A gang of young people terrorized by the cemetery “Witch of Mrs. Craith”.


For generations, residents throughout Kirkby have heard the legend of a “witches’ grave”, which is located on the site of the oldest church in the city.

An “alleged witch” exerted a “very sinister and surreal revenge on a gang of young people” who had persecuted her in Merseyside.

“Just to talk about them is an invitation to death!”

But this is not the only story of this kind in the city.

This has led generation after generation to speculation and to the passing on of the legend that a witch is buried in this place – and it is unclear which witch’s grave is the source of the legend.

Last month, Echo examined the history of the tombstone of St. Chad, which is at the center of a myth that has been circulating in the city for decades, and how on some graves the quote “let the little children come to me” is engraved.

On a cold evening in 1963, a witch from Mill Brook in Kirkby, known to the locals as Mrs Craith, took revenge on a group of local youngsters.

The Mersey froze, and according to a local legend, a Huyton daredevil named Potter drove his Ford Anglia from the cast-iron banks of the Dingle across the seven-foot-thick crust of ice of the river to the Rock Ferry Promenade.

The winter, which lasted from December 1962 to March 1963, was one of the coldest winters ever recorded.

Other bizarre and strange things happened during this harsh winter.

Then there was another supernatural incident that happened at the same time as the unknown giant stroller – the case of the alleged witch of Mill Brook in Kirkby, who took a very sinister and surreal revenge on a gang of teenagers who had persecuted her.

In many parks around the city, from Walton to Aigburth, and also near Bowring Park and Halsnead Park, a trail of giant footprints was found in the virgin snow mantle, each measuring twelve feet from toe to heel, but it is predictable that the giant footprints were allegedly caused by a combination of wind and the strange sub-zero weather conditions.

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The story unfolded on a bitterly cold January evening in 1963 at Johnny Todd, when a drunk we shall call Len – not his real name – began to talk nonsense after his seventh pint of bitter.

The train I arrived on hadn’t arrived yet, so I took the bus and walked. I come before you to stand behind you and tell you something I know nothing about!

Hear, hear,’ cried a young man named Jimmy, and then he used very rough language to make fun of Len’s crooked legs.

Len stood on a chair, swayed precariously while the locals giggled, and made a nonsensical speech. He said in the crowded pub: “Ladies and jam spoons, I am standing on this speech to create a podium!


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