Books reviewed by SPR reviewers
James Clark has previously written books on haunted London, Wandsworth and Mitcham. Now he turns his attention to the borough of my birth, Lambeth, an area of huge variety. To assist the visitor there is an outline map of the borough at the front, all of the twenty-four locations of the cases numbered to allow cross-referencing with the accounts.
The text is divided into sections which follow the old village structure, covering sites around Brixton, Clapham, North Lambeth, Norwood, Stockwell and Streatham. Each section is prefaced by a larger-scale portion of the map, again with the sites numbered, to enable easy location. The book concludes with an extensive listing of sources for each case, allowing the interested reader to follow them up.
There is plenty here, of varying degrees of plausibility, to excite the paranormal enthusiast. We get off to a good start with the 1977 ‘Margate Road Horror’, likened by Clark to the better-known Amityville Horror, only this one was in Brixton, and while suicide and dabbling in black magic were suggested as causes for the phenomena, murder was not. There was though personality change and a rather exciting exorcism.
We run through the usual range of ghosts, unexplained noises, poltergeists, a black dog (name-checking the SPR), a lift possessing both a mind of its own and a propensity to malfunction, a phantom hansom cab, a time slip and Elliot O’Donnell’s story of a whistling stone on Clapham Common (clearly if it had had an agent it could have had quite a career).
Lambeth Palace has a long section, as do the site of the old Necropolis Railway Company terminus in Westminster Bridge Road, the Old Vic, a phantom nun near Streatham Common, the famous 1772 Stockwell poltergeist and a curious 1951 case in a council house in Norwood which showed poltergeist symptoms against a typical background of young people of both sexes crammed in an overcrowded house.
The old Locarno (the Cat’s Whiskers when I went to school in Streatham, Caesars in its final manifestation) is given extensive coverage, a lengthy digression charting the tragic life of Ruth Ellis, though as much of the ‘information’ about ghosts at the dance hall was gleaned during a Most Haunted ‘investigation‘, utilising the talents of Derek Acorah, the reader may decide to skip this one; Clark counsels caution when assessing the evidential value of the television programme, though as he points out, there had been reports of strange occurrences prior to the Most Haunted visit.
We hear how entertainer Roy Hudd had a peculiar recurring dream that eventually led him to a house Dan Leno had lived in, and subsequently to a passionate interest in Leno and music hall generally (on which he is an expert). A rare UK appearance of a demon in England was reported in Clapham by the South London Press in 1994, though how the determination that it was a demon was arrived at is not stated. Even stranger, the “demon” looked like Elvis Presley. Weird as that was, even weirder was the vision of a “five-month-old foetus hovering in the kitchen.” Blessings by clergymen calmed things down, whatever they really were.
Clark begins with the statement that Lambeth is an “odd place”, and he tells no lie. Some of his tales may be suspect to put it mildly, as he concedes, but he points out that at the very least they shine a light on Lambeth’s “mythological landscape.” They are also fun to read, and you never know, they may shine a light on something more.
This is a re-issue of the book first published in 2009. The text is identical, the only changes are to the size and the quality of the paper. It was originally published in a larger format, but it is now a standard 198mm x 124mm paperback. This makes it more portable, but at the cost of a smaller-sized font. The paper is also of not such high quality, and that noticeably affects the photographs, which look grainier than before. The good news though is that the RRP has been reduced from £14.99 to £10.99.
So how does it hold up in a market-place for paranormal ‘how-to’ books that has become noticeably busier in the last four years? Pretty well as it happens. Since 2009 the proportion of commercial ‘ghost night’ ventures has grown exponentially, making the small private group set-up described here feel decidedly old school, But the book is more welcome for it, encouraging serious investigations rather than ghost hunting as mass entertainment. While there may be new fads in technology – the K2 variety of EMF Meter springs to mind – the advice on how to conduct an investigation and what to take is still sound.
The section on basic safety could have included a reference to insurance issues, important in this litigious age and especially so for those new to the field. It would also have been nice to have taken the opportunity to add an index and a reading list (I suspect there is rather an assumption that the target audience is the young Most Haunted crowd, and it doesn’t read much), and I do feel that it was a mistake on the part of the cover’s designer to include the hackneyed Brown Lady of Raynham Hall, even though it is discussed in the text. It has nothing to do with modern paranormal investigation techniques and represents a type of photographic hoax that is increasingly rare.
Overall, I would still recommend Rosney et al for early career psychical researchers, in conjunction with SPR Council member John Fraser’s 2010 Ghost Hunting: A Survivor’s Guide, if ghosts are specifically your bag. If you are interested in anomalies more broadly defined, or are searching around for a specialism, then A Beginner’s Guide to Paranormal Investigation is a good place to start.
My original review can be found here.
Prolific author Darren Ritson (if the list at the front of Paranormal County Durham is complete, he has written or co-written eighteen books) has brought out another two volumes in his exploration of the North of England’s haunted heritage. Despite the hours he must put in at the word processor he is not an armchair researcher, having done a large number of on-the-ground investigations, some solo, some with long-time colleague Mike Hallowell, others with the ghost-hunting group he founded, the North East Ghost Research Team, or another group he co-founded, Ghosts and Hauntings Overnight Surveillance Team.
Paranormal County Durham
Veteran researcher Malcolm Robinson contributes a foreword to Paranormal County Durham. He stresses the need to rely on one’s own intelligence when investigating, being prepared to do hard work finding explanations rather than blindly trusting to instrumentation and assuming a paranormal explanation as the default, a welcome corrective to much current ghost hunting wisdom (or rather lack of).
Similarly Ritson in his introduction points out that this field is complex, something that needs to be remembered when television shows make it look easy, and that not having preconceived ideas (which applies to sceptics as much as to those who tend to a paranormal explanation) is an essential prerequisite if an investigation is going to be worthwhile.
The book is divided into nearly three dozen chapters of varying length, most on a separate location, with one devoted to miscellaneous ‘Phantom horses and ghost riders’. There is the usual selection to be found in this type of book, pubs, castles, mansions, but less usual are a former MOD depot, an old POW camp, a lead mine and that annoying song about the grandfather clock that stopped, never to go again, when the old man died, which surprisingly has its origins in a real clock (though not necessarily a real story) at the George Hotel, Piercebridge. It concludes with a series of stories culled from the website of local historian C. J. Linton, who has also researched the paranormal in the area.
County Durham is, as Ritson points out, an area of outstanding beauty, and his enthusiasm for it shines through this survey of its haunted landscape. It is one entry in a growing literature on the paranormal aspects of this area: in addition to coverage in general national gazetteers, there is Ritson’s own Haunted Durham (The History Press, 2010), while Rob Kirkup has produced Ghostly County Durham (The History Press, 2010).
Demonstrating his continuing ability to get interesting people to pen his forewords, on this occasion Ritson has snagged Paul Adams, well known as an authority on Harry Price, in particular as co-author of The Borley Rectory Companion. For this volume, Ritson has moved away from his usual stamping-ground of the North-East (he is a Newcastle-upon-Tyne native) to examine the historic city of Carlisle, steeped in history and character.
Unsurprisingly slimmer than the one devoted to County Durham, the book is divided into only two sections, one on ghosts in Carlisle itself, and one (much shorter) on the outskirts. This lack of detail wouldn’t be a problem if there were an index, but a lack of any listings makes the book difficult to use as a guide to the area
In addition to the usual mix of folkloric and older accounts (including black dogs) there are some recent cases which involved named individuals. An alleged poltergeist caused problems for a family in 2007, and made the pages of the Daily Mail. It exhibited similarities with the well-known South Shields case with which Ritson was associated. Chapters on the railway station (where I myself once experienced an odd coincidence, my young daughter bumping into her best friend from school, a long way from home) and on Laser Quest detail the author’s personal investigations.
A 2010 story about an apparent ghost caught on CCTV in an off-licence, was covered extensively by international media. At first sight it does appear to be an insect close to the lens, a common occurrence in these situations, but Ritson notes that there were reports of a variety of other phenomena occurring in the shop, so there may be more going on than the CCTV images alone suggest. And of course no book on paranormal Carlisle would be complete without a reference to its famous (or rather infamous) Cursing Stone!
