The Autumn evenings are drawing in and my thoughts turn inevitably to ghosts. Several places on Portland lend themselves to ghost stories. The Verne at the highest point of Portland deserves a legion of Roman soldiers tramping down the steep incline. There should be a headless horseman lurking somewhere near the windmills. And a group of lost Edwardian ladies with umbrellas walking around Wakeham in the rain.
I'm not sure why I am fascinated by ghosts. Perhaps something to do with watching a lot of Scooby-Doo shows in the early 1970s.
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