For at least twenty years, youth gangs had become a prominent and menacing way of life within parts of Manchester that had festered within the slums of places such as Hope Street, Greengate, Ordsall, Gorton, Angel Meadow and Ancoats to name but a few.

Young lads between the ages of 14 and 18 found solace by joining gangs that gave them a feeling of importance and by fighting with rival gangs, it also gave them the respect they felt they deserved as well as a sense of belonging.  And for many, it was a way out of the monotony of day-to-day life that had offered them very little hope.

With smart haircuts and their own unique dress code, which included bell-bottomed trousers, silk scarves and brass-tipped pointed clogs, they would roam the back streets and alleyways of Manchester in gangs that reflected the territories they were formed in.  For example, The Bengal Tigers came from the streets around Bengal Street in Ancoats, Meadow Lads from Angel Meadow and the Grey Mare Boys from Grey Mare Lane in Bradford.

And to coincide with this ever increasing wave of gang violence, a name would emerge out from the streets that would become synonymous with each gang - the "Scuttlers."

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Shortly before midnight on Saturday, 5th November 1910, P.C Greenwood had barely made his way into an area in Carlisle known as West Walls, when, after checking on individual premises, he came across an unlocked warehouse door at number 15.

As the area was well known for beggars and vagabonds who would use the narrow street when passing through the City, it seemed odd that someone would leave the doors to their business unlocked and at the mercy of those passing through.

Out of curiosity, P.C. Greenwood turned on his lamp before opening the door, and as he crept inside the building his attention was quickly brought to the sight of a body lying close to the bottom of some stairs directly in front of him.

And upon making his way over, it was clearly obvious to the police constable that something truly horrific had occurred as not only was blood smeared on the walls, the body at the foot of the stairs was lying slumped over on its right hand side and covered in blood.

The constable continued to search the premises, going into every room.  After being satisfied that there was nobody else in the building, he was about to leave when he came across an axe that had been placed on top of a box.  Upon closer inspection, he noticed what looked like human hair which had adhered itself to the blood that covered most of the axe.

Immediately, the constable left the building and quickly summoned for assistance in the form of Chief Constable George Hill who immediately proceeded to the scene of the murder.

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Towering over the town of Haslingden, Cribden Hill imposes its presence in a grand demeanor.  And whilst it may look picturesque from spring right through to the autumn months, it can arguably be as intimidating as well as beautiful looking during the winter months, and it's during this period back on Sunday, 6th March, 1910 our next story takes place.

Young Isabella Walker, who was just 2½ years old, had spent the best part of the day outside playing with other children.  Although it had been a cold and mixed type of day, this hadn't stopped any of them from enjoying the rare opportunity of making the most of their free time together.

By mid-afternoon, many of the children had returned home, leaving Isabella pretty much alone.  It seems that she still had an abundance of energy still to burn off and so she went back to her home to spend time with her elder brother and sister, John and Hilda.  John was seven and Hilda, ten years of age.

Unbeknownst to her, both John and Hilda had already been sent out to a farm a short distance away to collect some milk and so, after finding only her mother and father at home and with her brother and sister nowhere to be seen, she left the house to go and look for them, or so it seems.

Time would soon pass, and despite John and Hilda returning home with the milk, it would be around 5.45pm when Isabella's parents, Frederick and Margaret would for the first time realise Isabella was missing.

The home of Frederick and Margaret Walker was situated on the slope of Cribden Hill in an area known as Cribden 'Side', with several farm buildings separated by dry stones walls and the odd hedgerow.

They had four children, with Isabella being the youngest at just 2½ years of age.  John and Hilda, as we have already mentioned, and also Isaac, who was five years old.

With Isabella now apparently missing, Frederick set out to scour the moors, frantically searching for his daughter.  But as a thick layer of mist soon began to fall and with darkness quickly descending, his search would turn to frustration, and with a gaslamp as his only source of light, visibility was extremely poor.

Shouting out into the thickness of the fog, the sound of his voice would be muffled out just as quickly as it left his mouth.

