Where is the scariest place you've ever visited?

[Newportnobby]

A fellow member has just triggered a memory of a very scary place I ventured to as a trainee sales rep in my yoof. I had to visit the Bacofoil factory in Silvertown, London and happened to emerge at the same time as the lunchtime whistle went at the neighbouring Tate & Layle plant. Hordes of women came teeming out and the catcalls and comments I got when they saw me made me run for cover to a telephone box where I pretended to make a phone call until most of them had gone. Builders/brickies etc wolf whistling ladies had nothing on that lot I can assure you!
Please remember if you post a reply that an NGF member might live where you had your experience so please keep this light hearted.

[themadhippy]

Most scariest place ,were the bottom was going 5p- 50p ,has to be the tax office  when i was called in for an audit.

[Papyrus]

Early 70s, Saturday afternoon, London Underground train, fairly empty... until dozens of Chelsea supporters got on board. I can only assume they had lost. I bailed out at the next station.

Chris

[TylerB]

Broken down on the M25 due to an electrical fault, in the rain, at night, with no lights and heavy traffic

[Steve Brassett]

Most scariest place ,were the bottom was going 5p- 50p ,has to be the tax office  when i was called in for an audit.

I've heard of sixpence-shilling.  50p is a strange shape - the tax office must have been super-scary!

[47033]

Scariest place I've ever been was Patchway Tunnel (between Newport and Bristol) at 2am. I was working the previous evenings Swansea Burrows Sdg/Fords Bridgend to Dagenham Dock with 47125 when approaching Patchway Tunnel the engine blew up, literally. It threw a piston through the side of the block. Anyway I stopped just before entering the tunnel itself and after contacting the signalman I was told an assisting engine was being sent out from Barton Hill, Bristol.

This meant I had to walk through the tunnel to the east end before putting my detonators down. I was on my own as this train was a driver only operated train, so off I went into the darkness with my lamp and detonators.  After a few minutes I turned around and couldn't see anything behind me, the locomotive was lost in the darkness and that got me thinking, what if my battery dies or the bulb blows.  So, I turned the lamp off.  HOLY COW......  I couldn't see anything, NOTHING.....  I would have to walk on uneven ballast in a wet tunnel in TOTAL darkness with just the feel of a dirty dusty wall to help guide me.  I turned my lamp back on and swiftly made my way forward hoping the lamp would hold up.

The ironic part to this story is that when the assisting locomotive came it was 47474 and I had problems it the week before. I said to the Bristol driver I hope this can move this train, it was as weak as a kitten last week, in fact I wrote it up in the repair book. The entry was still there and they had supposedly fixed it. Well, they hadn't, on the climbing grade it was unable to start the train. So, after discussing the plan with the Bristol driver and the signalman it was decided he would return to Barton Hill for another locomotive. I would secure the train and uncouple 47474 and he would drop me off at Patchway station with my detonators to await his return. After I uncoupled he misunderstood and took off for Bristol leaving me behind. Worse thing was I had put my bag with all my belongings on 47474......

I called the signalman to explain and to have him inform the driver to bring my bag back with him and the signalman told me a MOM (movements Operation Manager) was making his way to my location. He showed up and drove me in his van to Patchway so at least I didn't have to walk that tunnel again. What a night that was.

Jamie

[daffy]

