Bidston Observatory - "There's oil them them thar hills".

 

There were times when the sheer size of the Observatory building was overwhelming; you really felt the sheer weight and history with every step you took within it’s catacombs. The fact that you might end up as the only person ‘at home’, all alone in this huge, heavy building was more often than not a queue for the imagination to start ticking over. Often at night I would go out and fill the kettle, walking across what I think was originally called the library room back in the day. This is a massive room that was virtually half of the buildings total footprint on the ground.

 

The kitchen was ‘outside’, across a small courtyard; this tiny kitchen area had an aroma of rat poison, and a smell that reminded me of the polished floor in my primary school way back when. There must have been a similar product from said era, tucked away under the sink somewhere.

 

I would walk back into the library room, it was always dark up around the Observatory at night, save the building security lighting which was vital as without it we would be drowned in darkness. The outside kitchen had a ‘singing’ water heater, one that sounded like a harmonica in four octave, overlapping tone; sadly it was subsequently removed as it fell at the first fence when ‘pat’ tested around 2007. We never hear it 'sing', but were always aware of a presence in the open, vacuous corridors, albeit a curious but fundamentally safe one. Upon reflection, having lived in such an old, historic building with a degree of historic sadness attached to it would have made anyone think twice, but to be perfectly honest I think I got in because I knew the building from when I was knee high. I used to look in awe at this apparition from far away in Leasowe, Castleway North playing fields to be precise and wondered just exactly what was that place up there in the sky.

 

Next to the kitchen was the boiler room, it was practically an 'antique'; the actual system included a starter motor and flame burner that simply ignited the fuel and sent it down the pipes, the cowling was so wide a slim chap could easily crawl into it! It had to be bled when it ran dry in order to get the new fuel oil to prime through the system, that was a chore. The whole system was very old and roared like an express train when it fired up. John Mackinnon from NERC finally gave me the keys one day, when he showed me how to fire up the Observatory, I felt honoured and for me this meant I was inducted as part of the buildings history, thanks John. I recall a scythe that was propped up behind the boiler, this went missing one night, must have been as old as the building.

 

 

I set the boiler to a timer; 6am to 7.30am, 4.30 to 6pm, then 9pm to 10pm. Even in the severest of winters, this old bird would shoot fuel oil around the Observatory's fluted radiators, which would groan and clank as the oil rich heated ethers hit their insides. We had Florida heat in December's cold and rain of Bidston, it was idyllic and meant that more often than not you'd see some of us winding up windows or going outside for the cold air in mid November. The oil was delivered by means of a Shell tanker, or 'stubby' tanker.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       Tacho-madness!

On one occasion we had made an order for fuel with NERC and were waiting with NERC's official at the Observatory for the tanker to arrive. Well, we saw it come up the hill and then suddenly it stopped halfway up!? We went down to speak to the driver and he said he had to stop as he had 'met his driving quota', 50 yards short of this fuel delivery! He had to wait there for his regulatory break to expire until he could move again, damn Euro red tape!!

 

 

Tawny owls would hoot and swoop down above your head, Pipistrelle bats would play with you on the grassy slopes, chasing your movement as you waved your arms in the air. Small rodents would scurry through the grass beyond the kitchen gate, and you’d also occasionally hear footsteps. The owners of these footsteps were never challenged, even if ever though rarely seen; for to challenge anyone up there was to potentially sign your own death warrant, as I almost discovered on numerous occasions when my property (usually the car) was subsequently damaged.

 

 

 

I lived there from 2005 thru 2013, and I can say quite categorically that there are strange forces up there, one which I experienced first hand for myself and some events I and my fellow residents would query for the many years we were there. The Hill itself always maintained a “must get out of the woods by dark” feel about it; I never liked to find myself in those woods after dark, as it always seemed to change its mood upon the expiration of the final shards of daylight.

 

However, to be ‘up’ on the Observatory roof at dusk was wonderful, looking down on the mass of the hill, untainted by artificial light; black as the night sky in the most remote of places made it akin to spotting a broken bulb amidst a cluster of yet to be hung Christmas tree lights plugged in, but lying on nature's carpet. This ‘bead’ of street lights from the M53 J2 and taking in Birkenhead’s ‘burbs’, circumnavigated right round to Liverpool’s skyline and back round to J1 of the M53 and beyond.

 

I never actually saw a ghost as such, but occasionally I and others sensed a presence that was only found in certain rooms, and I truly mean only a handful of rooms. In one  room I sensed a real bad atmosphere that permeated out into the corridors beyond for about twelve feet in each direction; you always felt uneasy as you approached. No strange smells or objects moving, just a sense of tension and gloom that I will never forget.

 

 

Movement and voices?

I had a friend who lived in a room there, upon returning one day he noticed that some of  his personal possessions had been moved around the room. He knew someone had been in there, it's a feeling that those of us who've been unfortunate enough to have been burgled know only too well. The story was just about done when to my amazement he also mentioned that occasionally he had heard a child's voice, the way he described it chills me to the bone to this day. He said it sounded like a five year old saying "hello", very softly. He also mentioned the time when he and his girlfriend were sitting down to tea in the same room and something most peculiar happened, I think someone knocked on the door but of course when he opened it no-one was there.

 

Originally the Observatory was 'residential and business use', and I believe that this is stated in the deeds to the property. A family lived in the North West side of the Observatory many, many years ago and maintained it's upkeep, I presume in return for an income to one or more family members who lived there at the time (it was initially 'split' into two with the Observatory 'boffins' on the dome side).

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