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Stories from the grave

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 15:00:34 GMT

Recently I posted some Commonwealth War Graves that I found whilst walking around Chelmsford cemetery, I say “found” but obviously they were not lost…I would have said stumbled across but even that would be inaccurate so found it is.

When you see war graves from the First World War in the UK you know that the person did not lose their life in the trenches, you may wonder how I know this? well, in March 1915, the British government banned the exhumation and repatriation of “Imperial” soldiers - originally the Commonwealth war graves commission was called the Imperial War graves commission. Whilst this move may seem harsh, the sheer number of deceased and also the health risk of trying to bring them back to the UK (or wherever they were from) was prohibitive, so the rule was upheld. It was not just for sanitary reasons however, there was also an element of equality as well. To put it in plain terms, the family of an officer were far more likely to be able to afford the costs of exhuming that body, and having it shipped safely back to his home, the next of kin of tommy's? Less able…and one of the things that the powers that be strove to drive home was that everyone was equal when it came to war.

Well, unless you were one of those senior commanders sitting in your ivory tower, miles behind the front line and very safe thank you very much.

I digress.

So, remember that if you see a WW1 war grave, it is virtually definite that they passed on home soil, that does not mean they did not see action, nor does it mean they were not injured abroad as they could have been given a “blighty pass” (the ticket home to be treated) but they left this world on this side of the channel.

On that note, the five WW1 graves I saw, what happened to them?

I was waiting slightly to write this as the cause of twelve deaths in Chelmsford in the 1915 period amongst soldiers was meningitis. Henry Edmondson was born in 1896, in the city of Bristol, he had joined the army at 16 and was a member of the South Midlands Field Ambulance service who in the early years of the war had been billeted in Chelmsford. He had been working as an orderly at Oaklands military hospital (the site of the Chelmsford museum now) and even though as a means to try and control the outbreak they had moved a lot of people away from that site, he was to contract the illness and die after around a week at the same hospital where he had originally been working. William Bruton from Worcester was also to lose his life from the condition, just two days before Henry on the 17 ^th February 1915 at the age of 17 – although his records say he was 19 so it may have been he exaggerated his age when he signed up.

The case of William Pilbrow, born in Northampton, he was also part of the South midlands division although this time the Howitzer brigade. This gunner was 19 when this happened to him, and by the looks of his records, he had been toying with the military since around 1911 when the census records show him as living in the Northamptonshire depot regiment building on Leicester Road. On the 10 ^th June 1915 he was being escorted to the Chelmsford & Essex Hospital on New London Road for an operation on a cut wrist, he had actually been detained by the military police so you do wonder what had happened to him. On the day in question he was told not to eat anything as he was going to be having a general anaesthetic so that his wrist could be operated on, but it seems that Gunner Pilbrow may have thought this a joke, and when he was coming round from the anaesthetic began to vomit partially digested food. There was a full inquest into who was at fault for this, and it was decided that William had been told on multiple occasions to not eat anything, but maybe they should have asked him before he was put under, it was still found that no medical staff were to blame.

The other sad story I will tell is that of Frederick Root, but you will have to wait for that one…

The Female Marine

Fri, 13 Feb 2026 13:21:25 GMT

How often - for those of you that do research – do you stumble across information that you are not intentionally looking for but is just too good to ignore?

That is indeed the case with the lady who I am going to talk about shortly, but I cannot do her amazing exploits justice in this short piece so please do read further if you find her as fascinating as me.

Whilst I was researching for a short video I placed on my social media accounts recently about the 19 ^th incarnation of the Bethlem Royal - I had to remove the post but will be redoing it - I noted the name of Hannah Snell, a woman who in 1791 was admitted to the Moorfields site of Bethlem (I so hate using the word Bedlam) and sadly died there, she was buried in the graveyard of the Royal Hospital at Chelsea, but why?

Sit back, grab a beverage and read on…

Born in Worcester in 1723, Hannah was the youngest of eight and a few months before her twenty first birthday she married a Dutch sailor by the name of James Summs. This was not a match made in heaven, Summs was a blatant womaniser, and after blowing through what money they had living a lifestyle well beyond his means, he abandoned Hannah whilst she was pregnant with their daughter.

Tragically Hannah was to lose her first child before they reached the age of twelve months, and she moved in with her sister in Wapping.

With no real ties to anywhere she decided to travel to Coventry and find out what had happened to her arsehole of a husband, when she discovered he had been executed for murder (could not have happened to a nicer person I think) a plan must have formed in her mind.

As a child she is said to have enjoyed “playing soldiers” and so she dressed in male clothing, assumed the identity of her brother in law James Gray and joined the 6 ^th Regiment of foot. According to the work “The Female Soldier” by Robert Walker, she excelled in training and nobody had any idea that was in fact a woman.

Why exactly her superior, one Sergeant Davis decided that “James” would be the best person to aid him in gaining the trust of a young local woman who he had his eye on, so concerned with what his plans were for the girl, James/Hannah befriended her, Davis - with a somewhat one track mind – came to the conclusion that his soldier and the woman he had wanted were lovers and had Hannah sentenced to six hundred lashes outside the walls of Carlisle Castle. She received “only” five hundred, but even then her true identity was not revealed.

After that, she did a runner from the army but instead of giving up on her military aspirations, she became a Royal Marine! To cut a quite long story short, she ended up fighting in the Siege of Pondicherry - having been transported there on the HMS Swallow – she was injured in a battle at Devicottah (now known as Theevukottai) which resulted in three months of recuperation, I say injured, according to her biography she was wounded twelve times. Even after being treated by regimental surgeons, her real identity remained secret.

Hannah eventually returned to the UK in June 1750 where she came clean to her shipmates

“ Why gentlemen, James Gray will cast off his skin like a snake and become a new creature. In a word, gentlemen, I am as much a woman as my mother ever was, and my real name is Hannah Snell”

Now this is something that I find amazing, but somewhat satisfying as her friends encouraged her to not only publish her exploits but also to apply for a military pension…which she did, with the Royal Hospital Chelsea granting her a lifetime annuity in November 1750

You may wonder what happened after that? It seems Hannah settled down, married twice, had children but the end was to come to her amazing life when in February 1792, having spent six months in the Royal Bethlem after a period of mental illness, she died.

Hannah Snell, the first ever female Royal Marine?

Mob Mentality

Mon, 02 Feb 2026 11:45:04 GMT

History has a tendency to repeat itself, antagonism towards certain groups of society can be seen through centuries of the past, and yes, it sadly is doomed to keep happening.

Take the Jewish massacre in York in 1190 for example.

Most people have either seen, visited or at least heard of Clifford’s Tower in the city. Originally constructed as a wooden keep by William the Conqueror (and therefore part of the castle), it was rebuilt in stone around 1245 or so but what happened to the original building?

In the Middle Ages, it was against the Christian religion to lend money for interest, the religious teachings saw “usury” as being a sin, it was throwing the concept of charity and helping thy neighbour into the bin. The addition of interest payments on the loan was basically profiteering from another person’s misfortune and kicking them in the proverbial teeth whilst they were down.

Not so in the Jewish faith, which meant that many became money lenders to Barons and other nobles who were desperate for funds to build their castles and such like. Those nobles included King Richard I who was in 1190, about to embark on another of his heavily leveraged crusades. As we have seen in more modern times, it is not difficult to incite unrest amongst crowds, especially when it is using a religion or way of life which they do not understand.

Feeling this unease and being guaranteed royal protection, many of the Jews of York asked for help, and were granted cover in the timber tower that we know now as Clifford’s. Rumours had spread that the King had ordered a massacre of the Jewish population – not true, he actually defended them, as evidenced in London the year before– which would have been terrifying to those trying to live peacefully.

