Sarah returned, this time to pick up some items.

Our next story revolves around a little girl by the name of Ellen O' Toole, aged 11 years old and who lived with her stepmother – Bridget, father – Michael as well as five brothers and sisters at number 32 James Street, Padiham. Ellen had lived in Padiham for twelve months, moving with her family from “The Green”, a small suburb of Burnley commonly known as Keighley Green. And in that twelve months, it seems Ellen and her stepmother, Bridget, hadn't ever got on well together. On Thursday, 23rd August, 1900, Bridget had asked Ellen to wash two blankets to which Ellen objected too due to their weight, telling her step-mother they were too heavy for her to lift. Obviously we will never know how, but Bridget somehow managed to kick Ellen in the face causing a black eye and a cut to her cheek. She then followed this up by hitting Ellen with brush-stick, causing another wound, roughly 1½ inch long on the top of her head. At around 5.30am the following morning and still furious for not helping with the washing the previous day, Bridget dragged Ellen out into the back garden who was completely naked. She would then began to douse Ellen in freezing cold water in the middle of the yard. After emptying the bucket, Bridget would storm back into the house, leaving the young girl alone and in a vulnerable state. Ellen had two choices. She could either go back into the coal cellar in which she had been living in since moving into the area or try and seek help in the form of a neighbour. After struggling to pin a tattered looking skirt around her waist, Ellen decided on the latter and sought protection from Mrs. Rachel Mellor who resided at number 30, who herself had witnessed the event taking place. Mrs. Mellor helped Ellen into her house and tried to tend to her wounds as well as give her some breakfast before sending off upstairs and out of the way. She was almost naked, wearing nothing but the tattered skirt she had managed to pin together, along with an old looking jacket that was clearly made for a man. She had no stockings nor any boots or other footwear. At around 2.15pm that afternoon, and after noticing Ellen was nowhere to be found, Bridget visited the local police station where she told Police Sergeant Lee of her being missing. Bridget would tell Lee, that she thought Ellen had “drowned herself or something.” Later that day, at around 3.40pm, Police Sergeant Lee went around to number 30 to speak with Mrs. Mellor who would tell him that Ellen was with her. After seeing Ellen for himself and the pitiful state she was in, Lee reported the case to the N.S.P.C.C. and it didn't take too long for Mr. R. Thompson, Inspector to arrive at the police station. Meanwhile, and strangely as it sounds, Ellen returned home and was seen scrubbing the door step leading out into the back yard when Police Sergeant Lee and Thompson visited the home of the O' Toole's later that afternoon. She was in an extremely filthy condition, with a pale complexion and looked in a dejected state. Her right eye was contused with a cut slightly below it. On the left side of her face, there was a faded bruise which indicated she had been beaten a short time ago. On her head, she had sustained a cut, roughly 1½ inch long, matted with blood and hair. Her head was also swarming with lice, as was her body and the clothes she was wearing. Her clothes were so dirty that they had a greasy feel to the touch and they filled the area with a putrid smell.

Shortly after 8am on Tuesday, July 23rd 1912 – the sound of the tolling bell from inside Stangeways Gaol closed the final chapter of a story that first began in the cotton manufacturers of Jubilee Mill in early May of the same year. Outside the walls of the prison, over 700 people, mainly women, had congregated outside to show their disproval at the sentence handed down to 22 year old Arthur Birkett and as the sound of the bell echoed inside the cold, damp walls of the prison, tears flowed not only in Manchester but also on the streets of Blackburn as hundreds of well-wishers and supporters had made their way to Birkett's home at number 54 Riley Street. From 7am that morning, there where pitiful scenes outside his house as supporters sang hymns that included “Nearer, my God, to Thee” and “Safe in the arms of Jesus” as well as “God be with you till we meet again” and inside the house, Mrs Birkett and Arthurs brother as well as Mrs Beetham (Isobella) were being comforted by the Reverand F. G. Chevassut. Many women began weeping as a Salvation Army officer mounted a chair and began conducting a service near the front door and when Birkett's mother and brother both came outside, their tear stained faces showing extreme signs of distress, the crowd could not hide their grief, singing even louder as the music to “Nearer, my God, to Thee” began to play once more. But behind all this emotion and indeed sadness lies a truly horrific tale that began, simply, because of rejection.