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The Lancashire Witch Trials of 1612, that saw twelve people accused of witch craft, has throughout the ages continued to fascinate people from all around the world.

Many books have been written about the now infamous, 'Pendle Witches' but none so relevant as the one written by a man called Thomas Potts, the clerk to the court  at the Lancaster Assizes where the trials took place on the 18th and 19th of August 1612.

His book, The Wonderfull Discoverie of Witches in the Countie of Lancaster is quite extraordinary in detail as it outlines what took place all those years ago.  It takes into account the complete story of not just the Pendle witches but also those known as the Samlesbury Witches which saw in total, twenty men and women being accused of witchcraft with eleven being found guilty and subsequently hanged and one being sentenced to stand in a pillory (a device made of a wooden or metal framework erected on a post, with holes for securing the head and hands and was used as a form of punishment by public humilation and often physical abuse).  The other seven were eventually acquitted.

But it isn’t the Pendle witches or the Samlesbury witches that have perked our interest for our next story.

Instead, we are going to take a step back into 1705 and to the small village of Woodplumpton that is situated in the City of Preston, Lancashire.

Within the small graveyard of St. Anne's Church, there is a large boulder that can be found alongside a path which seems to be out of character amongst the old headstones and that of the 13th Century church.

And alongside this boulder is a small plaque with an inscribed message that simply reads; "The Witch's Grave.  Beneath this stone lie the remains of Meg Shelton, alleged Witch of Woodplumpton, buried in 1705."

Margery Hilton, or "Meg Shelton" and "The Fylde Witch" as she was and still is known as, was by all accounts a loner who would prefer to be in her own company rather than mix with the locals of the village and was often looked down upon as a figure of fun.

Surviving mainly on haggis (which was in common use at that time in Fylde), made from boiled groats and herbs such as thyme and parsley,  Meg was a poor woman - a beggar by all accounts, and was known for her shape-shifting abilities which, if stories are to be believed, allowed her to change into all manner of things ranging from animals and various kinds of inanimate objects.

It's unclear as to where Meg had lived as many stories will say she had lived in a small cottage in the village of Singleton, whereas others will say she lived in nearby Catforth, less than an hour's walk away from Woodplumpton.

However, one story that we have uncovered is that of Mrs. Margaret Parr who was a native of Catforth and who lived until the age of 91.  The daughter of a farmer, she lived her whole life working on the farm and was a familiar figure often seen with her horse and cart travelling between Catforth and Elswick.  She would tell stories of how the Corn Laws had affected her family, as well stories of the Lancashire Martyrs.  But the one thing that she found hard to deal with during her life in the late 1600s was the difficulty in practicing her religion as a Catholic.

Interestingly, she would on many occasions recall living close to Meg Shelton, which, as already mentioned, was in Catforth.

But no matter where she lived, the stories of Meg all agree on one thing; she was a lady who would cause, it seems, plenty of mischief!

Between the months of June and November back in 1980, a bizarre strange of events took place in the small town of Todmorden that today, still remain unsolved.

For several weeks leading up to and after the 6th June, reports of strange lights in the night sky were being received by the Todmorden police who, despite investigating them, could never give a definitive answer as to what they were.

Despite a flurry of phones calls and people going to the police station to report what they had been seeing, one of the most strangest and what would soon be one of the UK's most high profile cases of what we now call the UFO phenomena as well as alien abduction, would soon take place.

On the 28th November, 1980, Police Constable, Alan Godfrey, who was based at the Todmorden branch of the West Yorkshire Metropolitan Police Force, had been sent out to check on reports of cattle wandering around a local estate.

His shift was supposed to finish at 6am that morning but at around 5.15am, as he was travelling along Burnley Road in his Ford Escort Panda, he was about to turn right onto Ferney Lee Road when suddenly, and apparently out of nowhere, a bright white light appeared in front of him.

Stopping his police car, what Godfrey saw that night would possibly be the accumulation of events that had not only engulfed the residents of Todmorden leading up to this point but also something more sinister for Godfrey himself.