Trust broke down between the Jewish community in the tower and the keeper, and when he left to run errands, they locked him out and refused his re-entry, barricading themselves inside and trying to fight off the ensuing hoard. The Chronicler of the time, William of Newburgh states in his work “Historia Rerum Anglicarum” that “ Nevertheless, they kept off the besiegers with stones alone, which they pulled out of the wall in the interior. The castle was actively besieged for several days; and at length engines were got ready and brought up”

The Rabbi realised that the likelihood of them getting out unscathed was not probable, and made the request for the man of the family to kill his spouse and children, and then take his own life. The estimate is around one hundred and fifty perished, but that was not the end of it as some of the survivors set fire to their belongings which caused the wooden structure to catch light. Terrified of being burned alive, they begged to be allowed to leave peacefully if they promised to convert to Christianity. Again, William of Newburgh talks about this in his historical accounts and mentions Richard Malbeste who – “a most daring fellow, were unmoved by pity for these miserable wretches. They deceitfully addressed kind words to them, and promised the favour they hoped, under the testimony of their faith, in order that they might not fear to come forth; but, as soon as they came out, those cruel swordsmen seized them as enemies, and slaughtered them in the midst of their continual cries for the baptism of Christ”.

To finish it off completely, the mob made their way to the Catholic cathedral and burned every record of Jewish lending - which had been deposited there for safe keeping – to release all from their debts.

You may wonder how Richard the Lionheart viewed this? he was incensed, and sent his chancellor, the Bishop of Ely to York to punish the perpetrators. Possibly knowing that they would be incurring the wrath of the King, many of the leaders had done a runner to Scotland, so in the end financial punishments were imposed on the families, the amount dependent upon their personal fortunes.

Nobody was ever tried for the murder of this, but that mound that the current tower sits on must be holding awful secrets from this tragic event.

The art of Social Media...and death rays

Fri, 09 Jan 2026 12:51:50 GMT

My goal with most of my short posts on the various social media sites is to get people thinking, get those who think it looks interesting to investigate and research further, but recently I fell afoul of the participants who want to be spoon fed everything – either that or confuse my thirty second highlights to be akin to full blown hundred thousand word doctoral thesis.

I had read about the events in Tunguska on the morning of 30 ^th June 1908 and decided to put a short piece together about it. By short I mean, a burst, literally…about one hundred words and a thirty second video, I know I talk fast but even I cannot cover every single possibility in that so I had to cherry pick the most likely reasons – and include Aliens because why not?

So, I look at the comments and see one word…Tesla. Ok cryptic, does the person mean the electric car or the amazing inventor who ironically I had mentioned in a podcast only recently. When I question this person further I get told that I should have mentioned Nikola Tesla with regards to Tunguska as if I had done my research thoroughly I would have known.

Rude.

For those of you who enjoy reading and watching posts put together by people like me thank you, and of course I am always more than happy to learn about a subject as I do not profess to be an expert in any way on everything but there are ways to do it. When putting information together quite frequently one has to decide what is going in and what is staying out, with a situation like Tunguska there were other possibilities and the potential death ray created by Tesla was one. I had chosen to exclude it because I thought an alien spaceship exploding was actually more probable than someone creating a ray which could reach from Long Island to a remote area of Russia without actually destroying anything else in its path.

I think Tesla was amazing and light years ahead of his time with his theories, but we know he was working on wireless energy transmission in 1908, his Wardenclyffe tower. All the programmes I have watched, the articles I have read (a couple of which are linked below) look at this invention as something to transmit globally wireless communications (and subsequently energy). We also know that the brilliant inventor was working on weapons with his telautomaton (wireless torpedos), and that he believed

“Tesla said his transmitter could produce 100 million volts of pressure and currents up to 1000 amperes, with experimental power levels of billion or tens of billions of watts. If that amount of power were released in "an incomparably small interval of time," the energy would be equal to the explosion of millions of tons of TNT, that is, a multi-megaton explosion. Such a transmitter would be capable of projecting the force of a nuclear warhead by radio. Any location in the world could be vaporized at the speed of light." (taken from Frank Germano at http://www.frank.germano.com/tunguska.htm ) - I do want to stress that I could not find the original source for this passage as the website is no longer active (PGM)

When the actual website dedicated to Tesla thinks its in the realms of ridiculousness that his tower at Long Island could have been the cause of the explosion, then I believe them. Granted I am not a scientist and even have to google some of the terminology to put it into “doesn’t have a scooby” type language, the probability that a weapon that powerful could have been created in 1908 is somewhat hysterical.

To stress my point, according to various sites it was not until 1934 that Tesla started talking about death rays, in actual fact he called it a death beam as he said “I want to state explicitly that this invention of mine does not contemplate the use of any so-called " death rays." Rays are not applicable because they cannot be produced in requisite quantities and diminish rapidly in intensity with distance. All the energy of New York City (approximately two million horsepower) transformed into rays and projected twenty miles, could not kill a human being, because, according to a well known law of physics, it would disperse to such an extent as to be ineffectual” ( https://www.pbs.org/tesla/res/res_art11.html )

When I posted on my private profiles how annoyed I was at the “do your research” type comment, a good friend (who shall remain nameless) who does a role very similar to mine said she frequently got “you didn’t mention xyz…” and gave up explaining that even in a thirty minute video you cannot always cover the entire history of something.

So, firstly no I did not mention Tesla because I thought it was grasping at conspiratorial straws and I thought the three other possibilities were more viable (based on the scientific reports I had read), can I cover every single variation of theory in a thirty second video? Nope but do I appreciate a private message saying “have you read about….” Rather than a snarky “do your research” type post? hell yes.

https://teslasciencecenter.org/history/tower/

https://www.teslasociety.com/tunguska.htm

One night in a prison

Fri, 02 Jan 2026 12:15:59 GMT

“Fancy spending some time in a prison Penny? Promise we will let you leave in the end” well if that is the case it would be mighty rude of me to say no would it not?

So, on a very cold night in December, just before Christmas, I am being driven by the lovely Chris to Ashwell prison in Rutland (second smallest “county” in England I will have you know…) , accompanied by my ever loyal son, Helen and Emily, we were off on an adventure.

We were going to be joining my awesome Haunted Happenings friends on an investigation of the site, I had come well prepared with my staple Haribo and also so many layers of clothes I felt like one of those old 1970’s toys the Weeble’s, I could not put my arms down by my sides and was walking in a wide legged stance, when I sat on the floor bending forwards (which I can normally do with ease) was impossible, made me laugh anyway.

Plot spoiler, even with all my thermals, fleece lined tights etc I was still absolutely freezing, but I guess we do not do this for comfort.

There are three buildings that you can investigate on this site, E, F and G wing. Whilst the main prison built in 1955 was a lot larger, it was originally a category D facility which meant dormitory style blocks as opposed to individual cells. In 1987 it was re-categorised as a C, and the accommodation was changed slightly. One of the alterations implemented was the erection of a seventeen foot high security fence that year, the powers that be stated that it was absolutely nothing to do with the sixty or so prisoners who had escaped in the past year and everything to do with the category changing. It was also nothing to do with the fact that many of the higher security prisons were overcrowded and that Ashwell was under capacity…am I a cynic? Yes I think I may be.

Anyway, whatever the true reasons were, problems did start to happen, a small group of prisoners caused £10,000 worth of damage to computers and office equipment in 2003, but in April 2009 there was a major riot. At around 2am on the morning of Saturday 11 ^th , the inmates started causing trouble, it is said that it was triggered by a 22yr old prisoner who refused to go back to his room. Much of the older block (the non- cellular part) was seriously damaged, and many of the four hundred or so occupants of that part had to be moved to other prisons whilst the Home secretary decided whether to fund the repairs or not.