97 years ago, the residents of Burnley were shocked to the core after one of worst tragedies to befall them occurred on a wintery, cold mid-day on the 21st December 1923. Burnley Corporation Tramcar Number 10, which was being driven by 47 year old, William Norris, had been out in use over in nearby Rosegrove before making its return to Lane Head. It had been a relatively normal morning, and just like most other days, no issues with the tramcar had been reported either prior to leaving the depot or during its use that day. Norris had taken over the tram at around 11.15am at Duke Bar, Burnley before making his way up towards Rosegrove, leaving the Burnley Centre for Harle Syke at 11.55am. Outside, it had been a cold morning with snow and ice patches forming on the roads and Norris was aware of the risks posed to the tramcar and therefore, journeys between the stops had taken a little longer than normal due to the poor travelling conditions. Also out that day was 37 year old, Charles Lofthouse, a lorry driver working on behalf of haulage contractors, Messrs. John Stanworth and Bros, and he himself had been having some issues with the icy conditions, also at times being delayed visiting the mills he was delivering too, such as Spen Brook Mill which was further afield over at Newchurch-in-Pendle. Approaching from the direction of Harle Syke, he was driving a wagon that was carrying a load of cloth weighing roughly 5 tons as he turned off Marsden Road and onto the incline of Briercliffe Road. It was just after noon and the area was becoming busy due to some children from nearby schools making their way to the stops to await the arrival of the tramcar. Making its way slowly up Briercliffe Road and towards the junction leading onto Marsden Road, William Norris slowed the tram down as it approached what was known as the ‘roll over'. Coming in the opposite direction, Charles Lofthouse was making his way down the incline on the opposite side of the road. Knowing how poor the road conditions where, Lofthouse was intermittently pressing down on the breaks, trying to keep his wagon from gaining speed, but as the wagon and the tramcar came within a few feet of each other, the rear of the wagon began to waver. Panicking, Lofthouse pressed down harder on the breaks but it was too late. The wagon began to veer from side-to-side. Out of control, it collied with the tram, smashing into the cabin windows on the drivers right hand side. Glass shattered onto several of the passengers and a metal side bar buckled with the impact. Six bundles of cloth where flung from the wagon's flatbed as the vehicle shunted forwards several feet before coming to a standstill, with one front wheel mounting a footpath and the other resting next to the kerb. The impact was so strong that it had managed to push the tram backwards which forced it to slowly roll back down the tracks. Two of the passengers on board where those of Jennie Eastwood and Gracie Whittaker, both of whom were travelling on the lower deck. Immediately after the collision, Gracie shouted over to Jennie, “Come along, Jenny!” but Jennie replied back, “No, I'm frightened!” Norris then shouted to conductor, William Simpson, to, “Look after that child!”.

Just before 6.30am on Sunday, 29th September 1895, the residents of Shakespeare Street in Padiham were awoken from their early morning slumber by the shouts of "murder!" coming from somewhere on the back streets. Inside number 24, 41 year old Mary Ann Marsden was making her way down from her bedroom, dazed and in some considerably pain, and as she stumbled out onto the cobbled pathway, neighbours, who had rushed out from their beds to see what the commotion was, froze in fear at the sight that confronted them. Covered in blood and holding a hatchet, Mary walked a few steps before finally succumbing to the shock and obvious pain she was suffering from. Mary and William Marsden had been married for around 18 years and apart from the last twelve months, where they had been living together in a relatively happy fashion, they had been separated for the previous ten years due to an argument attributed to Williams health. At the age of 19, William suffered from a fall that left him with a serious head injury which in turn, would lead to a life suffering from severe depression as well as the odd violent outburst. Attended by Dr. Duerdan, he spent his early years living in Great Harwood where he would eventually meet Mary and they would eventually go on to being married. Unfortunately, after five years of marriage, Mary and William would separate and William would go on to live with his sister in Great Harwood before relocating to Padiham to live with Mr and Mrs Lingard, partners of Jubilee Mill, where he was employed as a weaver. Meanwhile, Mary had moved in with her mother, Catherine, who also lived in Padiham. When Mrs. Lingard passed away several years later, Mary took William back and both lived together at number 24 Shakespeare Street, only a few minutes' walk from where he worked at nearby Jubilee Mill. William was a quiet, inoffensive man and was much respected by all those he came in contact with. He was at one time a drummer for the Salvation Army Brass Band, being one of the last to walk behind them when participating in a procession. On Thursday, 26th September 1895, William visited his sister in Great Harwood, but feeling unwell he told her his head was "like a lump of wood!" and that he could never remember things. He would also tell her, "I would give £1,000 if my head was right." Acting and sounding strange, as well as looking lost, his sister was worried about his mental state of health but rather than try and seek help, William left shortly after to make his way back home. Prior to this visit, Mary, William and their only son, 16 years old Joseph spent a week in Blackpool on the advice of Dr. Grant, who had been treating William for melancholy for the past 3 weeks. He thought a break would help William. But unfortunately, on the 29th September, just one week after their mini-break, things would take a terrible change for the worse.