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As the sound of the slow moving waters in the near distance began to  reemerge, the startled birds which had fled to nearby pastures could  still be heard in the darkened sky above as the figure of a man stumbled  onto his feet.   In the distance, the low rumble of thunder could be  heard, menacingly making its way towards him.

With his hands shaking and holding a small bottle, he turned around  but could barely look at the sight in front of him.  Lifting the bottle  to his lips, the stranger nervously opened his mouth, slowly emptying  the contents and taking a couple of gulps in the process.

He then paused for a few seconds before collapsing back onto his  knees as the darkness of the night slowly encompassed him.  And with the  first specks of rain beginning to fall, he laid himself down onto the  ground, closing his eyes for one last time – or so he thought.

The week leading up to Saturday, 3rd July, 1926 had been one of ups and downs for the Barker family, with Willie Stanworth Barker, a weaver by trade, apparently becoming tired of his wife’s whereabouts in recent weeks.

But life wasn’t always like this and after Willie and Sarah had  married on the 19th August, 1911 – they had enjoyed a relatively happy  marriage up until the end of the war in 1918.  Together, they had three  children, a daughter who was 14 years old and two son’s, one aged 11 and  the other being 3.

Sarah was one to enjoy socialising and it appears that since the end  of the war, she had began staying out late at night, and although she  would always inform her husband of where she had been, it appears Willie  would turn a blind eye and apparently believe everything he was being  told.

However, on Monday, 28th June, and after another late night outing,  Sarah returned home and despite her reassurances that she had been with  friends, Willie complained, telling Sarah that she had to stop in her  ways and spend more time with her family over that of her friends.   Whilst no row took place, Willie made it clear he was unhappy with his  wife’s apparently wayward lifestyle.

As the week wore on, the tensions that had been apparent between  Willie and Sarah would become a thing of the past and by Saturday, 3rd  July, Sarah would spend some time with her children, taking them into  Burnley.  Her daughter, Alice, had been poorly and so Sarah had been out  to pick up some medicine.  As for Willie, he had left home at around  1.30pm in the afternoon to help his brother-in-law with haymaking over  at Haggate House Farm.   However, when he returned home  later that evening, at around ten o’clock, his youngest son would soon  inform him that Sarah had ‘gone out’.

Three days later, and at four o’clock in the morning on Tuesday, 6th July, twenty-six year old, Richard Kay Massey stood at the front door of his home, which he had shared with his  mother, Ellen, at number 16 Hill Street.  Shaking, he knocked nervously  on the door and waited for someone to answer.

It didn’t take long and as the door opened, he smiled at the welcoming figure that appeared in front of him.

“Feel at me, mam.” he said in a soft tone of voice.  “I have killed that woman and I have taken poison.”

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With much of the country blanketed under deep snow and underlying  frost that had brought hundreds of mills and factories to a close with  over 15,000 workers within East Lancashire alone all being left unable  to work, for children – it brought an unexpected break from their daily  chores of not just work but that also of school.

Many took to the parks and playing fields to enjoy the extended  break, throwing snowballs, making snowmen and if they had the means,  they would find somewhere steep enough to enjoy the rare opportunity to  sledge down.

And it’s within the township of Haslingden that we are once again  travelling back to, and to the evening of Wednesday, 3rd March 1909 as  we delve into the story of the Charles Lane toboggan misadventure.

Fifty year old, James Roberts, a waste breaker who was employed at  Spring Vale mill, had left work at around 7.40pm to make his way home at  nearby 27 Prospect Hill.  With him was a man named Havelock Bond, an  engineer who also worked at the same mill as James.

Taking a pipe out from his jacket, lighting it and after a couple of  puffs of smoke, Havelock patted James on his back, telling him it  wouldn’t be long before they both reached their homes, despite the lane  ahead being in a hazardous condition.

“Aye, perhaps your ‘reet.” replied James as he lit his own pipe.

On a bitterly cold morning on the 27th January 1937, police officers  had been alerted to an incident that had taken place high upon the bleak  moorland that overlooked the town of Burnley in the North West of England.