Before it was a prison, the site had been used by the US Army for a short while to train parachutists, ostensibly to replace those lost during the D Day landings, it was there from June 1944 to October of the same year. The Army having also been using nearby RAF Cottesmore from September 1943.

What sort of experiences did we have whilst there? My son and I based ourselves in block E, the “cross” shaped building on the map. It still had some original cells as most have been altered to allow for the airsoft brigade who use the site on a regular basis, and we both felt that it had the best energy for us.

Quite early on we were hearing noises in the cells, the wooden beds creaking as though someone was either turning or sitting on them, plus whilst stood outside in the corridor we saw the light coming through the window slightly obscured, had someone walked past it?

It still did not feel ominous or that it wished us any harm whatsoever, in fact whatever was interacting with us had a cracking – if not slightly perverted – sense of humour as when I asked what they were doing for Christmas it replied with ;

“myself”

Now those of a nervous disposition who do not have a dirty sense of humour might be shocked, but I am neither and it made me absolutely cackle with laughter.

That is not to say it was all fun and games, on a subsequent visit to the same floor where we had been having a good laugh with the spirits, something slightly darker had decided to pay a visit. Whilst my son is getting pretty experienced at what he does, I am still protective over him and when I could see that something was trying to unduly influence him (I posed the question, and he gave the most guttural grunt I have ever heard) angry Mumma bear stepped in and pulled him out of the situation. We went back down to the base room and he said that he could still feel the negativity and he did not like it one bit. I may have let rip slightly at this entity and told it to quite simply f**k off back to where it had come from. Now you may think that my dropping f bombs were just me being me, and yes it was to an extent, but it had also used that word to me when I was trying to communicate so I figured it was language it would understand.

I then gave my son my obsidian necklace to wear, he told me the next day that as he was doing it up, he felt something tugging at it as though to remove it.

Mother and son 1, nasty arsehole of a spirit 0

The experience finished with those remaining (around ten or so) doing some Estes work, that was quite productive and gave some interesting results – including me saying my name and then ready when Michael the team leader asked the spirit to say who had the headphones on. I love it when that happens.

There are plenty of groups who visit Ashwell Prison, and whilst it has not the incarceration history of somewhere like Shepton Mallet, it definitely still has resident prisoners who want to interact.

Check out www.hauntedhappenings.co.uk for more info.

Way of the warrior

Wed, 31 Dec 2025 14:22:03 GMT

Book review

Any information I have on the Samurai is probably limited to what I have seen on the big screen, films like 47 Ronin, the Last Samurai and even Shogun (by James Clavell) so I was not sure what to expect when asked to read this new book by Dr Stephen Turnbull, “Samurai – the Japanese Warriors Manual”

The first chapter starts by introducing us to the writer of the piece, Umatawari Bogyu (1549-1615) who by using his vast knowledge of all things Samurai had written a guide to the ways of the military and this was translated into English for us all to read. When you consider that the Samurai period is meant to have covered from the late 12 ^th century into the mid 1800’s, that is a lot of information to incorporate.

It is written in a very authoritative by conversely subservient way, So Bogyu is telling us how to behave if we want to understand their ways, but also constantly paying homage to the ruling classes

“As noted above by His Most Excellent Highness, we are indeed living in an age of peace and plenty…”

You quite quickly realise that there was a deep hatred of guns “…for a true Samurai to fire a gun would be an act of unspeakable vulgarity” page 19

A distrust of foreigners, but maintaining a face of tolerance if possible “…you may well meet a foreigner during the course of your duties, please do not be alarmed, most are perfectly harmless” page 29

In fact, Bogyu does go on to say that if a drunken Englishman insults you on the streets that cutting his head off is not the correct course of action, and ignoring him and thanking the Gods you are Japanese is the preferred mode. Not so for if one of your ladies in waiting breaks wind at a tea ceremony, that would result in a beheading.

Tea ceremonies carry a whole list of dos and don’ts, the fact it includes the word ceremony is a dead giveaway to how much importance is placed on it, more than just chucking a tea bag in a mug and asking whether you want sugar or not.

My rudimentary knowledge of the Samurai was aware that they placed just as much importance on the cultured aspect of the role as the deadly side, although to find out the sport of football was classed as one of these pursuits was a surprise, even more so that there is a three headed God of football called Mari no Kami who would protect those playing the game.

For those looking for the more gory and less peaceful side of these warriors, that is there in abundance with weaponry, battle strategy, and even fourteen “interesting ways” to unalive yourself, one of these being seppuku.

The book whilst not a history piece in the truest sense, does educate you on that subject in a different way which I am all for as reading dusty academic works is not for everyone.

Did I enjoy it? yes, but I did start to find the language a bit grating as in all likelihood I would probably have been too sarcastic and critical to ever succeed in that world and would have lost my head before even reaching puberty.

Now here’s the spoiler, the scribe Bogyu is fictional, Turnbull invented him to be the figurehead of the book and based him on real life advisers to the Tokugawa Shoguns, but this does not detract from the enjoyment whatsoever and actually made me more impressed with Turnbull’s work.

I will leave it with a quote I quite like from a very well-known Japanese swordsman who is mentioned in the book.

Think highly of yourself and deeply of the world – Miyamoto Musashi

Samurai – The Japanese Warrior’s Manual by Stephen Turnbull available January 2026

It's just Bill...

Tue, 09 Dec 2025 12:00:46 GMT

I am always on the look out for an interesting story to share with you all, and once I decide on a theme, old newspapers are frequently a good place to start – and this is one of those such discoveries.

As many of you know, I am a total sucker for early 20 ^th century aviation, but sadly a large number of the accounts do not have a happy ending to them but that does not mean we should not share them I feel.

The Hartlepool Northern Daily Mail on the 28 ^th June 1957 reported that multiple people had seen a ghost on the Middleton St George RAF base and they firmly believed it was a pilot known as Squadron Leader McMullen.

So, my research started…

Middleton St George was predominantly a bomber base during the second World War, home to a variety of aircraft including Wellingtons, Lancasters and Halifax’s, pretty much the who’s who of WW2 heavy bombers, and knowing as we do the amount of fatalities that these crews were met with it is perhaps not surprising that such a large number seem to want to haunt their airfield.

What of McMullen? Well, there is a clue as nearby is a street named McMullen Road, was this in homage to our supposed apparition?

Yes is the answer.

On the 13 ^th January 1945, Pilot Officer William McMullen of the Royal Canadian Airforce took off in his AVRO Lancaster KB793 from Middleton on a night cross country training exercise with a crew of seven in total. The take off was normal, as was the resulting three hour flight, but as the pilot started his descent from around ten thousand feet they noticed sparks coming out of the port outer engine (Lancasters had four engines in total). Despite turning the engine off, and feathering the prop to reduce drag, the pilot gave the order to bail out but he stayed in the aircraft to try and steer it away from the densely populated area of Darlington.

His actions meant that by the time he was clear of the area and over Lingfield Farm, it was too late for him to escape and he died as the Lancaster crashed. He had started his flying on the 22 ^nd December 1941, achieving his “wings” on 6 ^th November 1942 and was in his early 30’s when he lost his life.