There are overlaps with some other recent gazetteers, notably Geoff Holder’s Paranormal Cumbria (The History Press, 2010), H. C. Ivison’s Supernatural Cumbria (Amberley Publishing, 2010) and Kirkup’s Ghostly Cumbria (The History Press, 2011). Ritson’s Supernatural North (Amberley Publishing, 2009) has a few pages on both County Durham and Carlisle. However, while Carlisle has been included in a number of books covering a wider geographical area, some of which are mentioned in the bibliography, surprisingly this is the first devoted entirely to the city.
Both Paranormal County Durham and Haunted Carlisle are nicely illustrated. One thing did amuse me though. Each features a line drawing of a monk that is identical, though in one he is in company with a group of brothers, while in the other he is on his own. In County Durham we are told that it is an artist’s representation of the monks who are said to walk the grounds of Lumley Castle, in Carlisle it is an artist’s representation of the monk who haunts Carlisle Cathedral. Well, one monk looks much like another I suppose.
Robert King is a local historian in an area with a lot of history, and Amberley have already published his Neath Through Time, while a rival publisher produced King’s first effort in the paranormal field, Haunted Neath, in 2009. Here he presents a further collection of stories old and new originating in Neath and its environs. It is divided into sections on ‘houses and buildings’, both grand and humble; ‘streets and roads’, including a haunted bridge; pubs of course, including the Duke of Wellington, whose resident ghost was caught on video in 1993 and broadcast on Robert Kilroy-Silk’s BBC chat show; animal hauntings; graveyards; and miscellaneous. Locations are not listed separately. Like all the books in this series it is well illustrated, the author having included a selection of his snapshots.
Many of the accounts were collected as a result of talks the author gave to local groups which are, as he acknowledges, an invaluable source of information. The area’s industrial heritage emerges as a recurring theme. Mining, an industry, now vanished from the area, has a strong element of folklore associated with it, and a there is also a story from an ironworks. Neath Abbey has a ghostly connection to King Edward II. He took refuge there, but was betrayed after he left, it is said by one of the brothers, and died in murky circumstances at Berkeley Castle. The traitor is supposed still to wander the ruins, seeking absolution. The most unusual ghost described supplied a couple in straightened circumstances with cash, over £1,000 in total which, as the husband put it, “got us out of a lumber”. One wonders if they declared the ghost’s largesse on their income tax return, and if so how they described it. The cynic might consider it more likely to have been a money laundering scheme than paranormal philanthropy.
There are a couple of accounts of ghosts being seen with the lower portions of their limbs invisible, presumably as they travel at the level the ground would have been at during their lifetimes, which is lower than at present (the most famous example of this phenomenon being the Roman soldiers at York’s Treasurer’s House). This might answer the old question about why we never see the ghosts of dinosaurs: under out feet is an entire ecology of long-gone people and animals, walking around within the earth.
Cadoxton Lodge, courtesy of Amberley Publishing
One of the most interesting sections from the perspective of the SPR probably does not actually feature anything paranormal at all. Cadoxton Lodge was once home to Winifred Coombe Tennant who, among many other significant achievements, practised as a medium under the pseudonym Mrs Willett and was connected to the SPR’s ‘inner circle’ by marriage: her husband Charles’s sister Eveleen married Frederic Myers, one of the founders of the SPR. King’s information is slightly out of date here, because he considers a bizarre scheme to produce a ‘spirit child’ which would facilitate world peace to be merely an unproven rumour. In fact, as the late Archie Roy showed in his book The Eager Dead, the Plan, as it was called, really was put into effect. Gerald Balfour (SPR president 1906-7) fathered Winifred’s child Augustus Henry, born in 1913. Unfortunately Henry did not become a Messiah, though he did become a monk. King crept into the empty Cadoxton Lodge as a boy in 1960, not knowing its history, and was scared by the sound of a window slamming and breaking, though he had not seen one that was open. Another SPR figure with a connection to Neath, but not mentioned in the book, was H. H. Price (1899-1984, not to be confused with Harry Price), who was Wykeham Professor of Logic at Oxford, and SPR president 1939–40 and 1960–1.
Robert King has put together an enjoyable book, and the inclusion of often quite long personal accounts given to him by witnesses makes it all the more interesting. These anecdotes may not be valid as evidence, but they are sincerely given, and reflect the tellers’ puzzlement at the strangeness that touched their lives and which left on them such an indelible impression.
Past life regression had a vogue in psychical research during the 1980s and ‘90s under the influence of such books as Jeffrey Iverson‘s More Lives Than One? and Peter Moss and Joe Keeton‘s Encounters with the Past (which came with two 33⅓ records containing examples of regression sessions). For a while in the ‘80s I was a member of a group in Catford, London, in which we took it in turns to be hypnotised and merrily recall our own previous existences, and in 1991, Dr Hugh Pincott gave a memorable talk to the SPR on ‘Cerdic the Saxon’, an elaborate past life he had uncovered in a subject through hypnosis. The use of the technique fell out favour in psychical research because of its unreliability and the problems of verification it presented, just as hypnotic regression in ufology to elicit details of abductions became discredited. However, in the New Age community, reincarnation is generally held to be part of the natural order, and the examination of an individual’s past lives a therapeutic tool to assist the analysis of present emotional difficulties.
In this vein, Georgina Cannon has produced an account of the general thinking that underpins the assumptions of such reincarnation therapy, of which she is a practitioner and teacher. She does not present any scientific support for the claim that we are subject to cycles of rebirth, so the sceptical reader requiring evidence will not be satisfied. For her, though, the validity of the recall of a past life is subsidiary to what is learned, so it is unimportant if the life cannot be verified, or even whether it occurred in the way it is remembered. Rather, the book deals with past lives (and ‘interlives’), as they can be used to assist us in the present, learning lessons from experiences of which we might not be conscious, but which have consequences for how we live our lives now. Cannon aims to help us understand the effects of karma across incarnations, to integrate past and present influences in order to improve our current lives, and carry that understanding into future ones.
The interlife (Bardo) is a concept less familiar in the West than that of rebirth. As the name suggests, it concerns the passage between two lives, and it is significant as a learning opportunity because it operates at the level of spirit. The individual does not progress alone at this time. Rather, it is a social activity, involving a soul circle of individuals who are associated through incarnations, and of course soul mates. These all contribute in order to help individuals assess their progress, and decide what they should do to maximise the personal value of these multiple existences. Cannon stresses the importance of meditation, as it allows us to see the interconnectedness of the universe and our place in it as we pursue our “soul journey”.
While she suggests that the regression process is enhanced by seeking the assistance of an experienced facilitator, she does say that worthwhile results can be obtained by undertaking a programme on an individual basis. Nor do you need to be of a spiritual nature to gain from the effort. Whatever your perspective, Cannon argues, you will deepen your self-knowledge through using the induction techniques she describes, and be able to think more clearly about your purpose in this life, and in those to come.
An interesting and exciting title – it is in those ill defined states of mind that many paranormal phenomena are to be sought. Perhaps the book will define that arena – define consciousness even; perhaps the latest research in consciousness, trance states, Ganzfeld experiments and hard facts concerning (sub?) liminal perception will be presented. However, it is not possible to check quickly as there is no index, and on scanning the book it is quickly apparent that much of it is pervaded by New Ageism. Nothing wrong with that particularly, one might say. The aims of New Age thinkers are laudable – mother’s milk in fact. It would be churlish not to admit wanting to save the planet and expand one’s consciousness. Indeed, it turns out that the editors, Daniel Pinchbeck and Ken Jordan, are writers and spokesmen for what might be termed serious New Ageism, both being founders of the Reality Sandwich web magazine which in Pinchbeck’s words, “explores alternatives to mainstream system of thought and values.” The site, which has many contributors, covers not just spiritual topics but also psychology, parapsychology and technology and art.
The book itself contains 27 essays which were first published on Reality Sandwich, and is divided into seven Parts with exciting titles such as ‘Visions in Night and Darkness’ and ‘Adventures into the Psyche’. It begins with an introduction by Pinchbeck, and, as may be expected, this largely sets the tone. Pinchbeck states,
As essays in this collection explore, drastic thresholds such as near death experience or sleep paralysis or certain forms of blindness appear to have a similar effect to psychedelics: they open up the usually sealed container of consciousness to access other bandwidths or frequencies ... At such initiatory junctures, we find that our intention is like a magnet that creates a force field around us, pulling manifestations into being that are never what we envisioned, but are far more poetically accurate than we can expect.
Is that so? In his last paragraph, he opines:
More and more people in the postmodern world are recovering their psychic lives. ... This shift in attention is part of the paradigm shift; ancient prophecies fulfil themselves as we define a new level of consciousness that integrates science and spirituality, the physical and the psychic, the invisible and the known. I hope this book contributes to the opening of our collective awareness, the rediscovery of who we always have been.
