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Haunted Barracks

Stan_Deesey

Clanker
I have one story. I was at Swynnerton Camp abut 20 years ago with a group of guys doing the usual BFT, assault course vomit inducing, section attacks weekend kind of thing (yes it was reserves). We were kipping in one of the large underground bunkers and I was on stag from 0000 to 0200 Hrs. I was sat at the end of a concrete lined corridor - the bunkers were underground and were the old ammunition storage bunkers. The troop were asleep at the other end and I was sat on a chair in the middle of the corridor about 30 feet from the entrance and the lads were about 100 feet away. Lighting was low and dim and about 0140 Hrs I heard my relief coming - it was my mate Steve who was never early - you know the type - always needing to be dragged out of his grot. I looked down the corridor and saw a helmet, a rifle and webbing all in a silhouette. I stood up, put my webbing on, stretched and turned around and the corridor was empty. After a few seconds I ran down the corridor and Steve was still fast asleep in his bag, boots off, snoring away. Between the troop grot and me there was no where for anyone to have gone. It was very strange and I spent the next two hours on stag as well with Steve wondering whether it would reoccur. I mentioned it the next day and yep it happened occasionally but no one knew who or what this apparition was. I can still see him / it today very clearly in my head, Yes I was threaders tired but fully alert and on the ball. Very weird indeed.

U Boat, I´m sure that there is a virtually identical story to yours on an earlier page of this thread, and that it also took place at Swynnerton Camp. Either you have posted your story before and forgot, you´re re-telling an old dit, or you´re not the only one to have had that experience at Swynnerton.

There is at least one other ghost story from Swynnerton on this thread. I gathered that the place has a reputation for spooky occurrences.
 
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wheel

LE
I have one story. I was at Swynnerton Camp abut 20 years ago with a group of guys doing the usual BFT, assault course vomit inducing, section attacks weekend kind of thing (yes it was reserves). We were kipping in one of the large underground bunkers and I was on stag from 0000 to 0200 Hrs. I was sat at the end of a concrete lined corridor - the bunkers were underground and were the old ammunition storage bunkers. The troop were asleep at the other end and I was sat on a chair in the middle of the corridor about 30 feet from the entrance and the lads were about 100 feet away. Lighting was low and dim and about 0140 Hrs I heard my relief coming - it was my mate Steve who was never early - you know the type - always needing to be dragged out of his grot. I looked down the corridor and saw a helmet, a rifle and webbing all in a silhouette. I stood up, put my webbing on, stretched and turned around and the corridor was empty. After a few seconds I ran down the corridor and Steve was still fast asleep in his bag, boots off, snoring away. Between the troop grot and me there was no where for anyone to have gone. It was very strange and I spent the next two hours on stag as well with Steve wondering whether it would reoccur. I mentioned it the next day and yep it happened occasionally but no one knew who or what this apparition was. I can still see him / it today very clearly in my head, Yes I was threaders tired but fully alert and on the ball. Very weird indeed.
Short version you fell asleep on stag and had a dream.
 
U Boat, I´m sure that there is a virtually identical story to yours on an earlier page of this thread, and that it also took place at Swynnerton Camp. Either you have posted your story before and forgot, you´re re-telling an old dit, or you´re not the only one to have had that experience at Swynnerton.

There is at least one other ghost story from Swynnerton on this thread. I gathered that the place has a reputation for spooky occurrences.
 

U Boat

Old-Salt
Slight drift....from ghosts to cryptids or ABC - Alien Big Cats.
And there was me thinking you were a submariner.
I was once run over by a hydrofoil coming out of Anglesey harbour while canoeing across the entrance after a very very heavy night on the pop. We were apparently meant to tell the harbour master or someone had forgotten to do this - don't blame me! Anyway I got turned over and apparently spent so much time underwater I was nicknamed U Boat.
 
Here is my dit about a strange experience on Dartmoor.

10 Para's Annual Camp in September 1997 was based at Oakhampton camp near Dartmoor. The camp programme was that the first week would consist of cadres/training course, a day off on the Saturday in the night life mecca of Torquay. The second week would consist of an FTX on Dartmoor, live field firing etc from Sunday to Thursday. Friday/Saturday pack up and then parachute into Arnhem on the Saturday morning for the annual commerations. Saturday night get pissed/ whore it up in Arnhem and then on Sunday morning parade at the Airborne cemetery with the veterans and good citizens of Arnhem. After that, fly back home care of Crab Air for tea and medals and back to work on Monday morning.

The camp started a day late due to the funeral of the people's Princess who had been assasinated by MI6 on the orders of Brenda and Phil the Greek.