Could it be Bill that is seen walking the runways and looking at the civilian aircraft that Middleton is now home to? I have no idea, but it is somewhat interesting that the unit he belonged to, the 428 was also known as the “ghost” squadron…

Graveyards - a review

Wed, 01 Oct 2025 16:51:00 GMT

One of the coolest things that has happened since I have started to make a “name” for myself is that every so often I am asked to review a new tome that is coming out. For someone who is a self-confessed book worm, the opportunity to read pieces of work and comment on them is a dream quite literally come true. As a historian and a paranormal investigator, when the publisher Thames & Hudson asked me if I would like to read an advance copy of Professor Roger Luckhurst’s new book “Graveyards, a history of living with the dead” I positively jumped at the chance.

I mentioned to my good friend Dr Kate Cherrell of Burials and Beyond that I was reading this and she was green with envy; she is the Queen of all thing’s death after all.

Plot Spoiler, there was nothing I did not enjoy about this book so if you expect me to offer criticism, there is none, I have nothing but praise for this work.

One of the early pieces of knowledge that Luckhurst gives us is that of Arnold van Gemep’s suggested three stage structure to all rites of passage, that being Separation, transition and incorporation. I am not going to explain what those mean, you can read the book and find out, but I do think that correlated nicely with the fact the work itself is split into three large sections, those being The Origins of Burial, Death and Faith and The Numberless Dead.

What the author takes us on is not just a chronological but also an international journey through the different methods of dealing with the deceased, ranging from the obvious burial, cremation, mummification and even cannibalism.

For those with an interest in the slightly folklore aspect and spooky, there is something there for you too. I was very pleased to see the legend of Timur (also known as Tamerlane) mentioned as this is one that has fascinated me for years.

There is some very evocative writing as well that helps you visualise the incident such as when he is discussing what the bigger cities were going to do about their literally overflowing graveyards and this description of an event in Paris in relation to the Holy Innocents’ cemetery

“…burst with the sodden weight of the dead. It released into the neighbouring streets a tsunami of bones and corpse wax - adipocere, the fat from human bodies. Nearby houses were inundated; some collapsed.”

I mean pretty gruesome but it paints a very vivid picture of the problem that officials had, too many rotting bodies and not enough space.

What I genuinely love about this book is that Luckhurst does not stay on one subject for too long and gives you just enough information to whet your appetite but leaves it up to you if you wish to do a deeper dive into that particular nugget or not. I find with some more academic driven pieces of work that they can labour on a specific point for far too long and you lose interest, not in this case.

And for those who do not want to read too much, the pictures are pretty interesting too…

The murder

Tue, 05 Aug 2025 14:11:42 GMT

I have always been fascinated by killers, but not because I get a kick out of reading what they do, whilst I am not bothered by blood and gore, I am not interested in their methods of murder. What I truly find absolutely intriguing is the “why”, not just that, it is the lack of accountability in so many killers minds, the amount that blame either society or their victim for their crime.

This case dates back to 1885, and it is not one that is well documented online, it is just a sad case of domestic violence with a fatal ending, but it is the lack of any kind of empathy for the woman he took the life of that has surprised me.

There was something else that really bothered me about this whole case, none of the newspaper articles mentioned the name of the deceased, just called her “the wife”.

39 year old Owen McGill was living in a small tied cottage in Landican near Woodchurch (Cheshire) whilst he worked on a farm owned by Mr Ziegler, and carried out his tasks as both a waggoner and a farm labourer. On the 31 ^st October 1885, he had been on a trip to nearby Birkenhead and for some reason when he returned he got into an argument with some of the other labourers. His wife Mary came out to try and defuse the row and berated him in front of the others for starting such a pointless disagreement – or at least this is what witnesses reported to the police subsequently. That night his neighbours said they heard sounds of a woman shrieking and groaning in what they thought might be pain but they were too scared to get involved.

What they had been privy to was Owen punching and kicking his wife Mary to death, in fact in the morning he cleaned up her body, and dressed her in clean white clothes. He then travelled into Birkenhead and called on a female married cousin of his, and asked her to return to Landican with him as he was concerned that his wife was unwell. One can but imagine what his relative thought they were going to encounter but the beaten corpse of his late wife was not one of them and his then employer was called who promptly arrested McGill for murder.

Even at this point he had excuses, she had fallen out of his cart when she was inebriated so nothing to do with him, it had not been his fault as he was drunk and she knew he had a temper when alcohol was involved and that he had only struck her “once”, he finally admitted that it had rankled him that she thought her place was to tell him how to behave and found himself unable to stop the barrage of blows. Interestingly he had no family in England, but his parents and brother in county Louth Ireland refused to show him sympathy and alluded to the fact he had always used his fists with his wife and that he had treated her incredibly poorly.

He spent the time from the murder until his execution on 22 ^nd February 1886 in Knutsford Gaol, and even there had not seemed to learned any lessons in humility and control being described as “low animal type and of ungovernable temper” having complained about the quality of the food in prison, demanding tobacco and finding his sentence amusing.

Shortly before he was hanged, he did seem to suddenly realise that it was not one big joke and started to show that he accepted the penalty he had brought upon himself, but no, he still didn’t show any remorse or self-awareness and started to blame the neighbours for not intervening when he was beating his wife Mary to death.

So, was there a “why” here? Probably not a logical one other than McGill had a problem with his temper and drink, and the combination of the two proved to be lethal for his wife Mary. Did he ever take true accountability for his crime? Reading his comments I genuinely do not think he ever did, he may have accepted what was going to happen shortly before he fell those five feet but he still blamed others for not having stopped him committing his crime in the mere moments before the handle was pulled.

Ghosts and Science Teachers

Mon, 16 Jun 2025 10:17:27 GMT

Whilst trawling through newspaper articles from bygone times, looking for something that might interest me enough to spend a few hours – yes, it really does amuse me for that long – researching I stumbled across one headed up “stranger than fiction”, written by John Macklin and purported to be about a science master, Edward King, who in 1932 was working at University College School London – technically speaking it is actually in Hampstead but we will let that one slide.

To caveat everything I am going to say, there is no where in this article does it state it is fiction, although then again it does not say it is fact either, but as it is entitled “Stranger than fiction” I would take it that we the reader are expected to believe it is true. The publication date is the 7 ^th October 1971, so is it an early Halloween spooky story? That I do not know, but I am going to tell you about it anyway.

The author of this article talked about the fact that the school building was believed to be haunted back then, and the very stoic and scientifically minded King wanted to prove that all the weird noises that his colleagues (and pupils) heard in the corridors, the feelings of being shoved when in the cellars all had a very rational explanation and that he was determined to find them. One cold winters night in 1932 apparently – very ambiguous, always a huge red flag when it comes to accounts – Edward was in his study at the school marking papers, when suddenly he felt a severe temperature drop and an innate feeling of not being alone. Now those of us who have a penchant for ghost bothering can certainly identify with this, but it is not a flawless confirmation of a paranormal experience as we all know. Shortly after this he saw his papers start to move and get hurled across the room, at the same time a noise in the corridor outside which to King sounded like a flock of birds were flying at speed along the passageway.

You will not be surprised to know that when he ventured out there – something as a person with a fear of birds, I would not have done – there was nothing…quite bemused he took himself to bed. The next morning, he went to his lecture room and found every single book thrown on the floor, was that the flapping noise he had heard?

Being of the more pragmatic sort, King decided to find out who or “what” could have been causing this chaos, and decided it had to be Jeremy Bentham, the famous philosopher, jurist, social reformer and for many historians, the name inexorably linked with panoptical designed prisons. Why would this pioneer be haunting a school? King’s theory was that as Bentham had wanted his body to be donated to science that he was angry it had been mummified and then displayed at University College London – the further educational facility that was associated with the school.

All this may very well be true, and Macklin was an author of true “ghostly” tales and published many books in the 1960’s and 1970’s on this very subject, however I have many buts with this account.

