Encounters of the unknown - by Colin Parsons

16:15:31 o'clock GMT
Feeling Surprised

NOW HIS STORY!

http://journals.aol.co.uk/hgn53k/johns-story-and-his-fathers-enco/

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10:53:20 o'clock GMT
Feeling Hopeful

Filer's Files this week has some very interesting statements and encounter stories. I do wonder if these stories below are from the same aliens? Is it possible that we witnessed their craft arriving in 1998?

 

 

Oregon Close Encounter

ASHLAND -- My name is Adrian Rehn. I was born in my Eskimo Village in Mendecino, California. At my birth, one of the elders predicted that I would have contact with a being unknown to the world. On the afternoon of December 14, 2007, I made the short walk from Ashland High School to my house. Just a few minutes after getting home there was knock on the door. I opened it and it was one ofmy friends Alex Nagel, who asked me to come with him.   All of a sudden, my body began to vibrate and then all of a sudden I blacked out. The next thing I knew, I was seated in a white room. Two of my friends, Wes Overland and Alex were there and said, "We're not on Earth."

The dome of the room opened and revealed that we were drifting in space. I could clearly see planet Earth from my position and they said that we had been chosen to be the bearer of tidings to our race, that there is another people similar to ours that have come to help us. They said that they have been on our planet for ten years and they are some of the few survivors of a planet that's history started around three million years before ours. They created ships that could sustain them for many years, but also created a super weapon that detonated before most of the planets inhabitants could escape.

They are very similar to us, though they have been unable to reproduce on our planet, due to bad environmental conditions. They also have a life span around five times longer than ours, though many of them have died as their immune system was unready for some of our diseases. They ask that we help them find a way to reproduce in return for helping aide our politicians from making the same mistakes that cost them their planet. I once again blacked out and then found myself in my room when I regained consciousness. I pray that we can help these peaceful people so that may help us. Thanks to Peter Davenport Director http://www.ufocenter.com/

UK/England Britain to Release UFO Files

LONDON -- The Sunday Telegraph said Sunday that this coming spring, the Defense Ministry will release to the general public 160 files about alleged UFO sightings. Since the British government department began keeping records about the unusual reports in 1950, more than 10,000 sightings have been recorded. With officials failing to explain 5 percent of those sightings, a growing number of Freedom of Information requests prompted the release of the classified information. A former head of the Defense Ministry UFO project told the newspaper that no matter what an individual believes regarding UFOs, the released files should prove to be interesting reading.

 

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16:33:29 o'clock GMT
Feeling Hopeful
Hearing Levellers

Graham Rogers had been a navigator with a short-service commission in the RAF. During this time he had become determined to fly and had learnt as much as he could while in the Service. On his discharge, he had taken lessons and soon had a pilot's licence. He had a job as supervisor of a large chain of super-markets, and this left him very little spare time. It was, however, a very well-paid job, and he soon managed to buy a secondhand light aircraft; it was his practice to fly whenever he found a few hours free from work.

 In June 1985 the oppertunity came for him to take a whole afternoon off - a rare treat - and he intended to have a good look at his plane, make sure she was in fine form, then fly in the beautiful weather. As things turned out, he was later getting away than he had predidted, and it was getting on for evening by the time he was ready. Nevertheless, it was still wonderful flying weather and he had no hesitation in taking off. His flight plan was to take him well out over the North Sea, beyond his home county of Lincolnshire. The great fields of sugar beet and corn stretched below him, and he recalled his time as a boy when he and his friends would help with pea-picking or collect strawberries and, best of all, help the farmers with burning the stubble in August.

 The green suddenly gave way to blue as he took the plane out to sea. This was RAF country, and it was important to stick rigidly to one's programme. The Air Force did not take kindly to errant civilians, so he stuck firmly to his plan. The forecast was for storms later on but, as he flew on, the first ominous signs of a build-up of cloud were in front of him. It didn't look as if it were going to be too serious, but he began to climb to get above it. Without any warning he ran into very dense cloud, with lightning about. There was a flash that lit up the tiny cockpit, then he was clear of it. Rather relieved that it hadn't been worse, he decided to head for home, as the weather was clearly going to get worse ahead.