Quickly making their way to the scene, upon arrival they would be  horrified at what they encountered as lying outside on the ground was  the body of 73 year old William Pickup.  Roughly five yards away lay the body of 18 year old Jane Ellen Wilkinson.  Both had been shot, suffering horrific injuries to their bodies.

But this wasn’t to be the end as, not too far away, the body of 30 year old, Joseph Scriven would shortly be discovered lying in a shippon close to the farm house.  He too had been shot.

The events that took place that morning would shock not only the residents of Worsthorne but that of entire county, and with it placing  the village under a dark haze for many, many years.  Locals would ask how could a tragedy as shocking as this possibly occur on their very own doorsteps.

Foulds Wilkinson was a farmer living at Saville Green Farm that was situated high up on the moors in the village of Worsthorne.  A  widower since 1929 after the death of his wife Martha, Fould’s shared  his farm with his daughter, Jane Ellen as well as his father-in-law,  William Pickup.

On the morning of Wednesday, 27th January 1937, he had left home at  around half past eight to deliver milk to a local firm in nearby  Burnley.

He had left his daughter, Jane, to help with chores around the farm,  along with her grandfather, William.   Both were consumed by the work  and seemed in good spirits as they carried out their usual duties around  the farm.  Inside the shippon, recently hired farm labourer, Joseph  Scriven was also busy working hard.

Foulds would be gone for around an hour, returning back at the farm at around half past nine.

Passing down a long, but straight lane that exited off from Gorple Road, nothing could have prepared him from what he was about to encounter as,  after parking up his van in the yard and making his exit, his attention  was quickly diverted to seeing the body of a man lying on the ground.   Not sure what to think, as he made his way over to where the body was  lying, he soon came across another shocking discovery – the body of his  young daughter was also lying on the ground, around five yards from  where the body of William Pickup was laying.

Without wanting to investigate further, he immediately jumped back into his van and drove to the Burnley Police station.

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On the morning of Tuesday, 29th December 1903, a notice was posted outside of Walton gaol prison;

"I, Arthur Price, surgeon of his Majesty's prison of Liverpool, hearby certify that I this day examined the body of Henry Bertram Starr, on whom judgement of death was passed, and that on examination I found Henry Bertram Starr was dead."

And with this, it would bring to an end the sad tale of how a young man with a promising career in poetry, had ruined his own life by allowing himself to wander down the path of the so-called, demon drink.

Blackpool, I think it's safe to say, has seen its fair share of violent and gruesome crimes over the last hundred years or so and this next story is no different.

When 56 year old, Robert Haworth, a tobacconist residing at a place  called Church, near Accrington sadly passed away on Wednesday, 7th  February 1906 – the fears of Dr. Fox and Dr. Greenhalgh as well as local  government officials became all too real.

What was originally thought to be cases of isolated food poisoning  that had struck the residents within a small catchment of Accrington at a  place called Woodnook, it would quickly transpire that the numbers were  much higher than originally thought and to the horror of the  authorities and public alike, it wouldn’t just be Accrington that would  be affected.

The first reported cases of ptomaine ‘food’ poisoning appeared in the  Manchester Evening News on the 3rd of February when it appears a large  number of sufferers had been medically treated in the town of  Accrington, more specifically, the Woodnook district.

The Medical Officer of Health, Dr. Greenhalgh, had visited all those  affected and it seemed they all had one thing in common. Upon  investigating further, all those who had become ill had consumed locally  bought tinned ‘potted meat’, which in this case was pork. Being an  affordable source of meat which was already precooked, it had a long  shelf life, making it suitable as an emergency food supply should  families struggle long term financially, as it can be bought and the  stored for when needs must.

What at first seemed to be a straight forward case, Dr. Greenhalgh,  having soon identified the cause of the wholesale poisoning to that of  the potted meat, it didn’t take long for him to find the source of the  supply.

However, many more people would soon become ill, with entire families  suffering from the effects. In the family of James Annis there were  four sufferers; the mother and three children and even the family cat  which had been fed some of the meat suffered the same fate! All of them  were suffering from distressing stomach pains which were accompanied by  vomiting and diarrhea.

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