Well, in so far as I can follow what he is saying, it is a worthy aim one supposes. Putting aside the apparent failure of the Mayan prophecy, and the contention that there is a paradigm shift – I would guess that most people that have ever lived have had a degree of existential anxiety, solved in different ways – does the book succeed, or will the drive to satisfy curiosity be held back by the childlike delight in wonderment and mystery, and the need not to have illusions shattered?
Franklin LaVoie , a “visionary artist”, who writes in the section on shamanism, states “The other world is entered through the imaginal realm.” Yes, true in a sense one suspects, and therein lies the conundrum on display here: imagination coupled with curiosity and a strong desire to fill in the gaps, all of which have tremendous survival value, does not necessarily lead to models which are useful in elucidating the objective truth (whatever that might be). Indeed many contributions seem unconcerned with objectivity, but on the contrary are highly subjective and imaginative, not to say poetical, interpretations of highly personal experiences that those writers no doubt are hoping will lead to some sort of personal revelation. The book is uncertain whether it is supposed to be an inspirational religious tract (nothing wrong with that of course), or a truly scientific exploration.
The mix leaves this reviewer feeling a trifle queasy, as when waking on Boxing Day, or when watching synchronized swimming. As may be apparent, the grumpy old man in me was rapidly and perhaps unfairly activated. Collections of contributions by different authors will naturally vary in interest and quality. With many of the essays, any hard facts and interesting ideas are diluted by a possibly editorially proscribed personal style seemingly designed to appeal to those that might be threatened by any excess, if not hint, of scientific objectivity (?elitism). Having said that, in the first section, ‘Of Minds and Molecules’, Michael Taussig, a medical doctor and academic anthropologist, starts the ball rolling with a rather convoluted essay, the conclusion of which seems in fact to warn against being too poetical in attempting to understand shamans, while being so literary as to obscure his message.
James Oroc, who writes on extreme sports, then asks the right questions provoked by his psychedelic drug experiences, such as “How can I exist as consciousness without ego or identity, and yet clearly still be me?”, but loses credibility for me by stating categorically that the universal acceptance of the ideas of Newton, Darwin and Descartes “although unproven” (!) “threatens the ecological balance of the planet itself.” His brief survey of quantum physics does not lead to coherent conclusions. Graham St John, a cultural anthropologist, contributes a rambling paean to the psychedelic drug DMT which concludes that solving mysteries is the conceit of the old scientific model, and that the “gift is that recognition [of the Mystery]”, which sounds like a cop-out to me. An architect, Timothy Wyllie, tries to analyse his near-death experience, saying “it is no more an hallucination than the moving images of a film.” He accepts that the bullet points of advice arising from his experiences may be dismissed as New Age clichés.
Some writers seem keen to use the language of science but do so in a way that does not frankly inspire confidence. The intermingling of valid scientific jargon (wormhole, gyrus) with flights of spiritual fancy in a spurious fashion, irritate. For example, Valoie’s “I saw paradise island on a shimmering sea. This image coincided with a proprioceptive survey of the ventricles in the brain, made possible by the white flame piercing my heart” etc. etc. I do not quite get it, to tell the truth. However, when the same author says “myths illuminate the unconscious world” I would not disagree, but it has been said before. Other irritations that assailed me as I ploughed diligently through the 350-odd pages were: plonking conversation stoppers, eg “Through an awareness of awareness, the truth can be found everywhere” (one is reminded of the Peter Sellars character in “Being There”). Pretentiousness: “The purpose of prayer is to remind us of the sacredness of speech”. Touches of grandiosity: “To integrate the extraordinary gifts of the soul, we can practice meditating, concentrating on awakening the heart mind ... This may help humanity find many practical solutions that are simply not available to the externalized, rational mind.” (or it may not of course, though one is all for recharging one’s batteries and a bit of creative thinking.) Another neologism! Another non sequitur! Streams of consciousness writing – all a bit excessively subjective and egocentric, telling us more about the states of mind and the personalities of those particular contributors than enlightening us on the state of play in the field of consciousness and parapsychological research.
On the other hand, there are indeed some excellent poetical forays. One is of course not against poetical interpretation, which can be creative and emotionally cathartic, and of course as in all artistic endeavour may also serve the purpose of setting up templates that could be generally useful in perceiving and interpreting the world. Given the title of the book, however, the descriptions of the various writers’ revelries remind one of those devious magicians who will not come clean as to whether the magic is due to honest trickery or is in fact paranormal, implying the latter and thereby engaging the attention of the needy incredulous. I am not sure of the point. I do not doubt the sincerity of these writers. Free association may or may not have a fruitful outcome, like improvising at the piano; it may be truly helpful in problem solving, sublimely creative, a mess, or simply hackneyed. Introspection as an arena for gathering data has its place, but analysis must surely include an understanding of the vagaries and complexity of the brain’s workings.
The tendency to interpret an experience in a concrete way at face value, with a minimum of discussion of alternative explanations, is manifested frequently. Tejeda describes being dissociated by marijuana. She admits being” fogged”, but interprets her experience through the information she ascribes to “My animal – spirits, who were not fogged –”. She talks at length about – yes – little green men, crystals being transmitters and plants that must contain crystals as they are transmitters. All this is revelatory, and further explained when she summoned, by using her higher self and “my Raven ally”, a representative of the little green men who “began to down load information into my third eye..” This is followed by bizarre theories presented as facts. Delusions, including fantastic elaborations, thought disorder, telepathy experiences, coincidences, perceptual disturbance, hallucinations, disturbances in attribution of meaning are all the stuff of brain disorder, such as confusional states and schizophrenia. Marijuana is well known to produce both. Tejeda ends by admitting the possibility that it might all have been a delusion, “but for the amount of detail and complexity of the world that I had no prior knowledge of. That is, things like the Asian setting, the story of the White Bear ..” etc. It won’t wash, I am afraid. The brain is a more remarkable organ than one might suppose. Excessive wishful, magical, egocentric, black and white, emotional thinking, while being very creative and albeit useful for immediate survival, I would submit is not particularly useful when it comes to establishing the facts of causation. Speculation is useful, and necessary, as a preliminary to hypothesis formation, but excessive leaping in the dark in the hope that it will be a short cut is more likely to lead down blind alleys.
Having got that off my chest, I can reveal that there are nuggets to be mined. Section 7 starts with Paul Hughes writing about “Super free will: metaprogramming and the quantum Observer”. Ah very interesting. What are his credentials? It turns out he is an internationally recognized speaker, empowerment teacher, and firewalking instructor, not, it seems, a quantum physicist, nor a neuropsychologist. However, he is entitled to his opinion, and in fact he writes thoughtfully and convincingly, being well read, and making his point succinctly. In fact I wished he had written a good deal more of the book. Russell Targ, the highly regarded doyen of remote viewing, while succumbing somewhat to the editorial imperative, restates the idea that the meaning of our lives is to become one with nonlocal consciousness. After describing some of his experiments from a personal point of view he makes the observation that “the hindrances to spiritual awakening are similar to those that interfere with remote viewing.” One wishes that he had gone into those effects in more detail. Jhana Buddhist meditation techniques and experiences are described in some detail by Jay Michaelson, who concludes with commendable honesty that the experience of mystical union is not enough. “The point lies elsewhere, and yet, ironically, right here.”
David Metcalf, an “independent researcher and artist”, begins the section on ‘Science and the Psyche” discussing “Paranthropology”, and says categorically that “The rejection of the ... techniques of stage magic as legitimate tools for revelation represents a failure of the dualistic, either/or mind set embedded in our culture.” I would have thought that it is more to do with a regard for honesty and seeing the phenomena as a subject for the study of the placebo effect and manipulation of others (albeit for the good). Incidentally, I heartily recommend Metcalf’s artistic productions on Reality Sandwich. David Luke, a psychologist and enthusiastic investigator into the effects of psychedelics, is tasked with the unlikely topic of ‘Psiverts and psychic piracy: The future of Parapsychology’, but on the way writes well, if generally, on some of the science of parapsychology, and cites the most original papers of any of the contributors, including Dean Radin. Radin writes a pertinent essay about the inability of the mainstream to “see the gorilla”. One had hoped for a bit more from him.