 None of the instruments would respond; the engine still ran smoothly enough, but he had no control of anything. He felt afraid. There was enough fuel for another hour perhaps, yet it would only take him further and furtherout until, at last, the plane would nose-dive into the sea or land. As far as he could calculate, the plane would take him over the nortern tip of Norway and land him in the freezing waters beyond. He began to try to find the fault in the system, but without any success. The lightning had fused some cabling somewhere, and it was well beyond his reach.

 The fear seemed to leave him, and he remembered many stories of other pilots who had been in seeminglydoomed planes: as long as there was hope, the fear continued; once you came to terms with it, calmness returned. In the face of certain death, the mind adjusts and calms fears. It made biological sense, and Graham was a logical man. For all that, he was angry: if Fate had decided it wanted him dead, why hadn't it made a quick job of it, not left him an hour or more to think about it?

 The minutes passed and he tried desperately to think of something useful to do with his time. He had paper and pen, but the chances of his being found at all were so remote that it seemed futile to write to his wife. His solicitor had his will, all his insurance was fully paid up, and there was nothing except sentiment that he could write down. As it happened, he didn't much care for his wife, and the feeling was mutual. He didn't really think that much of his girlfriend either, and the thought made him smile rather grimly. He was going to his death without loving, or being loved by, anybody. It was rather a miserable way to go. To add to his wretchedness, there was no way of knowing when the engine would stop, as the indicators were not functioning.

 The night was dark now, with just a glow on the horizon ahead. The storm had moved away, he could see the faint glimmer of a ships lights below, and the stars were fantastic. A line from Dickens' Barnaby Rudge, when he thought he was going to die, came to him: "We shall know what makes the stars shine, now." Perhaps he would, although he had no formal belief in a life to come. The idea of praying did cross his mind, but he rejected it as unmanly. To refuse to acknowledge a Creator when things were going well, only  to betray a lifetime's conviction when the going got tough, seemed despicable. Then the engine coughed, and it was like the last trump. A few more wheezes, and total silence filled his world; then there came the sound of the wind in the rigging, and the plane was going down.

 To his right there suddenly appeared a bright light which he first took to be a lighthouse, before realizing that he was not down far enough to see such a thing. The light was closing in with him fast, and he wondered if it was a NATO plane coming to investigate an interloper. That seemed unlikely, since he would have been on their screens for over an hour. Whatever it was was very close now, and for the first time he got some idea of the vastness of the thing. During his time in the RAF he had seen many strange things on radar, and it was an open secret in the Service that UFO's existed. He had himself listened in to them talking with other craft in a language it was impossible to understand. The British government, like those of nearly all the great powers, required personnel to report such incidents, but the official line was always that such sightings were misinterpretations of natural phenomena, a story guaranteed to raise a laugh in any Strike Command mess.

 The bulk of the thing now blotted out all the stars to the right of his aircraft; then the light was above him. Below, the sea was rushing up with horrifying speed. The UFO was now travelling parallel to him, and a door opened on its side. The UFO shifted to the left, and he and his plane were suddenly inside the ship. He mentally took his hat off to the pilot of the strange vessel, who had manoeuvred the giant thing to match exactly the speed and direction of the doomed plane and saved him from certain death.

 Graham felt various changes in velocity, then lights came on in the compartment. It contained various machines, whose nature he could only guess at. He opened the cockpit, and a voice boomed out: "Please leave your aircraft and go to the room indicated."The indicator was a flashing light, and he climbed from the plane and made his way towards it. A door opened on his approach, and he entered a room furnished simply but comfortably. He sat on a chair, stunned. A few seconds earlier he had been facing extinction; now he was safe aboard an alien spaceship.

 The voice came over again, from directly above him: "Do you require medical treatment? If so, please state the problem. If you are well, do you require food or drink?"

He leant back in the chair. "I'm OK physically, but I'd like a drink please." The voice had a touch of humour as it asked its next question: "An alcoholic drink or water?"

 He felt very relaxed with this voice. "A whisky would be very nice, thanks."

 A few seconds later a door opened and a man entered with a large glass of whisky, which he placed on the table, then he sat down opposite. He was very tall and very thin (for comparison of description, see"The Flying (saucer) Doctors").

 "We are mending your aircraft. The fault is minor. We shall refuel it and leave you close to the airfield you wish to return to." The man's English was faultless, although spoken as all foreigners speak it, too purely.