On the Sunday of the second week it was up at 00 Dark Thirty as we were parachuting into the training area. Normally when parachuting the SOP up to now had been to put your webbing in your bergen, with your weapon in a sleeve which attached to the side of your bergan via CSEP. 5 Airborne Brigade had just decided though that the new policy was to jump wearing your webbing with your rifle attached to your side, as per 'overhead assault' mode (also known as suicide order) but also with your bergen in the CSEP. We were briefed on this by the RAF PJI's who were not very happy with this set up. We were a bit nervious of the thought of landing with the SA80 at your side and possibly getting broken ribs, but it made tactical sense.

We then departed to RAF Lyneham to the parachute hanger for ground training, flight briefing's chalks etc. We got there late so there was much flapping. Eventually we got to our bird and took off and flew the usual three hour low level flight around the UK with sheep on the side of mountains looking in at us looking out at them. We approached the DZ with all the stand up, check off for equipment check, action stations stuff raring to get out when the dispatcher gives the signal that the jump is scrubbed. B*llocks, we sat back down and flew back to Lyneham and waited by the tarmac by our bird for a couple of hours. We thought that it would be an insertion by airborne four tonner but the RAF thought their might be a gap in the weather so we were waiting to see if it was a 'go,or no go'.

Finally a Jock PSI from another company comes over and tells us to take off our chutes and strip down our CSEP as the jump is cancelled. We no sooner do that when Jock PSI comes over in a panic telling us to get the CSEP containers made up again and get kitted up as the jump is on again. To say that I was flapping and stressed would be an understatement. We clambered back into the bird, took after and then flew another two or three hours low level before finally jumping onto the DZ. I hit the ground really hard, knocking the breath out of me, and thought I might be injured, but no, not a scratch, no problem at all with the webbing and rifle on my side. As they say, 'a good landing is one that you get up and walk away from.' There were a few injuries though. One officer who was ex 2 Para and had just joined 10 Para was badly injured, apparently every time he jumped he got injured, even when he was in the regulars.

Anyway it had been dusk when we jumped and it was now night fall by the time we had done all the DZ rally stuff. We set off about 10pm in a long airborne snake across the moor to RV with the advance party at the forward base area who had gone in by road. The moor was damp with swirling mist coming in and with the snake stopping and starting all the time, it was quite clear that Captain Rupert at the front was lost. At about 1pm he made the sensible decision that we should just get in our doss bags and await first light when navigation would be easier. I got in my lightweight snugpack sleepingbag and settled down.

About an hour later after a deep sleep I was awoken and told that we were on the move again. It was just as well as I was freezing. Apparently the plan was members from the advance party were moving across the moor to meet us. We moved off and had been going at a stop go pace for about an hour when we stopped while Captain R consulted his map again, seemingly navigationally embarrased. Each time we stopped we were kneeling down all tactical checking our arc's etc.

It was at this point I heard a clinking on metal sound like the sound of a rifle sling swivel. I whispered to Pete, the guy in front of me that 'it sounded like the patrol coming to RV with us. But Pete didn't hear me as he was as 'deaf as a coot.' Then out of the swirling mist came a horse driven carriage with two figures sitting atop the carriage. It looked like one of the old horse driven hearses that you saw in the old hammer horror films with plumes on the horses heads. The thing was, I could hear the rattling of metal from the horses tackle and the sound of their hooves on cobble stones even though it was moor land all around. It then disappeared. I was just amazed at what I had just seen. Nobody else seems to have saw it or I am sure somebody would have mentioned it.

I can't remember much after that but we got to the place where we were meant to be at dawn and then dug-in for the rest of the morning on top of a small hill. We spent the next three nights and four days doing field firing, night ambushes and all the warrie stuff. It was non stop and a got a total of about three anda half hours sleep during the whole FTX. Although absolutely knackered and the moor still being full of swirling ghostly mist nothing like what I saw that night happened again.

While a good ghost story to tell young female police officers on night duty, I have no doubt that what I experienced was not a ghostly apparition but a hallucination or mirage. I have read that Baby US Navy Seals experience this on their 'Hell Week' on 'BUDS' basic training where they are beasted for a week with little sleep. During the end of the period when they are boating across San Diego bay, they report seeing Sea Dragons coming the other way. I think the long day beforehand with all the stress and f*cking around, five or six hours low level flying, the hard landing, and then the traipsing around on the moor for several hours and being at a low ebb caused me to hallucinate.

Still, when I got home I was in WH Smith, the local library and the internet, searching for any stories about ghostly horse driven carriages on Dartmoor. While there were plenty of ghost stories about the moor, alas there was nothing about ghostly hearses or horse driven carriages. Dartmoor is one of the most spooky places that I have come across though. I remember we came across Dartmoor nick, looking down on it from a small hill. Even in the daylight it looked grim and forbidding.
 
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Here is my dit about a strange experience on Dartmoor.

