Fairy Bureau of Investigation

questions in search of the truth. Well, one British organization in the early twentieth century did ask a lot of questions, but whether it had found out the truth or not is still up for debate. It was formed in the nineteen twenties when author Bernard's Slay published his novel The Gates of the Horn. The actual title a lot longer than that, but it's not the part that caught people's eyes.

It was the subject matter inside it. Within the pages of Slay's book were ten short stories, each one the written testimony of a member of a clandestine organization known as the Fairy Investigation Society. Slay had written the stories as though they'd been real reports from people who'd come into contact with fairies. And they aren't whimsical childlike Tales

of Wonder either. They dealt with death and loss, as well as themes of a sexual nature, and they were apparently so convincing readers started to believe that the society was real. Pretty soon life began to imitate art. A man named Quinton Crawford, who'd served in the British Navy, had fallen down the rabbit hole of spiritualism and paranormal science, popular topics at the time. In nineteen twenty seven, he'd been tinkering with a wireless radio that he designed when

he started hearing music. He described it as the sound of harps and bells. Believing that he had found a special frequency known only to fairies, Crawford started talking to the voices on the other end of the signa, and they started talking back. This event is considered by many to have inspired his belief in fairies. Soon after, he was gifted a copy of Slay's novel, a book that

would change the direction of his life forever. Taken with the idea of the Fairy Investigation Society, he immediately met with the author to discuss starting up a real version of the organization, and so in nineteen twenty seven, the Fairy Investigation Society or FIS was formed. Its purpose was twofold. First, they wanted to catalog personal accounts about fairy encounters from people all over the world. They collected letters, magazine articles,

and even stories told by them word of mouth. And secondly, they hope to unite humanity with nature and reach a higher plane of existence. Now, despite the fantastic topic, FIS meetings were pretty standard, almost like any other meeting you might find in a corporate boardroom, just you know, with more fairies. The chairman of the group would give an opening statements, wherein he would discuss current fairy evidence meant

for further examination. The members would then raise a toast to the fairies before handling the day to day administrative work like financial records and other reports. The FIS was quite active during the late twenties and throughout the thirties. Unfortunately, Slay retired early to rural Gloucestershire. Crawford was left in charge and he took his role very seriously. Among his many jobs, he worked on the FIS newsletter, which reached out to fairy curious people like Sir Arthur Conan Doyle,

and he also talked to fairies. He had been in touch with beans called marsh fairies since his early experiments with the radio. He'd ask them questions and report the answers back to other FIS members. According to Crawford, the fairies used ancient Saxon words for Society members to interpret. He would also challenge them to phase through walls or tell him where ancient relics were buried. Of course, some

members were skeptical. They would sit in on these sessions to see if their leader was just leading them on, but the truth is unknown. The society disbanded just before the start of World War Two, and many of the group's records were lost during the war. It wasn't until nineteen forty nine when the Fairy Investigation Society started up again. Quentin Crawford, along with a secretary named Marjorie Johnson, got the ball rolling. Johnson helped recruit new members as well

by publishing newsletters and other literature. For the next ten years, the Fairy Investigation Society counted among its ranks the likes of Scottish poet Naomi Mitchison and even Walt Disney himself. Sadly, over time, membership dwindled, and the society eventually faded away in the nineteen nineties. Did people just come to the conclusion that fairies weren't real? Maybe, but the actual reason is probably a lot simpler. The magic was finally gone.

An airport is a transitional space. It's one big waiting room where couples going on an exotic vacation sit side by side with refugees returning home. It's a site of reunions as well as separations, and one of the few places you can get a beer in the morning and a coffee at night. Thankfully, most of us only see the inside of a terminal for a few hours, which is what Meron Karreimi Nassiri assumed when he arrived at

the Charles de Gaul airports in Paris. But Miran had stumbled into a web of bureaucratic red tape that would make Franz Kafka jealous. Miran, who liked to be called Alfred, arrived in nineteen eighty eight. His departure was delayed for eighteen years. Details on Alfred's life are a bit tricky to confirm, mostly because Alfred himself had a habit of reporting one thing as the truth and then later claiming

that it was a lie. But we're pretty sure that Alfred was born in Iran in nineteen forty five, the son of a wealthy doctor. His family sent him away to England for school, and he ended up at the University of Bradford in the nineteen seventies, studying Yugoslavia. It wasn't until he tried to go home to Iran in nineteen seventy seven that his trouble truly began. When Alfred landed in Tehran, he was immediately seized by airport authorities

and detained. You see, as a student in England, he had once joined a protest against Iran's shah An offense that carried prison time back in his home country. With his parents' help, Alfred was freed from prison, but was exiled from Iran. He bounced around from country to country until Belgium finally granted him political asylum in nineteen eighty six. For Alfred, though, the worst and the weirdest was yet

to come. In nineteen eighty eight, he decided to return to England, flying out of Paris, but Somewhere during the journey, his passport was stolen. Unable to enter England without papers, he was shunted back to Charles de Gaul Airport, where Alfred found himself in a catch twenty two. Without his papers, he couldn't prove who he was in the eyes of the French authorities. That meant that he was traveling illegally.

Alfred could get copies of his papers, proving that he was a political refugee by going to the Belgian embassy, but if he left the safety of the airport, he would be arrested and jailed by the French police. Faced with this impossible bureaucratic quagmire, Alfred decided to make a home for himself in Charles Dagall Terminal one. He stayed there for the next eighteen years. Alfred became something of

a celebrity around the airport. He set up shop on a red bench situated between a pizzeria and a store that sold electronics. He christened himself Sir Alfred, refusing to go by his old name and claiming that he had cut all ties with Iran. As Alfred's case wound its way slowly through the international courts, he carved out a life for himself in Terminal one. He subsisted on airline meal vouchers and toiletries that kind flight attendants gave him.

He spent his time reading books discarded by travelers and writing in his diary. He noted down every small thing that happened to him in an exhaustive journal that eventually filled several fileboxes. He started each morning with a wash in the airport bathrooms and a meticulous shave with an electric razor a passer by had given him. Over the years, Alfred got used to his little life in the airport. He struck up friendships with the airport's staff who worked

in the stores around him. The ebbs and flows of passengers arriving and departing became the rhythm of his life, which is why it came as a shock when, in nineteen ninety nine he was finally granted permission to leave after eleven years of waiting in captivity. Suddenly having freedom felt jarring. Alfred was used to this small, enclosed bubble. The world outside was large and frightening. So much had changed since he had entered the airport, which explained why,

after gaining his freedom, Alfred decided to stay. He continued to live in Terminal one until two thousand and six, when health issues forced him to go to a nearby hospital. He bounced around between medical facilities and homeless shelters, never wanting to stay far from his beloved airport, and just a few months before Alfred passed away in twenty twenty two, he moved back into Charles de Gaul, taking up residence on his old red bench. The storefronts and the people

had changed, but Alfred remained the same. Meran Karimi Nasiri, or Sir Alfred as he preferred, may have had the world's longest layover. He spent most of his life in limbo waiting to arrive or to depart, But for Alfred, it was never about the start of his journey or the end. For him, the airport itself and the life he made there was his true final destination. I hope you've enjoyed today's guided tour of the Cabinet of Curiosities. Subscribe for free on Apple Podcasts, or learn more about

the show by visiting Curiosities podcast dot com. The show was created by me Aaron Mankey in partnership with how Stuff Works. I make another award winning show called Lore which is a podcast, book series, and television show and you can learn all about it over at the Worldoflore dot com. And until next time, stay curious.