When I was young there used to be a woman that lived on my road that was a witch. Or so I was told. She definitely looked like a witch and apparently loved nothing more than to chomp down on some children for supper. School children would cross the road by her house. Look her in the eyes, they said, and you would end up on her dinner plate.
So imagine my surprise when I came home from school one day to find this witch sat in my living room having a cup of a tea with my mum. Turns out she wasn’t a witch. All along she was just a woman, victim to a ludicrous amount of urban myth and gossip.
From local witches to national monsters, Britain is full of urban myth and legend. All those bizarre tales we’re never quite sure are true, even if they are repeated 100 times by various different “friend of a friends”
Every town has a millionaire that walks around as a tramp, an unidentified beast that roams the local woods and a person that woke up in a bath full of ice with a missing kidney. All fake, all lies and all brilliant to pass on as fact.
Britain loves an urban myth or legend. Long may it continue.
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