 "I've a million questions to ask," Graham answered after he had taken a large swallow from the glass, to find it excellent Scotch.

 The man smiled. "I'm sorry. I have a set speech to make, but I won't answer questions. That is a rule of your own military, isn't it?"

 Graham smiled back, quite at ease with this strange man. "Yes, what's the speech, and why did you bother to save me?"

 The man looked perplexed. "We are not machines. If life is threatened, we try to save it; that is what your race does. We were fortunate enough to be in your area and saw you were in trouble, so we helped."

 Graham said that he was greatful and asked for the speech.

The man smiled and said, "We come from another star system, not from your Sun's planets. I can say nothing of our purposes, but we are not hostile. All planets go through more or less what is happening to you and, when that settles, we shall land and invite you to join our group. Tell whoever you like about our meeting; they won't believe you. Now I think your aircraft is ready. Would you please get back into it?"

 Graham started to speak, but the man held up his hand, gesturing towards the door in friendly dismissal. Graham boarded his plane and at an appropriate moment the voice told him to switch on the engine. The UFO then tippedon its side and released his plane, and he was flying a few minutes from his home airfield.

 Graham has no doubt that the UFO registered on NATO's screens as just another sighting to be recorded and forgotten. He will always remember the men who saved him and hopes that their official coming to the world will be in his lifetime, perhaps giving him a chance to thank those who saved him from the cruel sea.  

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20:32:37 o'clock GMT
Feeling Surprised
Hearing War of the Worlds

I don't think there are many rational people left who think that Unidentified Flying Objects (UFOs) don't exist. This is due partly to the dropping of the term "flying saucer", and partly to a greater awareness of the nature of the universe. The latter attitude is almost entirely the result of the TV documentary. The greatest single factor, however, must have been the American space programme. Year in and year out, we watched tremendous achievements in technology taking place, literally, in front of our very eyes. Live TV of the Moon-landing, pictures of men walking around in space, views of Mars and the distant planets from unmanned probes: all created the atmosphere in which people realized that, if mankind can go travelling to other worlds, why not the reverse? By the 1970s this Western glasnost had reached the point at which the govenor of Georgia, later President Carter, could twice report seeing UFOs without jeopardizing his political hopes. The Duke of Edinburgh is on record as saying he beleives in UFOs.

Nevertheless, although belief in these things is widespread, actuallysaying that you've seen one is another matter. It is as though people say to themselves; "I'm a reasonable person, but other people are not." Consequently, the number of phenomena that gets reported is still minimal, with some honourable exceptions.

The experience of David and Margaret Brennan is unusual by any standards, but that is only in comparison with other reports. I am convinced that face-to-face encounters with extra-terrestrials are going on all the time, but either people do not realize the enormity of what has happened or the enormity convinces them that silence is the most prudent course. Certainly, the Brennans made no effort to tell anyone but some close fiends and, in fact, were at pains to extract promises of confidentiality even from them. It was from one of these "confidential" sources that I first heard the story, a cautionary tale in itself, but I was able to convince David and Margaret that a greater good might be served if they let me give their experience a wider audience and that I, unlike their friends, would under no circumstances reveal their true identity.

 

The Brennans arranged to spend the Christmas holiday of 1987 with friends in one of the picturesque villages of Cornwall. The day for their departure was brilliantly sunny and warm, and they made good progress as far as Somerset, where a bad snarl-up kept them waiting for more than two hours. It was now nearly nine, and they were ravenously hungary, so they stopped at a transport cafe for dinner. They freely admit that, at the time, Brian, still not fully qualified as an accountant, and Margaret, a nurse, had little spare cash after paying the mortgage and the 101 other things that go with it. They would have liked to have stayed in an hotel, but that would have used up all their holiday money, so they decided to push on. They reached Exeter at about half-past ten and stopped to consult their map. Callington was the nearest big town to their destination, and this left them in a quandary: they could either take the A30 to Launceston, then drive down, or go via Plymouth and drive up. By that time Brian was feeling the strain of having been driving all day and suggested that, if they took the B3212 across Dartmoor to Tavistock, they would halve the distance and probably avoid the congestion of the A-roads. Margaret agreed, and they set off gaily, thinking themselves very clever to have found a route better than the one recommended by their more experienced hosts. Brian admitted he thought Dartmoor was no different from the rest of Devon, but simply a place where people kept sheep and ponies, instead of farming.