10 Para's Annual Camp in September 1997 was based at Oakhampton camp near Dartmoor. The camp programme was that the first week would consist of cadres/training course, a day off on the Saturday in the night life mecca of Torquay. The second week would consist of an FTX on Dartmoor, live field firing etc from Sunday to Thursday. Friday/Saturday pack up and then parachute into Arnhem on the Saturday morning for the annual commerations. Saturday night get pissed/ whore it up in Arnhem and then on Sunday morning parade at the Airborne cemetery with the veterans and good citizens of Arnhem. After that, fly back home care of Crab Air for tea and medals and back to work on Monday morning.

The camp started a day late due to the funeral of the people's Princess who had been assasinated by MI6 on the orders of Brenda and Phil the Greek.

On the Sunday of the second week it was up at 00 Dark Thirty as we were parachuting into the training area. Normally when parachuting the SOP up to now had been to put your webbing in your bergen, with your weapon in a sleeve which attached to the side of your bergan via CSEP. 5 Airborne Brigade had just decided though that the new policy was to jump wearing your webbing with your rifle attached to your side, as per 'overhead assault' mode (also known as suicide order) but also with your bergen in the CSEP. We were briefed on this by the RAF PJI's who were not very happy with this set up. We were a bit nervious of the thought of landing with the SA80 at your side and possibly getting broken ribs, but it made tactical sense.

We then departed to RAF Lyneham to the parachute hanger for ground training, flight briefing's chalks etc. We got there late so there was much flapping. Eventually we got to our bird and took off and flew the usual three hour low level flight around the UK with sheep on the side of mountains looking in at us looking out at them. We approached the DZ with all the stand up, check off for equipment check, action stations stuff raring to get out when the dispatcher gives the signal that the jump is scrubbed. B*llocks, we sat back down and flew back to Lyneham and waited by the tarmac by our bird for a couple of hours. We thought that it would be an insertion by airborne four tonner but the RAF thought their might be a gap in the weather so we were waiting to see if it was a 'go,or no go'.

Finally a Jock PSI from another company comes over and tells us to take off our chutes and strip down our CSEP as the jump is cancelled. We no sooner do that when Jock PSI comes over in a panic telling us to get the CSEP containers made up again and get kitted up as the jump is on again. To say that I was flapping and stressed would be an understatement. We clambered back into the bird, took after and then flew another two or three hours low level before finally jumping onto the DZ. I hit the ground really hard, knocking the breath out of me, and thought I might be injured, but no, not a scratch, no problem at all with the webbing and rifle on my side. As they say, 'a good landing is one that you get up and walk away from.' There were a few injuries though. One officer who was ex 2 Para and had just joined 10 Para was badly injured, apparently every time he jumped he got injured, even when he was in the regulars.

Anyway it had been dusk when we jumped and it was now night fall by the time we had done all the DZ rally stuff. We set off about 10pm in a long airborne snake across the moor to RV with the advance party at the forward base area who had gone in by road. The moor was damp with swirling mist coming in and with the snake stopping and starting all the time, it was quite clear that Captain Rupert at the front was lost. At about 1pm he made the sensible decision that we should just get in our doss bags and await first light when navigation would be easier. I got in my lightweight snugpack sleepingbag and settled down.

About an hour later after a deep sleep I was awoken and told that we were on the move again. It was just as well as I was freezing. Apparently the plan was members from the advance party were moving across the moor to meet us. We moved off and had been going at a stop go pace for about an hour when we stopped while Captain R consulted his map again, seemingly navigationally embarrased. Each time we stopped we were kneeling down all tactical checking our arc's etc.

It was at this point a heard a clinking on metal sound like the sound of a rifle sling swivel. I whispered to Pete, the guy in front of me that 'it sounded like the patrol coming to RV with us. But Pete didn't hear me as he was as 'deaf as a cote.' Then out of the swirling mist came a horse driven carriage with two figures sitting atop the carriage. It looked like one of the old horse driven hearses that you saw in the old hammer horror films with plumes on the horses heads. The thing was, I could hear the rattling of metal from the horses tackle and the sound of their hooves on cobble stones even though it was moor land all around. It then disappeared. I was just amazed at what I had just seen. Nobody else seems to have saw it or I am sure somebody would have mentioned it.

I can't remember much after that but we got to the place where we were meant to be at dawn and then dug-in for the rest of the morning on top of a small hill. We spent the next three nights and four days doing field firing, night ambushes and all the warrie stuff. It was non stop and a got a total of about three anda half hours sleep during the whole FTX. Although absolutely knackered and the moor still being full of swirling ghostly mist nothing like what I saw that night happened again.