“The Burnley Sensation” as it was now becoming known had caused a great stir not only in Burnley but also that of Manchester and not even the hustle and bustle of daily life could conceal the fact that something of unusual importance was about to take place, and on Friday the 6th October 1893, Minshull Police Court in Manchester would be the setting of what was quickly escalating into the crime of the decade. The public's appetite for curiosity had been whetted by recent ‘rumours' that sensational new evidence had been found that would incriminate both Ashworth Read and Elizabeth Remington for the willful murder of a child and as people made their way to the court house, the only topic of conversation on their lips was, where they innocent or guilty of murder? Minshull Street Police Station was already packed with groups of people all eager to hear the lurid details of the case hours before the trial started and as soon as the doors were opened, the spacious corridors and staircases leading to the Court were quickly filled and the limited allocation of seats provided for the public gallery would soon be occupied. As the morning advanced, more and more people all made their way to the court house. This was a case that no-one wanted to miss! Taking to their seats, members of the press where first into the court but seats at a premium, those unlucky enough to arrive late argued with officials, with pushing and shoving taking hold as tempers flared. Next, the police officials involved in the case would make their appearance. Chief Detective Inspector Caminada flitted in and out of the room, seemingly making sure all of his members of staff where ready. Showing an air of authority, he was described by one journalist as being a pleasant looking dark haired, bearded man with an open face and intellectual expression With everyone now in place, the only people next to attend the session where those of Ashworth Read and Elizabeth Remington. However, Mr. William Cobbett, prosecuting on behalf of the police would attend and would ask the judge that the case against Read and Remington may be called in order that he might make an application for a remand. At this point, the members of press looked around, stunned at what they were hearing. Nothing was known to any of them and the request for a remand seemed to literally come out of nowhere. A hush came over the gallery as the name ‘Read' was made out. A few seconds later and the footsteps of newcomers into the court could be heard making their way into the dock. Standing with their heads bent down, Read and Remington appeared to the wide eyed open spectators all yearning for the details of their crime to be heard in detail for the first time. Elizabeth was a well-built, tall looking young woman and it was clearly obvious to all that she had been crying for some considerable time. Each time she wiped away the tears from her face, more appeared just as quickly. Her face was slightly obscured by a hat trimmed with velvet, relieved by a small feather and the upper portion of her body was covered in a grey looking shawl that covered her neck and jaw line. Stood next to her was Ashworth Read, dressed in a smart looking brown suit that gave the impression of a successful business man and an aura of authority. His thin, shallow face was partially covered with a long beard and it seemed that recent events had given him a haggard appearance.

Accrington during the mid-to-late 1800's had managed to find itself immune from murder whilst all around them in places such as Haslingden, Blackburn and Burnley had for some strange reason found themselves to be hotbeds for crimes that many seemed beyond comprehension. And whilst a serious crime that had resulted in the murder of a little girl named Henrietta Leaver had occurred in 1881, Accrington had been a relatively quiet town in terms of murder. But this would come to a shuddering halt when, on Tuesday the 18th September 1894, a tragedy would rock the town and especially the residents living along Hyndburn Road. Elizabeth Greenwood, sister-in-law of Mrs. Alice Hannah Farrar of number 43 Hyndburn Road, after having passed by Mrs. Farrar's house at around 8.30am, had noticed that the blinds in the windows were still down, and knowing that the children's school was some distance away, it was out of character for the house to seem dormant at that time of morning. Elizabeth, curious as to why the house seemed so silent made her way to the front door but despite knocking several times, she got no answer. Having no joy, she made her way to a neighbours house, and upon acquiring a key from a lady by the name of Mary Elizabeth Jackson, she opened the front door and along with Mary, they made their way in. After looking and finding no-one around, both women then made their way upstairs and to the dreadful scenes from within the front bedroom. Shocked by what they had found, Elizabeth and Mary ran down the stairs and out into the street, with Elizabeth shouting, “She has killed her children!” James Fell, a labourer from number 47, alarmed by the loud screaming that was coming from outside, left his house and made his way down towards number 43. Nearby, a corporation workman who was making his way along the thoroughfare also heard the agonizing screams, and without having to enter the house, he had a horrible feeling something was seriously wrong. He quickly made his way towards Blackburn Road where he met police sergeant, Robert Bale. Bale hastily made his way to Hyndburn Road and to number 43 which was by this time surrounded by a large number of people. Upon entering the house and rushing up to the bedrooms, he was confronted with an unspeakably horrific sight. Lying on a bed, and at the nearest side to the bedroom door was eight year old, Esther Hannah Farrar. Her throat had been cut and it was obvious she was dead. Next to her lay two other girls, Elizabeth and Isabella, aged six and four respectively, also with their throats cut and with an open razor covered in blood lying next to Isabella. Luckily, both Elizabeth and Isabella, had survived the attack on them – just! At the foot of the bed, Alice Ann Farrar, mother to the girls, was found to be laying down. Her clothes covered in blood and she seemed to have a rope tied tightly around her neck.