Firstly, Bentham’s wishes were followed as best as they could, his body was dissected and then mummified with his head and skeleton on display – this was what his Last Will and Testament had requested. It is still viewable at UCL; however, the actual head is now locked away as the initial preservation was so poor that it started to look like a horrific caricature of the man rather than a homage to his achievements.

Secondly, I can find no other accounts of hauntings and this type of poltergeist activity at the school documented online – if you know of any, please shoot it my way.

And thirdly, I have found a few Edward Kings who were teachers in the London area in 1932, but they are all listed as elementary school teachers and not science masters, plus two of them were married in the 1921 census and to live on site, most teachers were single.

One thing does interest me however, and may answer why nothing else at this level has been heard or seen, but could possibly be in about seven years’ time…Bentham died in 1832, this account is 1932 (although not the same time of year, Bentham passed in the June) so does that mean in 2032 the school may see some phenomenal activity when Jeremy himself - if it is Jeremy – comes back to make his presence felt?

R-101

Tue, 06 May 2025 11:18:22 GMT

I have never really fancied a flight on an airship, the thought of being supported by what is in effect a giant balloon has not got the same appeal as fixed or even rotary winged aircraft. Whilst I am fully aware that aircraft can go down regardless of how well built they are, the thought of being reliant upon an inflated piece of fabric is not one I want to explore.

However back in the 1920’s society felt very different.

The fact that this particular horrific crash is so well known, that not only has it featured in an episode of Dr Who, it has also had a song written about it by Iron Maiden.

Let us go back first to where this airship was “born”, RAF Cardington near Bedford was originally built in 1915 to build and house two airships, R-31 and R-32, they were to be used by the Royal Navy as fleet protection but due to their completion being literally months before the end of the great war, they were never used.

The site was then nationalised in 1919 and became known as Royal Airship works, five years later commencement of the R-101 project saw the hangar (which was already seven hundred foot long) being extended by over thirty feet in height and another one hundred foot in length. When you look at those measurements you can picture how huge this airship was going to be, once it was finished the R-101 (part of a pair of long distance dirigibles capable of flying within the British Empire) was huge, and the largest flying craft in operation at over seven hundred and thirty feet in length.

After a year of testing, the length of the aircraft was increased by nearly fifty foot as it was decided more gas “bags” were needed to provide more lift…interesting Nevil Shute Norway - probably better known as author Nevil Shute – worked on the project and he said in his 1950’s biography that he felt the R-101 was” extravagant and over ambitious”.

On the evening of the 4 ^th October 1930, R-101 took off from Cardington airfield on the start of her journey to Karachi, via Egypt (for a refuel). There were fifty four people on board, of those thirty seven were crew and then various officers and officials, the commander was Flight Lieutenant Carmichael Irwin, an incredibly experienced airship pilot who had joined the Royal Navy in 1915 and had returned to the programme in 1929 after working on balloons for a short period of time.

When only twenty miles or so from Cardington they started to experience engine problems, having shut this one down they began to replace the oil gauge but did not report this back to control. Once they were over France, and there had been a change of those officers on duty, things started to go wrong. The airship dived, and whilst it recovered slightly, the pilot then in control reported that it was “flying heavy”, this meant she was relying on the lift from the forward thrust of the engines to keep her in the air as opposed to the gas which was meant to make her float…she went into a second dive around two and a half miles from Beauvais, from which she hit the ground and burst into flames, ultimately killing forty eight of her fifty four passengers.

Most stories I have read about R-101 focus on the fact that the hangars at Cardington are reported to be haunted by some of the airmen who lost their lives that day, but I am going to mention what happened about three weeks after the disaster when psychic medium Eileen Garratt was conducting a reading at the National Laboratory of Psychical Research – whether you think that what she did was total hooey or actually there is validity in it, that is up to you.

She is said to have made contact with Irwin, the commander of the airship, and the facts that she recorded were passed onto the inquest team but were deemed irrelevant as they could not accept information from a dead person. You can read the full transcript of what was said in John G Fuller’s book “The airmen who would not die” but to give you a little taster…

“She was too heavy by several tons, and too amateurish in construction”

“The gas skins are too porous and not strong enough”

“One of the struts collapsed and caused a tear in the cover”

All of these could have caused the problems they encountered, would Eileen Garratt really have been such an amazing “con woman” that she could have known that the tear in the nose cover would have caused the first dive, which would have damaged it further to give way to the second unrecoverable dive which took their lives?

Makes you wonder.

The workhouse and you

Wed, 18 Dec 2024 10:38:52 GMT

Please sir, can I have some more...sources

Recently, a friend of mine, the Don’t scare Claire you tube channel released a video on the Thackray Museum of Medicine in Leeds (link here if you would like to watch it https://youtu.be/CrpD0j6JcYY?si=hc7sfrwYwa7tgD42 ) and it shocked many people that it had been the infirmary part of Leeds Poor Union Workhouse. The face of the show (funnily enough called Claire) had recently attended a talk I gave on a potted history of the Poor Union and it had made her want to learn more about the realities of the workhouse and whether it was the pits of hell or not.

Most people in the comments have been appreciative of the light that has been shone on the history, but some have accused anyone not condemning it as being right wing, or telling us that the writer Charles Dickens would have known more about it than we possibly could.

I thought that as the pen is mightier than the sword (Edward Bulwer Lytton 1839), I would put a short article together about this very subject.

Regarding Dickens, most people know that whilst I agree he could tell a ripping yarn, I am not a fan, and whether that makes me a bad historian is up for debate. The novel that tends to be cited when talking anything workhouse is Oliver Twist, and understandably so, but there are reasons I argue so vehemently against using that as a definitive type of historical evidence.

The Poor Law Amendment Act in 1834 was introduced with three primary goals in mind, reducing the cost of looking after the poor, taking beggars off the streets and encouraging those on the lower income end of the scale to work hard to avoid needing to ask for help. I guess those may seem like very conservative type actions, and could be said that the haves did not want to share with the have nots but up until this point, it was the responsibility of each Parish to care for their poor and that meant funds raised within said Parish as well. At this point, there are around fifteen thousand parishes in England and Wales, some with their own building that was allocated as a Parish workhouse, however during the collation of data to return to parliament “Abstracts of the returns made by the overseers of the poor” in 1776 ( https://workhouses.org.uk/parishes/ ) it was reported that over £1.55million was being paid in poor relief, with only £80,000 of that going to the parish workhouse. This identified that ninety five percent was being given away in outdoor relief, which meant that it was very difficult to monitor the payments – not to mention how some parishes would have more needy than others, and the drain on the finances would be high.

To cut what could be a very long article short, parishes were put together to create Unions, each union was responsible to build a workhouse and the only way you could receive any type of poor relief would be by entering this establishment. That is not to say that outdoor relief ceased, it was at the discretion of the overseers who could offer it to those they thought deserving but the focus was to suggest they moved to the workhouse where the costs were spread out over all the “inmates”.

Back to Dickens, he wrote Oliver Twist around 1837, or it was at least serialised between 1837 and 1839, the Poor Law Amendment Act was 1834 with the first Poor union workhouse in Abingdon Berkshire being formed in 1835. The reason I highlight this is that the stereotypical “Victorian” workhouse was still very much in its infancy when the book was written, and much of the horror he describes can be traced back to the more unguided Parish Workhouse.

That aside, it is not surprising that Dickens picked up on something so topical as at the end of the day he wanted his work to sell, and there was a growing discontent with the new Poor Laws - as seen in the poster I have included in this article. Their day was heavily prescribed, with during the lighter months, the able bodied inmates would be expected to rise at 6am, have breakfast between 6.30 and 7am, then work until 12pm, to recommence at 1pm until 6pm – none of this 4am until 10pm with two ten minute breaks that the picture intimates.

