The Strange Case of Higreaves: My 1976 Childhood Story
In 1976, during the big summer drought, I wrote one of my first full‑length stories: Higreaves. I was ten years old. I shared a crowded bedroom with my identical twin, Eve. Our creativity often spilled into stories, drawings, pantomimes and games.
But something is terribly wrong with ‘Higreaves’ (not of the common spelling, Hargreaves).
Higreaves forms a window into a sinister corner of my subconscious. To something I mustn’t see.
This post explores my strange story, imagery, and what it says about my early childhood. For this is what fuelled my story. My toddlerhood to be precise.
The story opens with a ‘Mr Jenesy’ sweeping the ‘park’. A passer‑by called Mr Smith, notices odd wheelbarrow‑like tracks end abruptly at a fence. How odd. On the other side lies a swamp.
This ‘swamp’, I have come to learn was the moniker of a pond at the bottom of the garden, for weeds and nettles overgrowing the banks. It wasn’t really a swamp at all.
Only later did I learn that builders had buried this pond during my toddlerhood. I have no memory of this pond at all, yet I wrote about a ‘swamp’ in my story.
I am writing about something I cannot consciously remember.
Smith becomes obsessed with these strange tracks. Miss Bentley, a young woman, tells him they are not wheelbarrow tracks at all. At this moment, Higreaves himself appears, snarling and sniping, driving the two characters away.
At the time, I couldn’t understand why I wrote about tracks leaping over things. In fact, my story operates in two timelines: one before the fence existed, and one after. The tracks end at the pond because that is where they originally went — straight into the water. Ie, the pond. Once upon a time, that fence wasn’t there.
What’s this stuff about ‘masks’? And drownings? What’s got into my ten-year-old self?
Smith hears a girl scream. This scream is not fictional. It’s a real scream. I heard it insomuch as I saw that pond. The scream is mine.
That girl is me.
Later, Smith encounters Miss Bentley again, but she is already dead. She had been wearing Higreaves’ face during the swamp struggle. Miss Bentley is now ‘Higreaves’. He is wearing her mask.
The story spirals into a black hole:
Eventually, a policeman called Detective Saturday arrives to find:
The story ends with a question that haunts me still:
What happened in that pond?
Just as in my earlier stories, I was projecting my early experiences onto fictional characters. I was wearing masks to tell a story about myself.
My later writing would continue to return to themes of drowning, burning, missing children and blacking out. My book, Tales from Daler Cottage provides a full analysis of this and my other early children’s stories.
But something is terribly wrong with ‘Higreaves’ (not of the common spelling, Hargreaves).
Higreaves forms a window into a sinister corner of my subconscious. To something I mustn’t see.
This post explores my strange story, imagery, and what it says about my early childhood. For this is what fuelled my story. My toddlerhood to be precise.
Drawing reconstructing the story. Everyone is wearing masks and falling unconscious. Image right shows the original document. From my book Tales from Daler Cottage.
A Childhood Story about a Real Event
Higreaves is set in a “park,” I can now see it was really our garden. The lamppost, the laurel tree, the lawn — all can be found in my garden. It’s not a park at all.The story opens with a ‘Mr Jenesy’ sweeping the ‘park’. A passer‑by called Mr Smith, notices odd wheelbarrow‑like tracks end abruptly at a fence. How odd. On the other side lies a swamp.
This ‘swamp’, I have come to learn was the moniker of a pond at the bottom of the garden, for weeds and nettles overgrowing the banks. It wasn’t really a swamp at all.
Only later did I learn that builders had buried this pond during my toddlerhood. I have no memory of this pond at all, yet I wrote about a ‘swamp’ in my story.
I am writing about something I cannot consciously remember.
My book analysing my children's stories. Click Tales from Daler Cottage to buy from Amazon.
At the time, I couldn’t understand why I wrote about tracks leaping over things. In fact, my story operates in two timelines: one before the fence existed, and one after. The tracks end at the pond because that is where they originally went — straight into the water. Ie, the pond. Once upon a time, that fence wasn’t there.
Masks, Drowning and the Uncanny Reveal
The story gets stranger. Jenesy corners Smith, shouting at him to leave. A tree “rips off his face” to reveal Higreaves real face beneath — Jenesy was wearing a mask. Higreaves tries to push Smith into the swamp, but falls in himself.What’s this stuff about ‘masks’? And drownings? What’s got into my ten-year-old self?
Smith hears a girl scream. This scream is not fictional. It’s a real scream. I heard it insomuch as I saw that pond. The scream is mine.
That girl is me.
Later, Smith encounters Miss Bentley again, but she is already dead. She had been wearing Higreaves’ face during the swamp struggle. Miss Bentley is now ‘Higreaves’. He is wearing her mask.
Masks, Mistaken Identity, Drowning and Murder.
What is this story?The story spirals into a black hole:
- Higreaves drugs Smith with sleeping pills
- Jenesy faints while calling the police
- Higreaves is knocked out with a narcotic plant
- And a burning smell reveals Higreaves’ lethal weapon by the swamp
Eventually, a policeman called Detective Saturday arrives to find:
- Miss Bentley dead in the swamp
- Higreaves unconscious in the garage
- And sleeping pills scattered everywhere
The story ends with a question that haunts me still:
What happened in that pond?
The Hidden Meaning Behind Higreaves
When I revisit Higreaves now, I see a young child trying to express something terrible she had lived through. In 1968, a nasty big man chased a toddler into a pond. He was Mum’s half-brother and the toddler was me. I lost consciousness hence characters falling unconscious. He assaulted me there, hence the burning sensation.Just as in my earlier stories, I was projecting my early experiences onto fictional characters. I was wearing masks to tell a story about myself.
My later writing would continue to return to themes of drowning, burning, missing children and blacking out. My book, Tales from Daler Cottage provides a full analysis of this and my other early children’s stories.
If you’re new to my memoir
Home About this blog and popular posts.
About me
Start here How I learned the truth about my past in 10 parts
Buy my books from Amazon or browse the Madeleine Watson Book Catalogue on this blog.
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For external sources related to this topic, visit my Further Reading page
About me
Start here How I learned the truth about my past in 10 parts
Buy my books from Amazon or browse the Madeleine Watson Book Catalogue on this blog.
Themes in my work
For external sources related to this topic, visit my Further Reading page
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