On Sunday, 6th August 1893, three brothers who resided in Blackley, a small suburb of Manchester that has historically been classed as being in Lancashire, set off from their homes to pick blackberries from nearby Crab Lane. Their trip however was cut short when a sudden shower caused them to seek shelter in an area known as Dark Hole Clough. Rambling through a plantation, the boys stopped to take cover under the canopy of trees but one of them, 12 years old Alfred Shorrocks, seeing a red flower in front of him left his friends to pick it. Next to the flower and underneath some small shrubs and leaves was a brown looking parcel. Excited by his find, he ran back to his two brothers to tell them of his find. All three boys then went back to where the parcel was laying, and with curiosity getting the better of them, one of them looked around for a stick that he would use to try and prise it open. Slowly, the small cap of a child peeked through the small opening of the parcel. What they had stumbled upon was that of the body of a fully clothed baby boy. 50 year old, Ashworth Read, married and with three children, was a well-known and well respected manufacturer and waste dealer from Burnley. Over the years he had built up several businesses and was so successful that he could afford to have two houses built on Brookland's Road, Burnley. Not just for himself and his family but also that of his mother and father. He would often spend many long hours working into the late evening and during the day he would spend a lot of his time traversing from Burnley to Manchester to attend meetings on a regular basis. As for Elizabeth Remington, little is known but what we do know is that she had moved from Kirkby Lonsdale, Cumbria where she was already engaged to a man from Penrith by the name of Albert Barnesley, and she was around 25 years old when she was employed as a domestic servant within the Read's home in July 1889. Over the years, it seems Ashworth and Elizabeth had become close in ways which should never have happened and by the end of April 1893 she had started to become withdrawn and seemed to be in a distracted state of mind. Speaking to her stepmother, Frances Remington on Tuesday 9th May, Elizabeth said that she had had a row with Mr. Read and would therefore be going away for a while to which Frances proposed Morecambe as being the ideal place to visit. Frances would later go on to say that she remembered seeing Elizabeth looking rather stoutly, but put this down to her possibly having ‘dropsy', a medical condition characterized by the accumulation of watery fluid in the body, and which also took the life of her father some years before. She even went to a chemist on the 6th May for medication to help her stepdaughter. And having spoken to Elizabeth on the 9th May, Frances told Elizabeth that on her return from Morecambe, she was to come back home, to number 8 Townley Street, Burnley Lane where she would look after her. Two days later, the 11th May, Elizabeth left the Read's residence. She didn't go to Morecambe, instead making her way to Manchester where she would find lodgings at the Central Temperance Hotel on New Bridge Street. It was owned by John and Mary King. She told the King's that she had to be confined and that her husband, whilst a mate of a vessel, had left her. She also told them that she was in domestic service for Mrs. Read in Burnley.