By looking at the social climate of the time, whilst it is hard, especially so as a mother, to imagine my children over the age of seven being taken away from me, in the first half of the 19 ^th century, progeny were not treated as being as precious as they are now. When you consider that it was not until the Mines and Collieries act 1842 that it banned boys under 10 years old to work underground that you realise that children in the poorer communities were a means to earn money to put bread on the table.

Is this right? from a conscientious point of view of course I do not think this is good or something I would want to see us go back to, but it was the time and the views of society then.

Let us go back to Oliver Twist, he asked for more…highly unlikely, food amounts were ordered to be weighed, and I do not know anyone who would want a pint and a half of gruel – although that was the adult allocation, children had less. The misappropriation of food is one of the reasons that the Andover scandal occurred, the master of the workhouse, Colin McDougal was not giving the inmates their allocation which was causing the starving masses in 1845 to fight over scraps of putrid meat and marrow that was still attached to the bones they were being told to crush.

Medical advancements did not understand nutrition at this point in time, therefore food was to fill you up and give you the energy to complete your tasks, and whilst the “menu” looks pretty dull and monotonous to us now, and meat being served three or four days a week. In an article published by the British Medical Journal, the author looks at the comparison of the workhouse diet in respect of Oliver wanting more and comes to the conclusion “The diet described by Dickens would not have supported health and growth in a 9 year old child, but the published workhouse diets would have generally met that need” (BMJ2008;337:a2722) . Whilst there is not much written from people who experienced life in the workhouse, the common reason being they were illiterate, it is interesting that in “From workhouse to Westminster – the life story of Will Crooks MP” the author is not complimentary of the individuals experience of the workhouse, he does mention his mother crying as she was “…wondering where the next meal is coming from my boy” (page 3).

Was the workhouse a nice place to live? No, it was not meant to be, had it been akin to a hotel they would have been overrun with those wanting to live there – the undeserving and idle poor as they were known – but were all of them, and that is the important distinction, places of horror? Or were they an attempt at reducing the costs to the tax payer of maintaining individuals down on their luck with the resources they had available?

We do not have to agree on things, but if you are wanting to say to someone they are totally wrong, or insult them when they are trying to explain the situation and the logic behind the decision, rather than throw out terms such as “right wing”, or my personal favourite, “white supremacist Nazi”, give your point with sources and we can have an intelligent discussion.

…and please do tell me how we can go back in time and change it just to make you happy, that I would love to hear – what? you did not expect me to write something serious without a bit of sarcasm did you? This is not my degree thesis.

The Devil came down to Danbury

Mon, 02 Dec 2024 11:47:17 GMT

In this case it was not a soul he was looking to steal…well not according to the legend that surrounds this particular event.

The second largest open space in Essex can be found in a village on the outskirts of Chelmsford called Danbury, affectionately known as “The common”. I say the second largest, it is the runner up to the huge Epping Forest and as you know, I have written a book about that particular gem of stories and events (The Elements of Epping Forest if you did not already know). When I had horses, I kept them about half a mile away from the eponymous common, and although my horse was pretty much bombproof, she hated this particular stretch of land. To begin with I thought it may be me inadvertently transmitting my fear down to her, but no matter who took her there, she would suddenly become very spooky and start to throw her equine toys out of the pram.

It made me wonder what exactly she was sensing that turned this incredibly chill mare into a hot footing headcase, and after she passed away, I stumbled across what it may have been - or at least an interesting tale to accompany the area.

According to the 16 ^th century Chronicles of England, Scotland and Ireland by Raphael Holinshead, in 1402, the villagers were in St John the Baptist church (just off Main Street) celebrating Corpus Christi day- this date can vary as it is the first Thursday after Trinity Sunday, so occurs between late May and mid June – and there was a horrendous thunder storm ensuing. At the height of the storm, the devil himself (disguised as a grey friar) was said to have entered the church :

“… behaving himself very outrageously, playing his parts like a devil indeed, so that the parishioners were put in a marvelous great fright. At the same instant, there chanced such a tempest of wind, thunder, and lightning, that the highest part of the roof of that church was blown down, and the chancel was all to shaken, rent, and torn in pieces”.

The story intimates that it was Lucifer himself who had brought the storm, to help him destroy the church and scare those worshipping inside it. After he had torn the building to shreds, he left, the villagers picking up the pieces of their broken holy place.

But there is more…

To add insult to injury, the devil came back and stole one of the church’s six bells, the congregation were having no more of his mischief, decided to pursue him and he dropped it, legend has it that it was so heavy (which was more why he dropped it than the fact he was being chased apparently) and the hole it made became a pond – there is actually a hill called Bell Hill, and a pond on that hill, people have visited in the hope of seeing Satan himself. The other version says that he dropped it just by the road, and is now the site of the Bell Inn pub, also the reason why the church has five bells instead of six, it was never replaced.

I could not find in local records why Bell Hill is called that, nor when the pub was named the Bell Inn (although it is on said hill, which could also be the reason), and it may all just fit neatly into the legend, but for those who think Essex is nothing but a commuter county, it was good enough for the devil himself to visit…

The Fiancee of Danger

Fri, 15 Nov 2024 14:06:27 GMT

Every so often when you are researching for a specific project, a person in history seems to leap out and catch you unawares…this is one such individual and now that I have seen them, I do not wish to “unsee”.

As many of you know, I am a bit of an aviation nut, especially pre the jet age, and one of the talks I give is on the Air Transport Auxiliary (ATA) of the Second World War. That particular interest started when I found out they had female pilots and developed from there (I can recommend the book Spitfire Women by Giles Whittell if you would like to learn more)

I was giving my talk over the summer, and one of the questions was

“What about the First World War? Were there any female pilots then?”

I was able to say that there were none that sprung to mind, and that there certainly was not an operation similar to the ATA in place, but there were women who had their flying license. This blog is not to cover the history of flight as that is about one hundred thousand words in its own right, but more to do with the advent of fixed wing and what was to become the conventional “aeroplane”. The Wright brothers are credited with the first flight per se, 17 ^th December 1903, and it is quite mind blowing to think that just eleven years later, aircraft were being utilised for military purposes with the First World War.

Enough of that brief history lesson, there is shedloads of information out there if that is something you want to look into, I want to focus on the fiancée of danger, an amazing woman by the name of Marie Marvingt.

Born in France in 1875, she was brought up by her father to be a very active child, her only brother being quite a fragile young lad, and this seems to be a route that she positively embraced. By the age of four, Marie could swim four kilometres – in fact she became the first French woman to swim the length of the Seine through Paris – but she was not just part fish, fencing, shooting, bob sledding, horse riding, skiing, mountaineering…you name it, she was most definitely a force to be reckoned with. In fact, her love of cycling was such that in 1908, when she was refused admission to the all-male Tour de France, she rode the course to prove she could (behind the men) and completed it – impressive anyway, but considering only a third of the actual competitors finished it, shows just how phenomenal she was.

You would think her exploits may end there, but no, there is decidedly more. Marie had her first balloon flight in 1901, by 1907 she was piloting said mode of transport and in 1909 was the first woman to pilot a balloon across the North Sea (France to England), then five years later the first woman to fly a balloon across the channel. As impressive as those accomplishments were, she was not finished. In the November of 1910 she had received her fixed wing flying license, and when war broke out in the August of 1914, she was keen to do her part, which was? To dress up as a man and serve with the French army at the front…sadly she was discovered and sent home. Not to be deterred, she ended up working with the Italians - it is said at the request of Marshal Foch – participating in military operations, maybe an information gatherer but knowing Marie, she was probably there gun in hand, just hoping that the enemy would look her way.