The following section, on ‘Visions in Night and Darkness’, features discussion on lucid dreams and sleep paralysis. Paul Devereux, not a neuroscientist, though begins with a description of the Charles Bonnet Syndrome, and asks “If … complex scenes can be rendered in intricate detail by the brain struggling to fill in gaps in sensory data, what then is reality?”He concludes correctly that we do not see with our eyes alone, but suggests therefore that materiality is a kind of hallucination, which to me is a non sequitur. The power of the brain both to model reality and to construct narratives that infer possible causations, unconsciously as well as consciously, should not be underestimated. Anthony Peake suggests that OBEs are a form of lucid dreaming. Ryan Hurd writes a patchy historical survey on sleep paralysis as a vehicle for unusual experiences, (failing to mention UFO abduction), and points out superficially the material correlates.
The sections on synchronicity and on shamanism are missed opportunities in my mind. Much useful science is left out in favour of New Ageism, and the same applies largely to the last section on “Thought at the Periphery.” Chris Carter discusses at last the big question, ‘Does consciousness depend on the brain’, with a well written but brief historical survey of thoughts on the topic which stops at Bergson, ignoring all subsequent work. He finishes with a discussion of the theory of the brain as receiver. Following a description of William James’ views, he avers that “even though it has been more than a century since James delivered his lecture, in all that time neither psychology nor physiology has been able to produce any intelligible model of how biochemical processes could possibly be transformed into conscious experience.” This is surely out of date. Data concerning states of consciousness are accumulating rapidly, from which a coherent generally acceptable model will undoubtedly emerge in the usual way, slowly perhaps but surely. How long in human history did it take for the structure of the atom to be half way understood? You could of course make a similar statement about the alternative nonmaterialistic theories. A model of what spirit matter is and how this is transformed into consciousness is not discussed in this book.
I conclude, therefore, that , though many of the essays try to be balanced and considered, the useful ones are too brief to be really useful, and the others – well, to each his own. Beliefs are either useful or otherwise for the task of surviving. Twaddle in general may be twaddle to you and me, but a vital strategy for personal survival to many others, and who are we to argue? Subjective experience is of course a subject worthy of philosophical and scientific investigation, but drug induced altered states of mind, while no doubt fun, I am not convinced on the evidence of these essays will lead to the kind of enlightenment that might satisfy me personally. The useful contributors are generally appropriately cautious in their interpretations, but whether or not one would wish to read through the more fanciful contributions on the way to the nuggets of rational discussion is a moot point. This book will probably appeal more, therefore, to a general readership with a tendency to follow New Age philosophy who are perhaps a little intimidated by hard science, the readers of Reality Sandwich in fact. They may be seeking validation for their experiences in this survey (and they may or may not find it), but the serious student of the unconscious and parapsychology may be disappointed by the patchy somewhat superficial nature of the contributions. Nevertheless, there are nuggets of thought-provoking ideas to be mined, and those wanting a survey of the field, or their thoughts to be provoked, may find it enjoyable.
Graham Kidd 16th January 2013
Place-based ghost books are usually gazetteers, with perhaps a description of the odd investigation thrown in. Ghosts of York is unusual in consisting solely of descriptions of investigations, with no attempt to include a wider range of stories set in the city. Rob Kirkup and a few friends, all based in Newcastle, visited York ten times during 2010-11 to conduct brief overnight investigations, and the book is a record of their activities there, down to where they stayed and ate. It is a relaxed autobiographical account rather than a rigorous analysis.
The venues they visited were: The National Railway Museum; the Best Western Dean Court Hotel; Gray's Court; York Tyburn; Siward's Howe; York Dungeon; ‘Haunted’ (35 Stonegate); Middlethorpe Hall Hotel; York Guildhall; and The Golden Fleece. Most of these visits were made by the group alone, though one was done in conjunction with another group, and one was as part of a commercially organised tour. Originally five in number, one person dropped out after the first trip, and there were sometimes only three participants. This was rather a small number for the sizes of some of the sites, necessitating a lot of moving around to cover likely spots. They had a variety of experiences, though mostly open to interpretation, and the words of one member before the final visit, “I have a feeling we‘re going to SEE something“, says a lot about the danger of expectancy effects in such situations.
It is often said that it is difficult for small closed-membership paranormal groups to find suitable establishments nowadays, given the involvement of companies turning a profit and venues wanting to maximise revenue. The penultimate visit, to the Guildhall, was arranged by such a company. There were almost twenty people in the party, and at one point they met another group who had been at ‘Haunted’ but had finished early and had decided to pay an impromptu visit. As Kirkup says, the problem with large groups is lack of control over the environment. Given the presence of these sorts of numbers, most of whom had never been on an investigation before but may well have harboured unrealistic expectations from watching TV shows, it is hard to see how any meaningful results could have been obtained. These organised events are not cheap, and while they may provide a frisson of excitement, it should not be assumed that they are providing anything other than immersive entertainment. Kirkup and his friends show that it is still possible for a small group to spend time on premises the owners have generously given free access to, though to be fair having a book contract probably opens a few doors.
The strength of Ghosts of York is that it is a warts-and-all account, down to an obsession with a particular sandwich shop and the extremely bulky coat one participant habitually wore. This is the stuff that usually gets left out, including reports of feeling completely knackered but extremely wired after late nights. The drawback is that they don’t do any deep research into the cases. A chapter is devoted to each location, there is a bit of background, the team describe what they did and anything odd that happened, then we move on to the next one. If the reader is looking for a survey of York ghosts, perhaps as a tourist guide, this is going to be a disappointment. However, there are plenty of those on the market. As a portrayal of what it is like to conduct a vigil this is a useful, if at times over-detailed, document that will hopefully encourage people to give it a go for themselves, rather than line the pockets of companies whose motive is profit, not the pursuit of psychical research, and who cannot be relied on for accurate information.
It is unclear why Kirkup’s band decided only to investigate ten sites, though one suspects it had something to do with that book contract, which gets mentioned a few times. This was not a formal ghost-hunting group – in fact they never even managed to come up with a name for themselves – but the dynamics seem to have worked well, and they clearly enjoyed what they did. That they found the experience satisfying is suggested by the hint of a sequel, set in a city even further north than York. It is doubtful whether descriptions of such vigils will ever provide evidence that would satisfy anybody who had not themselves been present, but while there’s a chance, why not?
Andrew Homer, co-author of one book about haunted pubs, Beer and Spirits: A Guide to Haunted Pubs in the Black Country and Surrounding Area, has produced another linking ghosts and alcohol, this time focusing on Shropshire. He is well known as an investigator for the Association for the Scientific Study of Claims of the Paranormal, (ASSAP’s President and First Lady Lionel and Patricia Fanthorpe contribute a foreword), and he has given talks at Fortean UnConvention and to the Ghost Club.
The introduction gives some general information about the folklore of the county, and the origins of inns, and Homer also makes the point that you are as likely to experience something paranormal as a customer as you are by participating in a commercial ghost hunt. It’s an excellent point: why not combine investigation with a good meal or drink, rather than pay a third party handsomely for the privilege of sitting in the dark waiting for something to happen?
Homer notes that ‘The Acton Arms’ at Moreville was called “England’s most frequently haunted pub” by Marc Alexander in his well-known Haunted Inns, though how you quantify these things I don’t know. The entries are the usual mix of folklore and anecdote, beyond confirmation but fun to read. In the one on the ‘Railwaymans Arms’ (sic) at Bridgnorth on the Severn Valley Railway preserved line, Homer suggests that ghosts could possibly be confused with people wearing period dress at themed events. The SVR boasts a ghost train, apparently less corporeal than the phoney one in Arnold Ridley’s classic play. Homer wonders if the witnesses were misled by a night-time train running during the SVR’s Autumn Steam Gala, but adds that the fact the apparition was silent undermines this theory.
The best-known case in the book is surely that of Wem town hall, and the famous ghost photograph taken by Tony O’Rahilly during the conflagration there in 1995. Homer, who knew and clearly liked him, nevertheless covers the discovery of the postcard in 2010 featuring an identical figure to that in the photograph of the fire, showing O’Rahilly’s photograph to be a hoax.
Haunted Hostelries of Shropshire is nicely produced, and well illustrated. It is divided into towns, with establishments listed under each, and an outline county map shows the locations of the towns, so the book is easy for the visitor to use. Shropshire is an attractive county full of attractive hostelries and those featured in Andrew Homer’s book would be worth dropping into even without the added value of a haunting, but having his book in hand will make a visit still more enjoyable. It complements Allan Scott-Davies’ 2010 History Press publication Haunted Shropshire.
