Columnist Joyce Hagelthorn shared a reader’s Back to the Past TWIDDER (not that either she nor her reader knew what the heck the latter had experienced) in a 10 May 1973 newspaper column. By the way, I believe that this could also be classified as a Lost Location spacetime slip; while Ms. Daniels found herself by a thatched roof cottage (a distinctly British architectural housing feature), she was an American, and the newspaper her account was recorded in was the Dearborn (Michigan) Press. (See Brad Steiger’s MYSTERIES OF TIME AND SPACE.)
Laura Jean Daniels was walking home from work late one night. She remembers looking up at the moon, reflecting briefly about how it must have affected the astronauts to look back at Earth from its satellite. When she lowered her eyes, the street before her was no longer familiar.
“Even the pavement on the sidewalk was gone, and I was walking on a brick path. There were no houses on either side of me, but several hundred feet before me was a thatched roof and cottage. And there was a heavy scent of roses and honeysuckle in the air.”
The bewildered woman continued to walk on, desperately fighting panic.
“As I walked up the the brick path and drew closer to the cottage, I could see that there were two people sitting in the garden . . . a man and a young woman . . . in very old-fashioned clothes. They were obviously in love, for they were embracing, and as I drew closer I could see the expression on the girls face . . . and believe me, she was in love.”
Just as Laura Jean Daniels was wondering if she should cough or somehow signal her intrusion into such a private moment, a small dog came running out from under a bush and began barking.
“He was quivering all over. The man looked up and called to the dog to stop barking, and asked him what he was barking at. I somehow realized that he couldn’t see me . . . and yet, I could smell the flowers, and feel the gate beneath my hand.
“While I was try to make up my mind what to do, I turned to look back at the way I had just come . . . and there was my street! But I could still feel the gate in my hand . . . and yet, as I turned once again to the cottage . . . it was gone and I was standing right in the middle of my own block, just a few doors from home. The cottage . . . and the lovers . . . and the wee dog . . . were gone.”