Are her exploits exhausting you yet? Drink that coffee, eat that biscuit, you need the energy to keep going.

She did!

Not only did she fight on the front line, she was also a Red Cross surgical nurse, medicine was something that had been on her mind for many years, as early as 1910 when she had learned to fly fixed wing aircraft, she had proposed a system of flying ambulances to the French government. These would be flown by women, and contain medical staff to enable swift evacuation of wounded military personnel to get them from the casualty clearing centres in the midst of battle to the surgical hospitals where they could be treated.

Oh, and she was awarded a Croix du guerre…for? Bombing a German base, yes, first woman to fly in combat as well.

Did this adrenaline junkie over achieving amazing human ever take her foot off the gas? Did she heck, at the age of 80 she took up helicopter lessons and for her birthday that year, the US air Force took her up in a F-101 Voodoo jet aircraft.

She had not stopped keeping fit, and at the age of 86, cycled from Nancy to Paris, only a mere two hundred miles or so. The Fiancée of Danger died at in December 1963, I think she left a lot for us to consider as to what a human is capable of.

Elizabeth Brownrigg

Mon, 30 Sep 2024 23:30:00 GMT

On the 14 ^th September 1767, 47 year old Elizabeth Brownrigg was hanged at Tyburn and her body subsequently given to the medical schools for public dissection, what had she done to suffer such an end to her life?

Those of you who have heard me talk about the Murder Act 1751 will probably have a good idea already, as between then and around 1834, anyone hanged for that specific crime was either gibbeted (the men)or given to an anatomy school as it was decreed that “In no case whatsoever that the body of a murderer be suffered to be buried”.

It is highly unusual for a woman to commit murder, looking at the latest figures produced by the
Office for National Statistics, of all homicides in the United Kingdom (and I would wager this is similar the world over) only 7% of these were charged to female killers.

So, what had Elizabeth done and who had she taken the life - or lives - of?

Married to a very successful plumber named James, the couple lived at Flower de Luce Court near Fleet Street in London. The union had produced sixteen children, but sadly only three had survived into adulthood. Elizabeth had become quite well known as a very competent midwife, and due to her compassion and ability in this field, she was appointed by the overseers of the St Dunstan’s Parish to care for some of the women under their supervision.

There was such demand for her services as a midwife she decided to take on an apprentice, and the Foundling Hospital – a place I have written about before – had started a process to allow this type of “training” programme and supplied Brownrigg with a young girl, Mary Jones in around 1765. Whilst her treatment of Miss Jones was civil to begin with, it soon descended into a cycle of torture with her forcing this Mary to lay across two chairs whilst she whipped her incessantly – the court report says “…occasionally forced to desist, from mere weariness”. This poor girl managed to escape and reported her treatment to the Foundling hospital, their reaction? To write to James Brownrigg and tell him to control his wife and her attitude towards her apprentices. During this period, the other apprentice Mary Mitchell was still bound to the family and suffering the same attacks as Mary Jones had been on the receiving end of. This Mary had escaped at least once, and had been marched back to the property by one of the Brownrigg children, their son John.

One can only imagine the level of cruelty and beatings she was dealt when she was brought back to the house.

Funnily enough, nothing was done and the Brownrigg’s had been allocated another young woman, Mary Clifford.

This unfortunate soul was to suffer almost even more than the other girls, she was stripped naked, tied up and beaten until she could not speak, her bed was a mat in the coal hole, she was expected to survive on nothing but bread and water, and would not even be given a blanket to sleep under at night. When driven to desperation, young Mary Clifford tried to find food, she was punished in an almost unbelievable way by having a chain fastened round her neck, it being secured to a door and then pulled as tight as possible without strangling her.

After pleading for help from one of the women using the house for laying in whilst pregnant, Elizabeth Brownrigg flew at Mary C and attempting to cut out her tongue managed to slice it in half. This recurrent abuse without medical intervention for her wounds (and to Mary Mitchell as well) meant they were rife for infection, something that the Brownrigg’s seemed not to care about when they would strip the girls naked and hoist them up onto a beam in the kitchen to attack them and cause even more heinous wounds.

It was not until a relative of Mary C came to London to visit her that the truth started to come out, and the Brownrigg reign of abuse and terror was going to end. She was refused access to see Mary, and a neighbour, Mrs Deacon spoke to her about the crying and screaming that frequently came from the property.

To cut a long story short, the overseer demanded to see Mary Clifford but was shown the slightly healthier Mary Mitchell instead…threatening to arrest Mr Brownrigg if Mary C was not produced did the trick, and the poor child was brought out from a cupboard. Her whole body was infected and covered in ulcers, and the workhouse apothecary pronounced her in grave danger. There was a spot of sexism here as it was Mr Brownrigg who was taken into custody, his son and wife doing a runner.

They hid out in Wandsworth at the property of one Mr Dunbar, acting as man and wife (yes, her son) but just to show that the media is not all bad, it was a newspaper article describing the mother and son that caused their landlord to divulge their location to the authorities and they were apprehended.

Tragically Mary C died whilst being cared for at St Bartholomew’s hospital, and Elizabeth, James and John were charged with murder. During the ensuing court cases many accusations were levied at Elizabeth, that she had killed more apprentices, that she had got rid of pregnancies for women who did not want to be mothers after visiting her, and also had listed babies as still born who had been very much alive. She denied all of these charges being hurled at her and only admitted to her savage treatment of the Mary’s which resulted in the death of one.

The trial lasted over eleven hours, with the end result being Elizabeth to be hanged, and her husband and son to receive six months imprisonment each. The Old Bailey court records say “ Happily for the two persons acquitted the jury were composed of men of sense and virtue, capable and inclined to resist the torrent of public prejudice; their verdict is a lasting proof of their integrity and justice, and gave entire satisfaction to the court and all who were present.” That line, men of sense and virtue...can be interpreted in many different ways.

I am not a psychologist so cannot begin to explain Elizabeth’s actions, she was said to be a loving wife and mother, an excellent and compassionate midwife, but an evil torturer to girls in her charge? Her husband denied knowing what was happening but her son John was complicit and would frequently mete out the beatings if required by his mother.

So why did he get only a six month sentence? Surely his actions could have contributed to the murder? Let me know what you think but spare a thought for those terrified young girls and the horror they had to live through.

Kaos

Tue, 03 Sep 2024 10:48:45 GMT

I am always on the lookout for a series to binge watch, sometimes I just want something frivolous that I can switch off to, but other times…I like it to make me think.

My husband and I were bored with the television that was available and I saw a new release on Netflix called “Kaos”, it mentioned black comedy, mythology and vengeful Greek Gods.

I am most definitely sold!

In a nutshell it is a re- imagining of various mythological stories of old, set in a more modern time and - without spoiling the plot too much – with humans who defy the will of the Gods of Olympus.

Zeus is played by a suitably bonkers Jeff Goldblum, who is not only a veritable shagging machine, but also paranoid in a way that it made me think of megalomaniac leaders like Stalin and Kim Jong Un who had and have no hesitation in killing those close to them if they get it into their head that they have been betrayed.

I have to say that I thought Hera - the wife and sister of Zeus – was brilliantly played by Janet McTeer, although I can see the vengefulness in her towards the mortal women who Zeus had affairs with, it was difficult to marry that with (if you pardon the coming pun) her role in mythology as the goddess of marriage, women and family and protector of women during childbirth.