Fortune Telling: Hearings before the Subcommittee on Judiciary of the Committee on the District of Columbia House of Representatives Sixty-Ninth Congress First Session on H.R. 8989, February 26, May 18, 20, and 21, 1926, Washington: Government Printing Office, 1926 (The “Houdini Hearings”).
On the face of it, the transcript of a subcommittee meeting stretched over several days in 1926 does not sound particularly interesting, but if Houdini is involved you can be sure it will be. The purpose of the Washington, D.C., subcommittee was to consider a bill to amend the law “relating to offenses against public policy” in the District of Columbia. This would outlaw the pretending of fortune telling for reward, the selling of charms, pretending to remove spells, obtaining property, and stating where lost or stolen good might be found. Anybody engaging in such acts would be considered a “disorderly person“. This would also include those who, in its quaint language, pretended to “unite the separated” (which might be construed to include mediumship). Fines could be swingeing – up to $250, up to six months in prison, or both.
New York Congressman Sol Bloom, presenting the bill, naively claimed that its wording was clear, and that there could be no debate on the meaning, a statement belied by the subsequent wrangles. Bloom, who had worked with Houdini to frame the bill, said that it was not aimed at Spiritualists; but fortune telling, the bill’s title, was broadly, and rather vaguely, linked in a New York precedent in the Criminal Code to “the ability to answer confidential questions from spiritual aid”, which meant that the hearings were effectively a trial of mediumship, and that is how the Spiritualists, and Houdini, construed them.
Houdini was present throughout the proceedings, having, as he reminded the gathering several times, come down from Chicago to support the bill at great financial cost. Used to taking centre stage, he acted at times like a member of the committee, much to the chagrin of the bill‘s opponents. Like Bloom, he stated that the bill was not an attack on Spiritualism as a religion – as long as it did not conflict with the law (in essence, as long as it was not a money-making scheme). What he objected to was mediumship, which was fraudulent in his opinion: “There are only two kinds of mediums, those who are mental degenerates and who ought to be under observation, and those who are deliberate cheats and frauds.” You were either mad or bad, with no middle ground. Those who believed them were “neurotics.” It was, he claimed, a fraud raking in millions of dollars a year, but ignored because it was considered a religion. Asked about the relevance to the bill, which related to fortune telling, Houdini argued that mediums were just clairvoyants (fortune tellers) using the label of mediumship to circumvent the law, none of whom was genuine.
Given this sort of provocative language, it was no surprise that sessions became heated. Much of the cross-examination revolved around forms of fortune telling, with Houdini attempting to hitch it to mediumship at every opportunity, while the Spiritualists countered by attempting to make the bill appear to be an attack on religion in general (the debate about the legitimacy of selling charms ended by discussing Roman Catholic medals, for example). Houdini came under fire himself for charging for entertainment, which, it was argued, was no different to a fortune teller charging for the same thing, and he was asked why having one‘s fortune told for a bit of fun should be criminalised. The National Spiritualists’ Association of America denied that there were any fortune tellers in its ranks anyway, and protested, with some justice, that the problem with the bill was that it did not distinguish clearly between fortune telling and mediumship. Spiritualists giving evidence insisted that the provisions of the bill were adequately covered by existing legislation, so that a new bill was unnecessary.
The issue of fraudulent mediumship was a central topic. The Spiritualists claimed to be as keen to root out fraud as Houdini was, but were unable to give a satisfactory answer to the question of how one could tell a genuine from a bogus medium, despite which they did concede that there were charlatans, as in any sphere of life. Ranging beyond the committee’s terms of reference, Houdini seemed to be as keen to settle scores with individual mediums as he did to pilot the bill, and in return he and his associates, notably Rose Mackenberg, who went undercover to investigate mediums, were the targets of a great deal of Spiritualistic animus. Mackenberg created an enormous stir when she alleged that she had been informed that a number of prominent Senators were interested in mediumship, as was President Coolidge, and that séances had been held at the White House itself (a charge denied by “friends of the Coolidges“).
Given a remarkable amount of latitude, Houdini, to show how frauds were conducted, demonstrated slate writing, the use of a trumpet, and a book test, and supplied a mediumistic message which the Spiritualists took as evidence that he was one of their number, despite his explanation of how he did it (he repeatedly had to deny that he possessed any mediumistic gifts). The sessions, sometimes entertaining, sometimes tedious, often somewhat obscure, were a bruising encounter between the Houdini camp and the Spiritualists, who proved that they could be less than spiritual when their livelihoods were threatened.
The transcript gives hints that the sessions were more than lively, with numerous appeals for order, the numbers of people speaking at once preventing a proper record from being made. At one point the chairman complains that he cannot see the witness because people are standing in the way. But it does not really give a flavour of the chaos on the second day captured in a New York Times article (19 May 1926):
“Scores of mediums and clairvoyants were in attendance to combat Houdini’s contention that all such persons were “fakes,” that there was no sound basis for spiritualism, and that the so-called messages from the dead were spurious and designed as a money-making scheme to defraud the credulous.
“Today’s session was unusually disorderly and came near winding up in a free-for-all fist fight. Cries of “liar!” “Fake!” and “Traducer!” were exchanged by Houdini and his assailants, and the din reached such a point that members of the committee demanded that the police be called ....
“The committee tried to restore order, but failed, and an adjournment was taken. The shouting continued as the witnesses and audience filed into the corridors of the House office building.”
Considering the circumstances, it would seem that the stenographer did a decent job recording proceedings. But given the suggestion that mediumship was carried out in high places in Washington, it is not surprising that the bill was unsuccessful, and Houdini‘s investment in time and money in vain.
It is a pity that the scanning is not quite as crisp as it could be, but this is an important historical document, and the Miracle Factory have done a valuable job in making it available. While not exactly a rattling yarn, it should be read by anyone with a serious interest in Houdini or in the debates around Spiritualism during that period. An introduction setting the context would have been useful, but in its absence, William Kalush and Larry Sloman devote part of a chapter to the hearings in their 2006 The Secret Life of Houdini: The Making of America’s First Superhero (pp.481-88) which helps to fill in the background to this peculiar episode in Houdini‘s career.
Handcuff Secrets, by Harry Houdini
Also from the Miracle Factory, this slim 1910 volume by Harry Houdini does pretty much what it says on the cover. It reveals the tricks used by, as Houdini derisively calls them, “Manacle Monarchs, Handcuff Kings, and Jail Breakers” (though not, he alleges, the “very deep intricacies” practised by himself). Houdini’s opinion of the competition is not high, and as is his wont, he takes the opportunity to settle a few scores with rivals along the way while exposing their methods.
His survey covers various types of handcuff, beginning with the British, the limited range of which presents the fewest challenges to the expert: all you have to do is secrete a duplicate key, et voilà, with a bound you are free. Anyone expecting subtlety might at this stage be feeling disappointed, but more elaborate tips on using prepared cuffs are given, and those typical of different countries displayed, including the startlingly-named “French Letter Cuff” (actually a combination lock using letters rather than numbers). As there is clearly only a limited amount to be said about handcuff-escape techniques, at least while avoiding the “very deep intricacies” of the subject, he strays off into an account of safe crackers and straightjacket escapes in a rambling narrative.
If the book were solely devoted to showing how clever Houdini was, it would restrict the readership, so he indicates that it is of service as a manual in order to allow readers to put on their own handcuff performances without too much preparation. The lengthy categorisation of types is of historical interest only, unless one is planning an escapology exhibition using antique ironmongery, but seeing him laying into the competition is always fun. Houdini was a lively writer, if an idiosyncratic stylist, and Handcuff Secrets gives an insight into his painstaking attention to detail, even if you are never quite convinced he is giving you the whole story.
Essex is an extremely varied county, ranging from the attractive to the … less attractive, and these two books, published by Amberley Publishing and The History Press respectively, delve into its often murky past. Both are well illustrated, though a significant proportion of the pictures in Haunted Southend are generic clip art images that add nothing to the local history ambience. Neither volume has an index.