On Monday, 11th March 1907, Thomas Dennison was brought before the magistrates at Haslingden after having been charged on suspicion of murdering his wife, Margaret Dennison at some point during the evening of Saturday, 9th March. Standing before the bench and facing Alderman Hamilton (Chairman) as well as Messrs. Holt, Law and O.W. Porritt, Thomas showed little agitation and when asked if he had anything to say, he simply replied, “She did it herself. I never touched woman.” Thomas, aged 49 and Margaret Dennison, aged 56 had only recently moved into the third floor of 10 Cob Castle, Hutch Bank the month before on the 2nd February having previously spent time at Hoyle's lodging house in Haslingden. Both had travelled over from the suburban area of Idle in Bradford, Yorkshire during August of 1906. On the afternoon of Saturday, 9th March, Thomas, whom had been employed as a stonemason by the Bury and District Joint Water Board to work on one of the reservoirs over Haslingden, Grane – after having arrived back home he gave his wife Margaret, 8 shillings to help buy groceries. He then went off to help some other men remove a hen-coop from an area known as Underbank and relocate it at Hutch Bank, both areas of which were close to where Thomas and Margaret lived. By 5pm that afternoon, and having done his chores for the day, Thomas made his way to his local pub which was situated at the end of Cob Castle Road. The Dyer's Arms (also known as “the Flip”) was a small pub that saw plenty of trade by the way of local workers as it was nicely situated within the middle of what was a heavily saturated area of textile and cotton mills. The landlord was also the ninth Mayor of Haslingden, Robert Taylor. Thomas spent the next three or so hours drinking and singing, with one of his favourite songs being, “In days of old, when Knights were bold” and it wasn't until just after 7.30pm that Margaret would come looking for him. “Is Thomas ‘ere?” she asked Taylor, landlord, to which he replied, “Yes.” Noticing how wet she was, as rain had been falling for pretty much the entirety of the day but had gotten much worse as the evening had worn on, he asked her if should would like to go into a room, presumably where there may have been a fire burning and she would have been able to keep warm. “Aye, I will stay a minute.” she told Taylor. Whilst the landlord went to fetch her husband, Margaret sat herself down and enjoyed a glass of stout which he had already poured for her. Entering the taproom, Taylor informed Thomas that his wife was waiting for him in the next room and Thomas replied, saying he would first drink up his beer and then go. Shortly after eight o'clock, Thomas and Margaret both left the Dyer's Arms and began to make their way up the relatively steep incline that led to their home on Cob Castle Road.

The story begins during 1866 when a young Miles Weatherhill, a weaver who lived with his mother and sister on Back Brook Street, Todmorden, fell in love with Sarah Bell, a cook working for the Reverend Anthony John Plow at the local vicarage. A self-educated, well groomed, smart looking man, Miles had also taken on a teaching role for a local Sunday School which was run by the Reverend John Plow – and it would seem at this point in his life he had everything to live for. He had a respected job, was well liked by most of the people he came into contact with and he had fallen in love. And whilst the months between 1866 leading up to November of 1867 would be filled with joy and hope for the future, his world would ultimately come crashing down around him, escalating into violence and with horrific consequences. Sarah Elizabeth Bell had moved from York to work as a cook within the vicarage that was occupied by the Reverend John Plow and his wife, Harriet. Plow had promised her parents that he would look after Sarah, as he would with his own children, so when Miles approached him to ask for permission to court Sarah, Plow told Miles he would speak with his wife Harriet and to seek her thoughts on the matter. Miles was an intelligent man and wanted to do things the proper way and to not go behind the back of Plow by dating Sarah without his blessing, so as you can imagine, Miles was taken aback when, after waiting a day or two for Plow's answer only to be told that he and Harriet had spoken about the matter and decided that it would be best for Sarah never to meet with Miles again. He reasoned that not only was their age an issue – Sarah was just 16 whereas Miles was 21 at the time – but Plow also stated that he didn't want a long courtship within his home. Stunned by this rejection, Miles went away fuming at the prospect of never being able to see Sarah again. Meanwhile, Plow made it clear to Sarah that she had a job to do at the vicarage and that she would not be allowed to meet with Miles ever again.

At the start of 1876, within the small town of Blackburn, Lancashire – Emily Mary Holland was just 7 years old when her life was taken away from her by a local man by the name of WILLIAM FISH, a local barber who lived on the same street as her and her parents. Aged just 26, married and having two children of his own, he savagely took the life of Emily after asking her to do an errand at the tobacconist near to where they resided. This crime came only second to that of the infamous Jack the Ripper murders that came later in 1888 due to it's barbarity and with a child being at the center of such a crime, it made news headlines worldwide. An intensive and at times exhausting police investigation took place with many homeless people being arrested. Although evidence against them extremely poor leading to most, if not all of the men, being released. The murder of young Emily, whilst shocking an entire nation, also became the first to be solved with the use of bloodhounds and it was one such hound by the name of ‘Morgan' that helped bring Fish to justice. After seaching William Fish' premises on the ground floor, it was when he was sent upstairs to look for clues that the hound started to bark at the chimney breast, alerting the police officers who, upon investigating found the remains of Emily. William Fish was instantly arrested and taken to Blackburn Town Hall where he would be charged with the murder of Emily Holland. Knowing his time was up and that there was no getting away with the crime, Fish wrote a statement detailing the exact details of his crime and how he disposed of the body. His trial would take place up until August 4th, where, after trying to plead insanity, the jury found him guilty of wilful murder and the judge sentanced him to death. He would be executed the same month, on August 14th, by means of hanging.

