Irish Whispers
The following took place one Summer in the North West of Ireland in my parents' second home, when I was in my early teens, around ten years ago. The holiday home is a small (two bedroom),famine cottage positioned at the head of an isolated and deserted valley near the West coast of County Donegal. It represents the last of fourteen dwellings which were abandoned and left to dereliction by shifting populations. The ruins are scattered through-out the valley. Ten years ago, the only other inhabitant, who has since died, was an elderly man who lived a hermetic life in a decaying cottage fifteen minutes walk up the dead-end track from our cottage. The valley has remained untouched by Twentieth Century developments and has no electricity supply and no phone lines.
At the time of the incident,my family and I were having lunch at the table. I was around thirteen, my brother was eleven, and my younger sisters were seven and three. It was a sunny calm afternoon and I left the table to stand on the doorstep and enjoy the rare sunshine. I soon became aware of a strange noise quite alien to my surroundings, It sounded like several voices calling my name, which is Anna, in unison.
The collective voice was a low whisper, non-disruptive, but continuous and distinct, a bit like the ticking of a clock in the background. Being a very shy, introvert teenager, I listened to the sound for a few minutes in an attempt to gauge the reality of the situation before alerting my family, for fear of making a fool of myself. Having satisfied myself the voices were authentic, I called my mother to the door and asked her if she could hear anything. After a few moments, to my great relief, she confirmed that she could hear it too. She identified the sound as that of voices calling my name. My entire family heard the sounds, including my father who is a medical professor of a highly sceptical and analytical disposition.
Not one of us could source the sound, which could be heard with unwavering clarity and volume in every corner of every room in the house and the surrounding environment. I went so far in my desperation to explain the noise that I walked a distance of 300 yards up the hill behind the cottage, where it could still be heard. My mother and I even looked up the chimney in a vague attempt to put it down to the wind. Strangely, neither was there any wind but the noise was at the same volume in the thick walled stone-built chimney shaft as both inside and outside the house.
Initially, my family were perturbed by the incessant, repetitive whisperings;I was chiefly concerned with finding an explanation, whilst my younger brother was petrified and sought refuge under his bed clothes with his hands over his ears. To again use the analogy of the sound of a ticking clock, after about half an hour we became numb to the distraction and whenever I next remembered to listen, the voices were no longer present. I have never again experienced anything of that nature and an explanation continues to allude me. None of those that have been proffered me over the years suffice. The area is mountainous and barren of all vegetation. There is limited bird life and there was no-one within miles of the valley on the day. I have also ruled out the possibility of machinery of any kind.