Paranormal Essex is written by David Scanlan of the Hampshire Ghost Club (his involvement some way from his home turf is not explained) and Paul Robins of Essex Paranormal. It starts with advice on spontaneous case investigation, discussing equipment but not, as some groups do, fetishising it. Most of the forty location entries, listed alphabetically, are quite short, so this is a fairly brisk read despite the number of places included. More space is devoted to Borley Rectory and Matthew Hopkins, though even these entries are briefish, and tread well-worn ground. The most interesting sections are those detailing investigations by paranormal groups, such as at Coalhouse Fort, the Red Lion Hotel in Colchester, and the, er, Kelvedon Hatch Nuclear Bunker; or those containing witness statements. The blurb claims that the book explores “in depth, the complete range of paranormal phenomena reported throughout Essex.” But it is fair to say that it does not live up to that promise.
Unlike the authors of Paranormal Essex, Dee Gordon is not a paranormal investigator, but is a professional writer mainly specialising in Essex history. A Southend resident, she is well placed to write about its paranormal side, and has been assiduous in combing newspaper accounts and talking to locals. The book takes in a larger area than just Southend, covering places like Leigh-on-Sea, Westcliff and Shoeburyness as well as some of the local villages. While she has packed in a lot of locations, navigating her text is not made easy for the casual reader. The contents are divided into: haunted houses; churches and rectories; commercial buildings; open spaces; watering holes (ie pubs, hotels and restaurants); unlikely haunted locations (really a few cases hard to fit into the categories employed); and phantom dogs. Looking for a specific place requires some thumbing (the pier, for example falls under haunted houses), limiting its use as a guidebook. For the armchair reader, though, it is an enjoyable tour of the Southend area.
The History Press also publishes Paranormal Essex and Haunted Chelmsford, both by Jason Day, Haunted Essex, by Carmel King, and Essex Ghost Stories, by Robert Hallmann.
In discussing the implications of Near-Death Experiences (NDEs) for our understanding of consciousness and life after death, it is easy, while focusing on them as data, to forget about the individuals who experience them. Carolyn M. Matthews examined the NDE phenomenon, and more significantly, worked with survivors, while undertaking post-graduate work at Atlantic University, Virginia, USA, as a result of which she has developed a distance-learning course for those who have had an NDE.
Matthews begins by providing some figures which indicate that large numbers of people have had one; describing the features of an NDE; and sketching in the transpersonal characteristics, with survivors left more open to spiritual possibilities than before the event. She observes that the transformational aspects, which incline survivors to be open and caring, can make them targets for exploitation, leading in turn to depression. It can also be difficult for families to understand changes in personality, often causing friction and a rejection of the claimed event. Even those most expected to be understanding – health care professionals – may pathologise the narrative. Keeping silent, to avoid disbelief or the risk of a negative psychological assessment, can bring its own stresses.
The transcendental part can make “experiencers” reluctant to want to return to life, and disappointed to find themselves back among the living. It can also leave them with a sense of a mission to fulfil (the reason for the return), but sometimes an inchoate sense of what that mission is, and a difficulty in incorporating this new perspective into their lives. Failure at integration can lead to anxiety and a sense of purposelessness, and this creates social and personal difficulties.
In an effort to address these problems, the heart of the book is a course, a modified version of a successful pilot, which aims to provide validation of the NDE and enable experiencers to work out what this mission is and how to pursue it, with beneficial therapeutic consequences for the healing process and for their self-confidence. It is suitable for use by healthcare and other support professionals who may not know how best to provide meaningful assistance at what is a difficult time for the individual, and gives guidance on running such a course. The text of the revised version is available on a CD from the author.
The pilot was predicated on the assumption that, subconsciously, survivors know what their mission is, and this needs to be drawn out and made explicit, with an action plan for its implementation. The basic structure was a life-coaching course, but tailored to the specific requirements of the group It included self-expression, dream analysis and meditation. Students kept a journal, did exercises, and were able to communicate with each other via a private website. Attempting to verbalise a transcendental experience was frustrating for some, but the writing proved generally helpful in making sense of what had happened.
The assumption of the course is that these individuals had an experience that really took them to a different realm. However, it does not seem to be essential that a person using the material in a support role believe that, because the crucial component is the verbalising and integration of a life plan by the person who had the experience. There is a religious element to the presentation, but the content could be adapted if religious references were not felt to be appropriate. Even counsellors with doubts about the reality of the NDE will find the materials useful in assisting those individuals who have, or believe they have, undergone such a profoundly life-altering event.
Trevor Davey was born into a family of Spiritualists, has an extensive knowledge of mediumship and healing, and currently, with his wife Lucy, writes for the newspaper Psychic World. Beyond Reasonable Doubt is a handy and accessible primer for anyone new to Spiritualism who is interested in learning more about mediumship and spiritual development, whether as an interested observer, consumer, or potential medium. It is not doctrinaire and does not promote a particular viewpoint.
Davey has crammed a lot in, with a brief historical overview, biographical details of notable figures, organisations (though not, curiously, the College of Psychic Studies), and sources of further information. Different types of mediumship are explained and there is an A-Z of vocabulary, the multiplicity of which, often with variations in meaning for the same word, can be confusing to the newcomer.
The characteristics of a good medium are spelled out, whether working with large groups or in private. Methods of communication are explored, and what a sitter might find happening in a séance room. In passing there are brief comments on various other aspects of the paranormal, such as EVP and spirit photography, though they sometimes shade off into a description of New Age pursuits. The book concludes with advice on running a spiritual workshop.
This is not going to convince a sceptic, but it is a useful summary, whatever one’s attitude to the phenomena it addresses. While Spiritualist churches seem to be in decline, clairvoyance and mediumship are still reaching large numbers of people, through psychic fairs and the performances of star platform mediums, so there is a need for relevant information. Davey’s book is pro-Spiritualist, but he is not uncritical of some of its outgrowths, and the book will assist the novice in deciding what to try and what to avoid. There is plenty here to act as a stimulus for further investigation.
My major criticism is that it could have done with some proofreading as there are a number of typos that could have been easily corrected. Overall, though, given the low price, this will reach a wide audience, and whether one agrees that the Spirit Realm can be contacted or not, it constitutes a convenient overview of Spiritualist beliefs and the forms they currently take.
The publication of Haunted Girl is well timed as it marks the centenary of Esther Cox’s death on 8 November 1912, aged 52. The story of the mysterious events that befell her in 1878/9 has entered the canons of psychical research as a prime example of a hostile entity that makes its victim’s life a misery, Esther and her family being plagued for months on end and Esther herself suffering considerable pain and discomfort. Author Laurie Glenn Norris and local historian Barbara Thompson have delved deeply into the standard account to try to establish what really happened, to discuss what Esther was like, and to paint a picture of the life she led in the small community of Amherst, Nova Scotia, in the 1870s.
The setting was a crowded two-story cottage occupied by Esther, her sister Olive, Olive’s husband Daniel Teed, the Teeds’ two young sons Willie and George, Esther’s sister Jennie (with whom she shared a bed) and brother William, and Daniel’s brother John. Daniel was the foreman in a local shoe factory. Things began quietly, as they often do. One night Esther screamed and jumped out of bed, saying that there was a mouse under the bedclothes. Finding that there wasn’t, she and Jennie went back to sleep. However, the following night they saw a pasteboard box filled with fabric patches moving backwards and forwards, but on inspection they found it empty. The next night things escalated, with Esther crying out that she was dying. To Jennie’s horror, Esther’s body seemed to have swelled, her face red, eyes bulging and hair on end. Attracted by the commotion, the rest of the family rushed in to be met by loud booms that shook the house, while Esther’s body returned to normal.
Incidents followed at a furious pace. Bedclothes moved, pillows flew about, Esther experienced swelling and twitching of her limbs, her skin became red hot. She was attacked by needles and pins, was stabbed, cut, slapped and scratched. Rumblings and bangs were heard around the house. On several occasions a bucket of cold water on the kitchen table bubbled like boiling water, though it remained cool. Spikes placed on Esther’s lap became too hot to handle, then were thrown a considerable distance. Some events occurred when Esther was not in proximity, such as the occasion when three men entered the cellar and one received a blow to the forehead. The householders found that they were able to communicate using the by-then tried and tested mechanism of asking questions and receiving knocks in response. Famously, one evening as they watched Esther, family members heard a scratching sound and saw the words ““Esther Cox you are mine to kill” in large letters scored in the plaster.
Esther claimed that the entity was threatening to burn the house down. The family did not take the threat seriously until lighted matches began falling from out of the air onto her bed, and one of Esther’s dresses was rolled up, stuffed under her bed, and set on fire. Naturally there was suspicion that Esther, rather than a pyromaniacal ghost, was the arsonist, especially when the fires became more serious. On one occasion a fire in a bucket of cedar shavings in the basement nearly blazed out of control.