The weather had slowly deteriorated from late afternoon, and now a fairly strong gale was blowing and flecks of melting snow began to appear on the windscreen. It began to get very cold, and the snow turned to tiny particles of ice, lashing the windows under the full force of the wind. The heater, nevermuch good, seemed to have given up the struggle, and the condensation began to freeze on the inside of the windows. There had been no other traffic visible for a long time, and Margaret became slightly alarmed, but she said nothing. They had been incredibly imprudent in their packing, she recalls. In their minds' eye they had called up those famous pictures of St Ives, with palm trees and exoticflowers growing in the depths of winter and, recalling the common expression "the Cornish Riviera", had imagined they were going to some sort of British Florida. As a consequence, they had no warm clothing, no emergency heating, no brandy or even hot coffee.

 The incidents after that they will never forget. Brian stopped the car, and his teeth were almost chatttering.

 "I don't like this at all, love. We've got to get somewhere warm, and fast. My hands and feet are getting numb, and it's hard to drive. I'm turning back. Keep your eyes peeled for a farmhouse or something."

 The tone of his voice terrified Margaret, and she stared out of the window, hoping to see a glimmer of light through the swirling snow and sleet. Brian turned the car, and they headed back towards Exeter. Then she did see a light, a momentary gleam to their right.

"Turn right!" she screamed. She remembers that the sight of safety crystallized all her terrors and made it seem as if it were their only hope. Brian swung the car onto a narrow track picked out in the headlamps, misjudged his angle and sent the car spinning off the road into a ditch. As he revved the motor to escape, the wheels dug themselves deeper into the wet ground. They got out to look and, with the help of a small torch, saw the hopelessness of the situation. The car was buried up to its axle in mud, and it would need a tractor to get it out. The coldness of the wind was unbeleivable, coming in unchecked from the sea and carrying a sandy sleet that stung savagely.

 "Where was the light?" Brian shouted. Margaret pointed down the lane, but there was nothing now to be seen. He threw open the boot, and they ransacked it for every item of clothing there was, which was precious little. A couple of thin sweaters each, and two anoraks. They struggled into this inadequate protection, then Brian switched off the engine and lights. Supporting each other around the shoulders, they set off towards the light that Margaret had seen. The ground was sloshy and made walking even more arduous thanit might normally have been. It was only later, when they compared notes, that they found that they were both surprised how much they could endure. Certainly they were young, and they had hada good meal about an hour before, but the body-crushing wind that sought out many cracks in their armour, the whiplash effect of the sleet, and the apparent hopelessness of their quest made every step they took seem like a miracle. It was when Brian slipped and twisted his ankle that Margaret felt they would die. She remembers sitting down beside him, cradling him in her arms, not afraid any more. Nor did the cold seem so bad, and that told her that the end was close, but even that failed to awaken any emotion except a vague sense of regret that it should all end in so futile a way, after all their dreams. Brian was urging her to get up and fetch help, or at least save herself.

 "If I go on, I'll drop in the next twenty yards, and we'll die seperately," she told him. "Let's accept the inevitable - let's die together."

 Margaret says now, "It sounds terribly romantic, doesn't it - the lovers pledging themselves again in the face of extinction, but it wasn't like that. I was just too weary and depressed, and I didn't want to be alone."

 Brian added, "You can't imagine how desolate and hopeless it seemed and, worst of all, how preventable it had been. I felt I had killed Margaret out of conceit and incompetence, and that was a very bitter thing."

 As they lay together in the icy darkness, the light appeared again. Thinking it was an illusion, Margaret barely showed interest. Then a searchlight shot out from it, and they found themselves lit up. Brian, who was lying on his side, remembers feeling, rather than hearing, the vibration of a mighty engine. He likens it to the sound he used to hear as a boy when he put his ear to a railway line (This is a very good description of the noise emitted from the building that flew over our home in September 2000 - I described a heavy electrical humming like a huge transformer!). The prospect of rescue poured new life back into them both, and they clambered to their feet. Blinded by the searchlight, they could not see what lay behind it. Margaret says she imagined it must be some Moor rescue-patrol set up to look for idiots like them; Brian fancied it was an army unit that had stumbled on their car and came looking for them.