While a good ghost story to tell young female police officers on night duty, I have no doubt that what I experienced was not a ghostly apparition but a hallucination or mirage. I have read that Baby US Navy Seals experience this on their 'Hell Week' on 'BUDS' basic training where they are beasted for a week with little sleep. During the end of the period when they are boating across San Diego bay, they report seeing Sea Dragons coming the other way. I think the long day beforehand with all the stress and f*cking around, five or six hours low level flying, the hard landing, and then the traipsing around on the moor for several hours and being at a low ebb caused me to hallucinate.

Still, when I got home I was in WH Smith, the local library and the internet, searching for any stories about ghostly horse driven carriages on Dartmoor. While there were plenty of ghost stories about the moor, alas there was nothing about ghostly hearses or horse driven carriages. Dartmoor is one of the most spooky places that I have come across though. I remember we came across Dartmoor nick, looking down on it from a small hill. Even in the daylight it looked grim and forbidding.
I had a similar weird experience on the moor whilst on the AACC. The fourth week is on Dartmoor, and, basically, you do deep penetration patrol work and every time you get somewhere, there's a bootneck Corporal who gives you another grid reference - very little sleep, during the day you are patrolling the area, at night you are moving location.

Towards the end of the fourth night, we lost someone and as I was last man in the section I got the blame for not noticing it and it fell to me and two others to go and look for him. We retraced our steps but there was no sign of him so we made our way back to the RV. I was so knackered, I started to fall behind the others and made my way as best I could on my own. I started hearing a voice behind me asking me questions which I was answering automatically, but when I looked around there was no one there.

Eventually I caught up with the others, who had a brew going, and I was OK after that. The missing bloke (a sapper) then turned up - it seems he had found a dry ditch somewhere and decided to get his head down.

If you want something spooky, a few years ago, at New Year, we went on one of these 3 countries trips. We were based in a hotel in Valkenburg in Holland, which is the entrance point for a large network of tunnels dug over hundreds of years and going for very many miles. It was used in the Battle of the Bulge to shelter the locals and rigged out as a field hospital for the American Army.

Of course, we did the obligatory tunnel tour and took photos of the various arranged tableaux and, as it was pitch black, I checked the camera after every shot to make sure I had actually got something. Most of the photos were OK, but on 3 there were strange shapes superimposed on the shot. This was seen at the time and I can assure you that none of them have been photoshopped - see what you think:
DSCN1523.JPG

DSCN1532.JPG

DSCN1540.JPG

The guide told us a story of a couple of local lads who got into the tunnels a number of years ago and got lost in the labrynth. Despite extensive searching by the tunnel rescue team, their bodies were not found until months later. After that, the local council ordered that all known entrances be sealed and the only access be allowed through the visitor centre.
 
I had a similar weird experience on the moor whilst on the AACC. The fourth week is on Dartmoor, and, basically, you do deep penetration patrol work and every time you get somewhere, there's a bootneck Corporal who gives you another grid reference - very little sleep, during the day you are patrolling the area, at night you are moving location.

Towards the end of the fourth night, we lost someone and as I was last man in the section I got the blame for not noticing it and it fell to me and two others to go and look for him. We retraced our steps but there was no sign of him so we made our way back to the RV. I was so knackered, I started to fall behind the others and made my way as best I could on my own. I started hearing a voice behind me asking me questions which I was answering automatically, but when I looked around there was no one there.

Eventually I caught up with the others, who had a brew going, and I was OK after that. The missing bloke (a sapper) then turned up - it seems he had found a dry ditch somewhere and decided to get his head down.
Dartmoor is definatly a spooky place. I would hate to be on there on my own at night. Did the Sapper pass AACC?
 
Dartmoor is definatly a spooky place. I would hate to be on there on my own at night. Did the Sapper pass AACC?
If you get past the 3 week 'beatup' phase in Plymouth, you have got to be abysmal at Lympstone to fail. The beatup phase (either at the Citadel or Stonehouse) is designed to weed out those who are p!ssed off in their current posting and think that by going the green or maroon machine route then failing early will get them a better posting. Before they ran the beatup, everyone went straight to Lymstone and the Marines were complaining (quite rightly) that it was not their job to weed out the unfit, lazy or 'haven't worn boots for 2 years' Brigade. And yes, the Sapper (who was a decent lad - most of them on the course were) did pass, albeit after a severe tongue lashing from the course officer.
 
As a kid we lived in Catterick Camp for a while. Across from our house was a field, at the other side of which was a ruin of an old barracks. We played there a lot until one day I saw a woman in what looked like an old-fashioned WREN uniform, just standing there, looking at us. I thought maybe we were trespassing and that was why she was there. I told the others that maybe we had better leave but nobody else had seen her except me. When I looked back, she had vanished, nowhere to be seen. It took us a while to go back there again.
 

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