Not surprisingly, the goings-on attracted crowds of gawpers to the extent that the police had to restore order. Esther received widespread coverage in local and regional newspapers, becoming a celebrity. Sympathy for her plight was not unreserved, and opinions were divided on its cause. There was a feeling among some that electricity rather than the supernatural was at the heart of the matter, accounting for the sounds of thunder, while others thought that Esther was producing the events, and chastisement would bring a swift resolution.
Given the chaos centred around Esther she was occasionally sent away, which gave the family temporary relief until she returned. Unsurprisingly, even though Esther had been in Olive’s sight when the fire in the basement began, the landlord, concerned that his house would be destroyed, told the Teeds that Esther had to leave. She eventually went to work on a nearby farm where the activities continued, culminating in the barn burning down along with another owned by a local lawyer. Esther was found guilty of the theft of some clothes belonging to her employer (though not convicted of arson), spent a month in jail, and the phenomena ceased.
The second major character in the story was not a member of Esther’s family, nor even a resident of Amherst, but one Walter Hubbell, a jobbing actor who heard about the case and saw a way to make a fast buck. When a half-baked scheme to tour with Esther as an exhibit failed through audience hostility at the lack of anything occurring on stage (staring at Esther while Hubbell lectured proving insufficiently entertaining), Hubbell did the next best thing by boarding at the Teeds’ house and rushing out a best-selling book about her.
Hubbell’s book went through a number of expansions, and its popularity means that our perceptions of what happened at Amherst are filtered through his account. The first edition, published quickly in 1879, was called The Haunted House: A True Ghost Story, which gives an idea of how he wished to depict the story. The title page declares that it concerns “The young Girl who is possessed of Devils, and has become known throughout the entire Dominion as THE GREAT AMHERST MYSTERY. Of the three explanations that he says have been offered by experts, he thinks devils a more likely explanation than electricity or mesmerism.
His treatment of the two sisters is interesting. Jennie, whom he calls Jane, and mentions before Esther, is referred to as a “belle”, “quite a beauty”. He is less flattering about Esther, ”a queer girl”, effectively describes her as short and fat, and suggests that she is lazy, “self-willed” and “sulky”. Despite being a slim volume of fewer than 60 pages, the presentation is leisurely, with invented dialogue, and it is half over before we reach the Mystery. The overwhelming impression is of a rather dull lifestyle, ripe for the manufacture of a bit of excitement.
Hubbell expanded the book in 1888, altering the title to The Great Amherst Mystery: A True Narrative of the Supernatural. This was more workmanlike than its predecessor. He stresses that his theatrical experience has given him knowledge of effects and impostures, and he is not subject to hypnotic or mesmeric influences, just in case the reader wonders if Esther had pulled the wool over his eyes. He claims he went as a sceptic, and paints the Teeds as honest guileless rustics, in the depiction of whom he displays his bent for verse:
“A cosy cottage free from every strife,
Was home indeed with honest Daniel's wife.”
By cosy he means extremely cramped. He must have thought that his earlier depiction of Esther was too negative as he has removed the suggestion in his description that she is lazy; now she is “very fond of housework.” However, she is still 'homely' compared to Jennie. Despite the book’s increased length the personal details of the family are abbreviated compared to the 1879 edition. Their domestic situation still comes across as monotonous though.
Hubbell has changed his mind somewhat on the cause, devils giving way to an evil ghost. His theory is that there are parallel worlds inhabited by the living and the dead, each as material as the other to its own inhabitants, with “vital magnetism” on both sides, the escape of which into the atmosphere renders contact possible. The parallel existence suggests that we are as much ghosts to those in the other realm as they are to us. He has no doubt that the Amherst events were genuine; Esther’s system was in an “abnormal state”, hence her suffering.
“Abnormal state” because there was a possible sexual assault by a friend, Bob McNeill (spelled McNeal by Hubbell) just days before the phenomena began, when she went for a night-time buggy ride with Bob and returned home in a distressed state. Hubbell thought that Bob was the root because he was “obsessed”, his actions governed by an evil ghost which left him, transferred to Esther, created mayhem, then reattached to him permanently. Bob seems to have been a thoroughly unpleasant character, because Hubbell records that “he had a very cruel disposition, and when a boy, had been known to skin cats alive, and allow them to run about and suffer in that condition until death came to their relief.”
Hubbell’s book purports to be an intimate portrait of the Teed/Cox milieu, but at times he is betrayed by his prose: At one point Esther went to live at a neighbour’s, after claiming that she could see the ghost (though nobody else could). She declares in melodramatic tones (though this has surely been heightened for effect – there are slight differences between the 1879 and 1888 versions of her speech, neither quite what one might expect from a semi-literate teenager) that she has to leave the Teeds’ immediately:
‘“Look there! Look there! My God, it is the ghost! Don't you all see him, too? There he stands! See, his eyes are glaring; and he laughs, and says I must leave this house to-night, or he will kindle a fire in the loft under the roof and burn us all to death. Oh! what shall I do ? Where shall I go? The ground is covered with snow, and yet I must not remain here, for he will do what he threatens; he always does. If I were dead—” Then she fell to the floor, in an agony of grief and fear, weeping aloud for a moment, and then all was still.’ (1888)
The style was undoubtedly successful, because in 1916, after Esther’s death, Hubbell brought out a further expansion, the title page proclaiming it the tenth edition and the fifty-fifth thousand. This was the same text as the 1888 edition, padded out with correspondence and testimonies. Hubbell must have made quite a sum out of Esther, but Norris and Thompson describe her living in poverty in later life, taking in laundry, which suggests that she never saw any money from Hubbell’s best-seller.
There were two significant additions to the literature on Esther Cox prior to Norris and Thompson’s book. Hereward Carrington visited Esther in 1907 and included a chapter on her in his Personal Experiences in Spiritualism (1913). He was inclined to think that Esther was innocent of hoaxing as she was the chief sufferer, underestimating the lengths to which some individuals will go to in their efforts to be the centre of attention. He had a long conversation with Olive who stuck by Hubbell’s account, and Carrington found this convincing as well, on the grounds that the family would have been more likely to confess to a hoax as time passed, especially as Esther was then living in Massachusetts.
A further interpretation was provided by Walter Franklin Prince, who took a different tack. He published an article in the Proceedings of the American Society for Psychical Research in August 1919, ‘A Critical Study of the Great Amherst Mystery’, in which he reviewed the evidence. He was critical of Hubbell’s approach, particularly the vagueness of the witness accounts (with which verdict Norris and Thompson agree), and the elaboration of Hubbell’s original record in the various editions of his book. Prince concluded that Esther was responsible, not consciously but in a dissociated state as a result of her “psychological abnormality”, the shock of her traumatic experience with Bob having caused a secondary personality to split off.
What is one to make of all this? At the time opinion was divided between those who believed that Esther was the victim of a malevolent spirit and those who took it for granted that she was being wicked. Clearly hoaxing is a distinct possibility for much of what occurred. When she was away, or ill with diphtheria, the ghosts were quiet, and when she moved to a new place it took a couple of weeks for things to start up, perhaps, as Norris and Thompson suggest, while she got the lie of the land. In other instances we are forced to choose between a hoax by Esther, possibly in collaboration with Jennie and even some of the other siblings; or a paranormal explanation, albeit mixed with exaggeration and misperception in the telling.
Norris and Thompson concentrate on personality issues that make hoaxing more likely. They suggest that she suffered from an anxiety disorder. A close relationship between Esther and her grandmother, with whom she lived when she was small, gave way to a home in which her nephews were the focus and she was peripheral. Esther said that she had spoken to her dead mother while in trance, so perhaps she had issues to work through regarding bereavement and fear of abandonment. Her life was centred on unskilled chores in a crowded house, with step-siblings perhaps generating hormonal tension, and her relative unattractiveness compared to Jennie may have caused jealousy. A combination of such factors could have resulted in attention-seeking behaviour. Norris and Thompson note that when Esther discovered automatic writing, some of the sentences were “wicked” and ”profane”, the sort of thing a bored teenager might cook up to get a reaction.
