HAUNTED WIRRAL: Bidston Hill's man-made UFO

In this latest story, Tom delves into the tale of Bidston Hill's man-made UFO...

It was late March 1977, and the birds were singing to the dead that sunny Spring morning in Flaybrick Cemetery.

Richard Johnson let his 10-year-old granddaughter Anthea place the posey of wild flowers she’d picked on her great-granddad’s grave, and the child’s big blue eyes turned up to look at Richard, and she was going to speak when she seemed to be distracted by something in the china blue sky above him.

"What’s that?" Anthea asked, pointing to the zenith.

Richard looked up and squinted at the sun, then caught sight of the object – a white cone moving steadily, east to west – towards Bidston Hill.

It was not a plane – but a genuine UFO – an unidentified flying object.

Richard estimated it was about 600 yards away and moving at about 50 mph.

Anthea’s grandfather knew every shortcut in Wirral, and was always taking her across fields and down alleyways to save time and today was no exception; he grabbed the hand of his granddaughter and said, "Come on! We’ll see what it is," and they made a beeline to a secret track to Bidston Hill via the allotment of a friend of Richard – a retired baker in his seventies nicknamed Mick the Miller.

As Richard and Anthea went up the hill, they could already see the white cone – and its conning tower – hovering stock-still over the treetops.

"Is it a flying saucer, granddad?"Anthea asked, and in reply Richard panted, "More of a flying cone, love; I don’t know what it is, but we might find out if we catch up with it."

About ten minutes later, a breathless Richard Johnson and his grandchild halted under a sycamore and viewed the strange craft as it hovered perilously close to Bidston Windmill fifty yards distant.

It looked like a giant toy spinning top to Anthea, and she noticed something her granddad couldn’t make out with his inferior eyesight – a Union Jack on the upper slope of the chalk-white fuselage – which seemed to rule out an alien origin of this UFO.

The unearthly vessel was about 25-30 feet in height and was giving off a steady low-pitched hum.

"Granddad there’s a man coming down from it on a ladder, look!" Anthea pointed to the figure. "Stay there, Anthea – don’t follow me," said Richard, and he slowly walked towards the levitating craft and its mysterious occupant, who was now halfway down the ladder which had descended from a hatchway in the underside of the vessel.

The stranger wore a maroon short-sleeved shirt and beige trousers, and he looked as old as Richard.

This figure reached the bottom rung of the ladder, turned, and seemed startled to see Richard. But then he waved and shouted to Richard, "Johnson? Is that you?"

The voice sounded vaguely familiar. "Yes, who are you?" Richard shouted back – and he felt Anthea’s hand at his elbow – she’d followed him against his wishes.

"It’s me, Charlie!" cried the man, and he hurried towards a startled Richard. At that moment, what looked like a low-flying phantom jet thundered over the hill, frightening Anthea.

"Richie Johnson! You must be wondering what that thing behind me is!" laughed Charlie, an old friend of Richard. They’d attended Calday Grammar school way back in the 1920s.

"Charlie!" Richard hugged his old childhood pal and asked, "Are you a pilot? Bit old for all that aren’t you?"

"Well I am a pilot, and a self-made millionaire, and I invented that thing," he said turning to survey the craft.

"The Ministry of Defence want it but they’d only use it to kill people," he said, then saw Anthea peeping from behind her grandfather. "Hello – who are you?"

"You always were a whizz, Charlie," said Richard, walking towards the craft, "always top in science and inventing things. Old Glasspool said you’d go far. What’s holding that thing up?"

"Antigravity Richie, and a force that’s all around us," said Charlie, "come on I’ll take you and the girl for a ride."

Richie agreed to inspect the interior of the ship but made it clear he and Anthea were not going for any ride, and Charlie said, "Fair enough."

But after telling his guests to sit in the comfy reclining seats, he sat down and operated some levers, and Bidston Hill fell away.

Anthea started crying, and Richard made a fist at his old friend but couldn’t get out the seat because of the g-force pressing down on him.

Richard glanced out the triangular thick windows and saw a corner of the Wirral peninsula far below, and his stomach somersaulted as the ship vibrated and shook.

He saw that fighter plane fly past and realised it was the Phantom jet he’d seen flying over the hill – probably despatched from RAF Woodvale to intercept Charlie’s craft.

There was a loud bang and suddenly, Wirral was gone – just an expanse of sea – and ahead lay what could only be the eastern coast of the Isle of Man.

In seconds the craft had covered over seventy miles.

"Turn around, Charlie, we are not going to the Isle of Man!" roared Richard. "You’ve got no sense of adventure Richard!" laughed Charlie.

"Take us back now, Charlie! I mean it!" Richard insisted, and he reached out and held Anthea’s hand.

Charlie turned that ship around and minutes later he put it down on Bidston Hill, and after Richard and Anthea staggered from the ladder, holding on to one another – they looked up – and the craft had gone.

No one believed the incredible story – not even Richard’s wife, and years later when she was forty, Anthea told me about the incredible incident.

I researched the case, and what I found is, as they say, another story.

Tom Slemen's Haunted Liverpool 31 is out soon...