 The searchlight went off abruptly, and they saw a tremendous building in front of them. It was four stories high and over a hundred feet broad and seemed to be lit from the inside, like a giant curve of translucent polythene. A door opened, and three figures emerged, silhouetted in the light from inside. As they approached, they both had a curious feeling that there was something inhuman about them; on reflection, they agree that this could have been because the figures were very tall but slim to the point of emaciation. They were wearing surgical masks and black one-piece suits. They stopped a yard away, and then one stepped forward, handing a cup to each of them: "Drink it. It will help." They swallowed the liquid and were almost instantly filled with inner warmth and a tremendous sense of well-being. (Brian compares the drink to very fine brandy, but without any real taste, and not having any later side-effects.) As Brian stepped forward to return his cup, in an instinctive gesture of thanks, his ankle gave way again, and he fell heavily. The figure bent and ran his fingures along the leg. Then he rose. "It is not serious." He turned to Margaret. "Can you drive?" She nodded, and the figure bent again and lifted Brian up - clearly being stronger than his frailty would suggest. It was a weird procession: the man with Brian in his arms, Margaret hurrying, almost running to keep up, and the two other silent figures following.

By now it had stopped snowing and the searchlight came on again to direct them to the car. The man placed Brian carefully into the passenger seat, then stood back to allow Margaret past to the driving-seat. "Wait there. Do not move whatever happens; we are going to move you to a place of safety." They thanked him profusely, but he just nodded, and the three walked back to the building. The door closed behind their benefactors, and they waited, expecting to see a truck appear from somewhere. What actually happened was that the "building" began to rise from the ground; the lights dimmed and the great mass of the thing began to drift towards them with increasing speed. Brian says he was almost overcome with panic and wanted to jump from the car, but the mans words, "Do not move - WHATEVER HAPPENS", kept him where he was. It was on a collision course, and they both ducked as its vast bulk seemed to be about to come through the window. There was only a slight shiver from the car, and a sensation of movement all around, and they stared out of the windows to see if they had moved from the ditch. Utterly incredulously they looked down to see the moor dotted with tiny pinpricks of lightand, here and there, larger concentrations. Coming up fast was a great sea of coloured lights, and they were swooping down towards it. Another barely perceptible jolt to the car, and they were on a quiet road in what turned out to be the outskirts of Plymouth. They sat there talking about the experience - they don't know for how long - then, still feeling warm and uplifted, continued their journey, with Margaret at the wheel.

 

THE AUTHORS COMMENTS

Brian and Margaret both admit that they couldn't swear to what they actually thought about the people and the strange building before the fantastic rescue took place. They say that the events that followed have too much coloured their memories and that anything they said would probably be misleading.

 That these creatures deliberately came to their aid is self-evident. Quite how they knew that the couple were in trouble in the first place is not so easily answered. Was the light Margaret saw the UFO goig about some covert operation in a place it considered safe? If that is so, its occupants showed remarkable decency in revealing themselves to people who would never otherwise have lived to tell the tale. And the stranger's mastery of English was flawless - which might be sinister, were it not for the gallant way in which he behaved.

 There are a number of minor inconsistencies between their two stories (I have talked about the experience to them both together and seperately). As with all my researches, couples who agree on every detail, and dot the Is and cross the Ts in the same place, don't get into the book. Knaves work their stories out too well; it is the honest who disagree. Without a doubt their story is true. I've talked to lots of people who have been in great danger, and to some who pretended to have been. There is a quiet intensity in the genuine ones as they talk about what happened, and I envy Brian and Margaret their encounter.

 

 

The craft pictured above is a "building" that flew over my home in September 2000 and I also envy Brian and Margaret their encounter! I did not need rescuing but watching that craft miss the roof of our home by a few feet has changed my life for ever. I would like to meet its pilots - They sound like DECENT fellows!!

 

We live in Ashburton a meer 28 miles from Plymouth on the very edge of Dartmoor and when that craft flew over our home quite slowly and majestically - It was heading in the general direction of the events that took place with Brian and Margaret!

Not so friendly encounter-

http://journals.aol.co.uk/hgn53k/encounters-with-the-not-so-frien/

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