Esther may have been acting out trauma resulting from sexual abuse, or alternatively from frustration. It is possibly not a coincidence that her sister Nellie married and moved out of the overcrowded Teed household only a few days before the events began. Some of the secondary literature assumes she was raped by Bob, though according to the account in Hubbell, he pulled a pistol on her but heard someone coming and took her home at a furious pace in the pouring rain. We only have Esther’s word for any of this though. Perhaps she consented, or he completed the deed by force, and she was ashamed, or he could have rebuffed her advances. The whole thing could have been a fiction.
To add to the Amherst Mystery’s significance, Norris and Thompson highlight the link between Amherst and Borley, as Lionel Foyster spent a couple of years as rector at Sackville, just a few miles from Amherst. Eric J. Dingwall, Kathleen M. Goldney, and Trevor H. Hall, in their important paper ‘The Haunting of Borley Rectory: A Critical Survey of the Evidence, Proceedings of the Society for Psychical Research, Volume 51, 1956 (pp.79-81), provide a table which lists nineteen points of comparison between Esther Cox and Marianne Foyster, as well as noting the use of ‘Teed’ as a pseudonym in Lionel’s manuscript ‘Fifteen Months in a Haunted House’.
Norris and Thompson have done psychical research a great service in their re-examination of the Amherst Mystery and its possible causes (though in reaching a verdict of hoaxing they do not consider the, admittedly unlikely, possibility of recurrent spontaneous psychokinesis, even though Esther would seem a typical poltergeist focus), and in supplying details on the family members, their complicated histories, and what happened to them afterwards. Haunted Girl puts Hubbell’s account(s) in perspective, and allows the reader to cast a fresh eye on this absorbing case.
Trevor Hamilton is best known as the biographer of Frederic Myers, a significant figure in the history of the Society for Psychical Research (Immortal Longings: F.W.H. Myers and the Victorian Search for Life after Death). This is a scholarly work with the impersonal approach implied by that term. Tell My Mother I’m Not Dead is very different in tone. It is a brave book in which Hamilton explores the evidence for the survival of bodily death following the loss of his son Ralph in a car crash in 2002.
The book splits neatly into two parts. The first talks about Ralph and the effect of his death on Trevor, his wife Anne, and Ralph’s brother, as they go through the grieving process. Embedded in these personal reflections Hamilton describes a series of ten visits to mediums, of varying quality, over a nine-year period, describing the experience, listing the statements, and subjecting these to close analysis. An appendix tabulates the statements, and in the best session the correct ones accounted for 90% of the total made.
During visits Hamilton was alert to issues of body language, fishing, cold reading, generalisations, even the law of large numbers, and factored these into his assessment. Along with the low incidence of errors, he found very few examples of a scattershot throwing-out of names and assertions in the hope that something would stick, and while some of the statements could apply to a large number of people (the Forer/Barnum Effect), many were precise in relating to his situation. The consistency of a number of the readings constitute, he feels, a kind of replication, so often elusive in paranormal research.
The second part opens out the discussion by assessing the evidence for survival of bodily death arising from his personal experiences, set it in the context of investigations of many kinds undertaken by researchers around the world. He draws on a wide range of sources, and the result is a fascinating case study which also acts as a useful summary of the current state of research. He finds much of value, but all too often underreported and ignored by the wider scientific community. The discussion is broken down into eight main headings, useful questions for anyone with an interest in the subject to consider:
1 How accurate was the information the medium provided and how much of it could have been obtained by prior research? (the latter of course is becoming an acute issue in the internet age)
2 What other explanations (apart from the paranormal) could there be for the provision of accurate information?
3 Can a sitter replicate phenomena across a number of mediums and does this support or weaken the survival hypothesis?
4 Are there any examples of high quality historical and contemporary performances by mediums, under acceptable conditions, that would support the survival hypothesis?
5 Are there converging lines of evidence from other sources that would support and corroborate the survival hypothesis?
6 Given positive results from the above lines of enquiry, does this necessarily mean that the source of the information is a discarnate personality?
7 Is it possible to identify those conditions which make for successful sittings and what are the implications of this for the guidance and training of sitters, mediums, and researchers?
8 What does evidence from mediumship tell us about the nature and experience of the ‘we’ that might survive, and are there any lessons we can draw from this as to how we should live our lives here and now?
Hamilton goes into all of these issues, and he spends some time examining the super-psi alternative (gaining knowledge by telepathy or clairvoyance) as an alternative explanation to the survival hypothesis. The book concludes with a useful glossary of terms and an extensive list of references.
He is fully aware that the death of a loved one can affect perceptions (the family occasionally thought that they could smell Ralph’s cigarette smoke at home, and an electric light behaved oddly; it would have been easy to read these as signs of Ralph’s presence). Obsessively visiting mediums can become an emotional crutch, and Hamilton is always careful to remain level-headed and not let his personal situation cloud his judgement. He is conscious of the pitfalls, the tricks mediums can use to persuade the sitter that the messages are genuine, and the danger of projecting meaning onto their utterances. He has had to navigate the twin dangers of being overly-sceptical and overly-credulous, and for anyone contemplating travelling the same route, there are valuable lessons here in how to go about it, and how to interpret what you are told.
It is clear from this overview that we need to know more about mediumship and its validity. Hamilton bemoans the small volume of scientifically rigorous research being conducted, and the paucity of funding available. The situation has improved somewhat in recent years and he hopes that resources can be found to enable research to proceed at a faster pace. This effort should be multi-disciplinary, he argues, encompassing scrutiny of the implications of altered states of consciousness, mediumship training to obtain the optimal conditions, and including other aspects of survival research such as Instrumental Transcommunication, near-death experiences, after death communications, and reincarnation.
Hamilton’s tentative conclusion from the strands he examines – the historical record (much of it accumulated by the SPR), the current state of play in psychical research, and his own interactions with mediums – is that while some are stronger than others, there is good evidence that the personality can survive the death of the body; though what form the afterlife might take is unclear. The book is very readable, aimed at a general, non-technical audience, a worthy addition to the studies analysing mental mediumship, its drawbacks and benefits. It is an absorbing discussion of what light can be thrown on the survival of the human personality following bodily death.
The title sounds like one of those programmes Channel 4 used to put on where you spent all evening counting down the titles reckoned to be the best of something according to a viewers’ poll. So, why these, rather than some other hundred ghost stories? No criteria are provided, other than that Gillian Bennett has collected them and rates them highly. Of course these things are subjective anyway, and every compiler of such an anthology would produce a different selection, albeit with some overlaps.
While favourites may be missing, this is still a pretty good hundred to introduce readers to the literature. Most are taken from printed collections, though Bennett does conclude with a few she collected orally in the early 1980s, nearly all of which appeared in a slightly different form in her 1999 academic study “Alas, Poor Ghost!” Traditions of Belief in Story and Discourse.
The organisation is different to that of the typical paranormal guide. Rather than being presented geographically, the stories are arranged chronologically in four parts, covering the seventeenth to the twentieth centuries, and are designed to be representative of their respective periods. Each century is prefaced by some remarks on its distinctive features, and on continuities.
The accounts range in length from a few lines to several pages, all with short introductions. Bennett is a member of the Folklore Society and former editor of its journal, so she has a good grasp of the wider context of the stories she presents, and is able to draw out motifs running across a number of seemingly independent accounts. Even though apparently anchored in a specific locale, the fact that similar stories often pop up in different places shows that they can migrate within an oral tradition.
If you thought that ghosts were timeless, the arrangement shows that they are not, or at least the way they are treated isn’t. Grouping allows the reader to gain a sense of how narratives reflect social and religious developments. The shortest entry in the book, taken from John Aubrey’s Miscellanies of 1696, is worth quoting in full to show how things have changed in three hundred years: “Anno 1670, not far from Cirencester, was an apparition: being demanded, whether a good spirit, or a bad? Returned no answer, but disappeared with a curious perfume and a most melodious twang.”
Not many ghosts these days seem to twang, melodiously or otherwise. On the other hand, there are continuities, for example the popularity in the nineteenth century of a form of ghost tourism, though more in the nature of flash mobs turning up at premises where they had heard there were ghosts, than the organised, and profitable, activity we know and love today. Poltergeists are as annoying as they ever were, and ghosts still return to complete unfinished business, reproach or comfort the living, or just stooge about for no apparent reason.
Bennett has produced an entertaining and useful collection which, assisted by the lengthy bibliography, will guide readers keen to know more to her sources. Despite the chronological organisation, a handy index of places means that the reader who wants to check on a particular location can find it with ease. Whatever one’s opinion of our haunted heritage, it is certainly varied, and behind this set of the hundred best British ghost stories is another hundred, and another, and another...