No question, it was in 1982 on my first ever trip to the Lake District, on a first ever foray onto the Fells. It was the second day of an ambitious backpacking tour with my first wife, having spent the night camped on a mountain top at around 2000 feet altitude.
The weather had set in the previous evening and we awoke to thick cloud and light rain with visibility extremely limited. Packing our gear we descended to a road pass and, determined not to be defeated by mere clouds, we set off up the steep slopes ahead of us, our intention being to join a long winding mountain ridge.
We soon reached the crest of the rising ridge as it swung southward to our right, the grassy slopes we had ascended now curtailed abruptly by near vertical craggy cliffs. Turning right along this precipitous edge, we soon discovered that the gentle breeze from the west that had failed to disperse any of the thick and clinging cloud that had enveloped us all morning, was gradually increasing in intensity.
As we steadily gained height, conscious of the dark unknown plunging crags to our left, we kept a respectful distance from the edge, seeking security on the grassy fellside. Our determination was soon tested as inexperience combined with unfamiliarity with the terrain and we discovered we had lost the faint path we had been following.
All we knew was that we had to continue almost due south, but despite the wind now rushing up the slope from our right we had drifted increasingly down-slope and features we had studied upon our map and expected to come across were not to be seen. We stopped to take stock as the damp drizzle turned to heavier rain and the wind further increased in force, but studying the map in such conditions was all but impossible.
However, we soon realised our error and pressed on, edging leftward as we ascended, hoping to regain the path. If you have ever walked in fog you will know that dark shadows looming out of the gloom take on a new identity, and here great walls of crag turn out to be minor outcrops, and what at first seem to be broad distinct paths through the grass prove to be no more than shadows and light.
The wind now howled over unseen rocks and whistled loudly through the grass, the large and heavy rucksacks upon our backs beginning to cause our steps to falter as the elements sought to spin us around. Despite carrying sturdy walking poles with which we could reclaim our balance, it was clear that onward progress was very slow, so we decided to seek shelter, poor though it was, against a small outcrop of cold, wet rock.
It was something of a performance but we managed to struggle into a large 'survival bag' - a euphemism for a simple heavy grade large orange plastic bag - and were thankful for its comfort from now torrential rain and stinging wind.
Half an hour later the rain had eased, we were cold and rather miserable, and the wind was screaming like a banshee. I don't mind admitting my nerves were fraying and dark imaginings began to grip my mind.
Another half hour passed and we resolved to press on. In hindsight, and with many years of experience gained on the mountains of Britain and Europe, it was a crazy resolution. But we were young, we were foolish, and we did not wish to fall at this, our first challenge in the mountains. So we stowed our shelter, almost losing it to the wind, and headed south.
Within moments our mistake was clear. The wind was now a howling gale and as we stepped out of the comparative shelter of the rocks I was immediately knocked to the ground by the sheer force of the wind. My wife soon followed my example. We struggled to out feet, braced against out walking poles, but every step forward became an involuntary two steps sideways as the blast pushed us up the slope. Reaching my pole forward it was almost ripped from my hand as it was flung sideways into a horizontal position. At the same time the wind took advantage of my lack of support, took a firm hold upon my rucksack and threw me all of six feet to my left, where I crashed against the ground, struggling for all I was worth to grip on to something, anything, to stop this relentless push towards those menacing crags that I knew were somewhere near, but knew not just where.
My wife was faring better and had regained the shelter of the outcrop. I heard her call as she was upwind of me now, but could not reply, my words thrown, like snowlflakes in a blizzard, far away into the east. I fought my way to her, griping grassy tufts and keeping prone to minimise the effects of the raging wind, and after a few minutes of terror we were back where we had started, though now bruised, battered, and I felt we were trapped, literally caught between a rock and a hard place.
My nerves were ragged, but my wife was my anchor, and after we had taken water and food, she took control and we headed down, away from that lurking danger. It was a total surprise and blessed relief to find that after only twenty minutes of battling west and north we reached far calmer air, and were soon back to the point where we had joined the ridge.
From here we headed east down the gentle slope of the ridge. After about half a mile we came out of the clouds and could see our way clearly, romping down steeper slopes to the south into the base of a high valley where we pitched our tent beside a rushing stream, took out our cooking stove and were soon sat laughing at the day with a much needed hot cup of tea.
It was a savage introduction to the mountains, but a salutary one, and without doubt the scariest experience I have ever had. As for the place? Well, I've been back numerous times, and it is a beautiful walk along a fine mountain ridge, but that was usually on fine days when the sun was shining and the wind was a balmy breeze.

[martyn]

Both places whilst working at sea;
Kingston, Jamaica, docks at night. Two lads got beaten up, and we had to escort our two stewardesses back to the ship.
Same ship-I was asked to inspect some repairs to a double bottom tank in dry dock. Very low-about 2'6"- and every 3' or so a deep frame web. Only a small hand torch for lighting. Claustrophobic after the second frame web-I came out a lot quicker than I went in....
Also, drifting or at anchor off Lagos, Nigeria, at night, when ships all around us were being raided by armed pirates-we eventually started the engine and went much further offshore...........
Martyn

[Newportnobby]

Strewth!
Compared to some of these a few hundred women at Tate & Lyle seem a walk in the park!
I won't go into my experience at Blackpool hospital as it's old hat now - apart from being 1 year on.

[paulprice]

One word RHYL 

[Sprintex]

When I was driving for a medical supplies company I had to deliver to a medium to maximum security hospital for the severely disturbed and criminally insane (their description, not mine), and although the poor patients obviously can't help their condition, and nothing untoward happened while I was there, it was the level of security exercised by the carers that made it very scary - gave you the feeling that anything could kick off at ANY moment.

There seemed to be less security when delivering to Norwich prison.


Paul

[Newportnobby]

One word RHYL 

How very enigmatic

[daffy]

One word RHYL 

I suppose if you went to Rhyl Sun Centre and were repeatedly assailed by the eerie disembodied voice crying "Waves in the lagoon pool!" in nasal tones, I could understand.

[Westbury]

Detroit in the late 80's. Needed an armed security guard to escort you between workplace and your car as muggings / carjackings etc where so common.

[paulprice]

Detroit in the late 80's. Needed an armed security guard to escort you between workplace and your car as muggings / carjackings etc where so common.

Just like RHYL