It's true to say that the North West of England and Lancashire in particular has had its fair share when it comes to days of horror. From murderous wives to the slaughtering of innocent children – Lancashire has definitely seen some of the worst atrocities inflicted upon men, women and children during the 19th Century. Today's story is no different, and for this we will be travelling back to 1893 and into the cotton weaving capital of the world – Burnley. On Thursday, 23rd March – 50 year old Eli Eastwood spent the day trying to find new lodgings for himself and his paramour, Elizabeth Longstaffe; and after speaking to a few people, he finally managed to convince Joseph Clegg, owner of a number of dwellings in the Burnley area, to let out number 70 Cog Lane. This house was situated within a heavily populated part of town, known as Gannow. Eli Eastwood was not an easy man to get along with. As an habitual drinker, he would often find himself worse for wear and during the early years of their marriage, Eastwood and his wife, Elizabeth, would find themselves moving up and down the country before finally settling down in Wood Top, Burnley, sometime in the early part of the 1880s along with their five children. Together, they had eight children but three had already married and moved away. Looking into Eastwood's past, it seems he was always a man whose rage would often get the better of him. During the first week of April 1868 he was summoned into court after assaulting a lady by the name of Nancy Catlow, with whom he had been living with on and off for 5 months in Preston. On the 1st April that year, he barged into her home at Archer Clough, demanding that she “go with him!” Nancy told him he would be better off with his wife, which seemed to agitate him to the point he threw her down onto the floor before throttling her. Standing back up he kicked her several times in the abdomen making her bleed from the mouth. In court, he would say he was provoked into doing what he did because Nancy refused to give him back his clothes. However, the bench didn't see it this way, fining him 10 shillings in costs which had to be paid in full within 14 days. But it wasn't always bad for Eastwood, as he had at some point in his life managed to start his own profitable business as a hawker, selling fried fish on the streets around Burnley and from all accounts he was a savvy business man. Despite his business doing well, things at home where never right. His drinking and abusive ways would eventually become too much and when his wife finally left him, it is thought that he had several hundred pounds which he would waste by spending the majority of it on drinking. And as for the separation from his wife, twelve months prior to the events that would take place in 1893, a massive row between the pair led to her leaving him, after having been threatened by the use of a carving knife he picked up during another violent outburst. Afraid of what he would do to her, she fled Albany Terrace, where they then lived, and took her children with her.

It's not often the victim of a murder can revisit the place of his (or her) death with the police and go through step-by-step what happened to them, but this next story is not a run of the mill murder case, as all we be revealed. Today's story takes us back to March 1934, Sunday the 18th of March to be precise, and to a small village hidden within the boundaries of the Ribble Valley, Lancashire – Bashall Eaves. On a wet and windy evening, James Dawson, a local farmer to the area, visited his local pub The Edisford Inn (now known as The Edisford Bridge) at around 7.15pm and after spending sometime there, drinking and laughing with some of his friends, he left and made his way home at around 9.00pm. With his head bowed down and facing into the blistering wind and rain, James made his way towards Back Lane, an unlit narrow road that is just under a mile away from the The Edisford Inn and it would take him around 15 to 20 minutes to get there. Upon approaching the lane, the headlights of two cars came towards him, revealing the shadowy figure of a man standing close by to a gate on the left hand side of the road, opposite of the lane. As the first car passed him, James noticed that four people were inside and one of the occupants was Tommy Kenyon, a farm hand that worked with James. He was sat in the backseat of the car but James couldn't make out who the three other passengers where. As the second car passed him, James noticed that the shadowy figure that was stood alongside the gate had now seemingly vanished. Making his way into Back Lane, James began walking into the darkness but had barely walked thirty yards when suddenly, out of nowhere he heard what he described to be a ‘clicking' sound and then he felt a sudden stinging pain towards the back of his left shoulder. Whether or not it had been the alcohol that he had consumed during the evening that had taken the edge out of the inevitable stinging sensation is open to interpretation, but at the time James reportedly said to an investigating officer that he just thought someone was having a lark and he thought it was nothing more than a stone that was thrown at him.