Clive Harold - The Uninvited: The True Story of Ripperston Farm

First published in 1979 by the Paperback Division of W.H. Allen & Co. Ltd with the original ISBN 0 35230350 6

The names of several individuals mentioned in this book have been changed to protect their privacy. However, allfacts and events, as far as we have been able to verifythem, are accurate.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may bereproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or byany means, including photocopying, recording, or otherelectronicor mechanicalmethods, withouttheprior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotationsreferences.
embodied incriticalreviewsand

The story you are about to read is true, though you will doubtit. With good reason. This is the story of an ordinary family caughtupintheextraordinary,forwhom theimpossiblebecame possible, the unbelievable became believable, andsciencefictionbecamesciencefact.Youwillfindnoexplanations for the events reconstructed here, for there arenone. What took place was as beyond explanation as it mayseem beyond belief. And still is.

It would doubtless be reassuring - even comforting - to be ableto dismiss the phenomena involved as being the product of anelaborate hoax, or of over-imagination, or hallucination ormistaken identity, yet the number of reliable witnesses and theamount of physical evidence involved would seem to confoundsuch cosy explanations.

Nobody cansay for sureexactly whathappenedtotheCoombs family, least of all the family themselves. All that they,their relations, their friends and their neighbours can say forcertain, is that it did happen. Until now, the people involved have been reluctant to tell the whole story, fearing ridicule andhaving nothing to gain from such revelations but notoriety.That situation remains the same, but they now feel that their experiences are potentially too significant and too far-reachingin their implications to be overlooked. They no longer worrywhether their story is believed or not, for they know it is thetruth and have condoned the writing of, this reconstruction inthe sincere hope that others - the' authorities in particular may profit from its telling. They feel - as maybe we all shouldthat we ignore such phenomena at our peril.

To begin with, Pauline thought it was a flare, so bright andfiery it seemed compared to the stars that surrounded it,studying it closer, she wasn't so sure. Within a 20-mile radius ofthefarmhouse-setinsplendidisolationtheclifftopoverlooking St Bride's Bay - was the Brawdy Royal Air ForceBase,aRoyalAircraftEstablishmentMissileRange,numerous supersonic low flying corridors, the Army's PendineTank Range and an can Navy submarine tracking station. Inthe eight years that she and Billy and the children had lived atRipperstone Farm, she'd seen every conceivable sort of lightsky - everything from flares to jet fighters and missiles -butnever anything like this.

The washing up could wait, she thought to herself, putting dishcloth to one side, leaning over the sink and cupping her handsaround her eyes against the inner glare kitchen light, to get abetter view. A quarter of a mile away it must be, she reasoned,just hovering there over the field nearest the cliff edge, a giantball of fluorescent light with a tail of flame stretching outbehind it. Definitely not a plane or a missile or even a flare, for there was no movement. A comet, or ball lightning, perhaps,she'd seen them before. This was nothing like it. Queerestthing she'd ever seen and funny how it just seemed to haveappeared from nowhere. And now... that swaying motion.Gently. Like a pendulum. Back and forth. To and fro. Like itwas watching her, waving to her.

She should call Billy. He might know what it was. But waititwas moving now slowly, now faster, down out of the skytowards the cliff edge. And gone.
Damndest thing she'd ever seen. She cursed herself for notcalling Billy earlier. It must have been there for nearly twenty minutes. She'd better call him now, though. It must have beena flare of some sort, there was no other explanation. A shipfrom Milford Haven might be in distress near the cliffs. If it was,Billy would have to call the coast-guard.

She smiled to herself. He'd know what to do about it, but hewouldnt want to do it. Not now. She knew, all too well, whatshe'd find in the front room and padding quietly across the halland looking around the door, she was right. There he was, asever, in the same old armchair by the window, in front of thetelevision, stockingedfeet crossedneatly in front of him,Wellington boots discarded nearby, head back, mouth openand snoring loud enough to wake the dead.

'Bless him,' she thought. It was the same thing every night, butit was hardly surprising. He worked hard, did her Bill, andnever more so than during this month of the year. She was asglad as he was that the calving season was nearly over. From October to March he hardly slept at all. His day would start atfive in the morning and not finish until two o'clock the followingmorning. As well as the normal daily routine of milking the herdand cleaning the machines, ploughing, fertilising and fencing,he also had to stay in with the 100-strong herd until the early hours of every morning to watch over the mating and topamper the pregnant members of the herd, taking their food tothem, constantly re-bedding them and eventually deliveringtheir calves. Small wonder he needed to catch up on lost sleepnow. She shook him gently. Nobody was normally more jovialor easy-going than Billy, but not after rude awakenings.

'What's that, girl,' he grunted uninterestedly.'Queerest thing I ever did see,' she told him, 'dirty great biglight in the sky, all afire it was, came down on the coast path,just a minute ago...

'Pass my boots, I'd better go take a look. And put the kettle on.I'll be needing a cuppa when I get back. It'll be damn freezingdown there...

She watched him leave and then went back to the kitchen.She'd put the kettle on for tea. He certainly would needwarming when he got back, the wind whipping across the clifftops like it did. But first she'd finish the washing up. It was agood two-mile walk down the coast path and she had plenty oftime.

She looked out of the window again, up into the sky, halfexpecting to see the light again. But there was nothing. Inky blackness, with just the lights of Broad Haven twinkling acrossthe bay. What, she wondered, would Billy find down there?She felt a chill run inexplicably down her spine, then dismissedthe feeling. She'd be glad when he got back, though. She'dbetter get the tea on. She timed it well. No sooner was it readythan she'd heard the front door open.