I think that maternal nature only exists if you had not got yourself in the family way due to her philandering little brother and husband…

The show is predominantly set in three main locations, Heraklion in Crete, Mount Olympus and the underworld, I can say I have been to two of those places but I will leave it for you to work out which! I did find it a shame that none of it was filmed in Greece or her islands, but it was not meant to look “ancient” and maybe in this dystopian world ruled by the all powerful Zeus the Greek language does not exist.

Whether you have watched it or not, you may disagree with my use of the word dystopian, but I do believe that is fitting. The dictionary states the meaning of the word as “relating to or denoting an imagined state or society where there is great suffering or injustice” and whilst religion does play a huge part in the lives of many, this show has a Goddess turning mortal women into bees if they sleep with her husband, it has the dead going to a place of nothingness, people having to follow the will of the Gods or die…I suppose one could argue that maybe it is not imagined, although one of my favourite works of dystopian genius is 1984 by George Orwell, and whilst that was fiction, much of it is not a million miles from the truth.

Shall I throw some other well known Greek entities of mythological origin out to you to wet your appetite? The Fates, The Furies, Minos, the Minotaur, Trojans, even Icarus gets a mention.

What the creator Charlie Covell has done – which may or may not have been their intention - was put a series together which you can watch without having an interest in Greek mythology and enjoy it, or for someone like me, be googling the various characters like crazy trying to find out what their historical back story actually was, and what their place is in the various legends of old.

Every marker tells a story...

Mon, 26 Aug 2024 10:37:09 GMT

Who else loves to visit graveyards? I know that quite a few of you do as I see the posts about it. On my recent family holiday to Somerset, we had parked outside a gorgeous old church in Mulcheney and my – newly turned – eleven year old excitedly asked if we could walk around the grounds and look at the gravestones. He knows how much I enjoy speaking the people’s names, and has started to gain an interest into looking at the dates and speculating on who they were.

Once he is a bit older I will most definitely teach him how to research those individuals and to learn more, but up until then, I just embrace his interest and do the deep diving myself.

There was one particular marker that caught my attention as it seemed so sad, in case you cannot read the photo I attached it says -

In loving memory of William Pipe Beckey who died February 19 ^th 1929 aged 70 years, also of his seven children. Resting in the Lord.

The main thing that positively jumped out at me was the mention of his seven children, no names, no additional writing to explain how old they were, just that, seven children. It made me wonder what had happened, I am no stranger to seeing whole families listed on the stone, and normally a bit of historical quarrying tends to uncover something like a flu epidemic, a bout of cholera or something similar. Was this what had happened to Mr Beckey and his family?

I thought some of you may find it useful to know how I do my research, or at least how I tend to start it when looking at something like his. My first port of call was the 1911 census, this is a really handy one (if obviously it is the right time period) as it shows how long a couple have been married and also how many children have been born to that coupling – for completeness, there is also a box for how many of those children are still living. I do tend to find it quite sad when I see numbers that show high child mortality for a particular family, as in the case of the Beckeys. Under the website produced by the University of Cambridge, populationspast.org which shows you per area the mortality rate for both infants (under 1) and young children (between 1 to 5 years old), the figures for the district of Langport (where Mulcheney fits into) are not as high as more industrialised areas and are nearly 100/1000 and 60/1000 respectively in 1881.

Looking up the Beckey family on that 1911 census showed they had been married for thirty eight years and the union had produced sixteen offspring, of which ten were still alive – by this point Anna Maria, William’s wife was now into her late fifties so we can safely assume she had no more children. A quick and slightly clinical mathematical calculation shows they lost over a third of their family, when the average for 1881 was nearer 6%. I then start going back over previous census records to see who was still living at home, and if a child was not mentioned who maybe should have still been under the care of their parents, then you look to see if there is a record applicable to them.

Trying to work out who the seven children were who are unnamed on the grave marker is tricky, by using baptism records you can work out those to born to William and Anna Maria, but when you have had someone who has been giving birth every twelve months or so, and there is a large “gap” in ages, it is safe to assume that there may have been a bereavement of a baby before they had even been registered. I was able to trace five of the children, and whilst they may not have been buried in a marked grave due to cost – they were agricultural workers so money would not have been in abundance - I hope that Sarah Jane, Samuel, Mary Ann, Ethel and Gertie are resting easily.

The original Dixie chick

Mon, 10 Jun 2024 18:33:18 GMT

One of these days I will get my arse into gear and actually start researching this amazing woman and write a book about her, but until my backside decides to play ball, you will have to put up with me putting together short little pieces about her and talking incessantly of her achievements and biblical sized kahoonahs.

If anyone ever wonders why I do not have a degree or some kind of academic attainment, they will probably find it easy to understand the reasons I do not. Not sure any university lecturer would give me brownie points for using words like kahoonahs in my essays, anyway, onwards and upwards…

The woman who came to be known as Lady Florence Dixie was born Lady Florence Douglas in May 1855, the daughter of Caroline Margaret Clayton and Archibald Douglas, the 8 ^th Marquis of Queensbury.

And here is where the first real questions can start to be asked about the eventual Scottish tomboy. Sometimes, her father is cited as the 7 ^th Marquis, rather than the 8 ^th , why is this? If you have read my book “The battle for Bosworth Hall” you will know exactly why, but for those of you who are yet to experience that particular pleasure, it is due to an ancestor of the family. In 1707, the future 3 ^rd Marquis - James Douglas – is said to have murdered, roasted on a spit and then consumed a young scullion (a male version of a scullery maid). He was only 10 years old at the time but had been deemed so dangerously violent and insane, that he was in permanent restraints. Somehow he had managed to escape these and go on to commit the awful act. If you are so predisposed, the site of this cannibalism took place at Queensberry House in Edinburgh, and the fire area he used is still there. So are some good old fashioned hauntings, maybe from its time as a cholera hospital in the 19 ^th century or even it is said, of the poor lad who was eaten by the psychologically disturbed Marquis.

Florence’s life, surrounded by scandal that the family tried to erase, was to be hit with tragedy when her father died in a supposed hunting accident, a fatal wound to his chest. There was talk of him having taken his own life, however most newspaper articles after the event were adamant that this was not the case, and could never have been the case as he had asked his daughter Gertrude to come with him, had written a number of business letters prior to the fatal accident and also was notoriously careless with his gun.

Her brother Francis fell to his death whilst climbing the Matterhorn, and his remains were never found, all of this must have been a lot to contend with. Florence was the epitome of a tom boy, she had short hair, regularly competed with her brothers at the more masculine type events such as hunting, swimming and the like - and despite being only five foot tall, held her own.

In 1875 she married Sir Alexander Dixie, he of Bosworth Hall, in fact it was her determination and lack of fear which caused her wedding to be delayed when she had an accident whilst out fox hunting (no judgement, I am just reciting history here) and managed to well, basically smash her face in after a fall.

As I mention in my book, “The battle for Bosworth Hall”, Florence had a wanderlust and being a prolific writer, was always looking for new projects, many of which got her into trouble. I think that she was the stereotypical adrenalin junkie, and even after her mind was changed regarding the “sport” of hunting following her trip to Patagonia, even going as far as to turn her vegetarian – although if you read about her diet it is verging on vegan – she was still a force to be reckoned with.

Her tenure at Bosworth Hall was comparatively short compared to other Dixie wives, Sir ABCD (the nickname of Alexander as his full name was Alexander Beaumont Churchill Dixie) was a horrendous businessman and somewhat of a spendthrift, so in 1885 the estate was sold off to pay the family debts.

Florence is said to have had a strong part in that decision.

Whilst from 1885 the hall was no longer in the Dixie family’s

possession, I believe that Florence is still there, and it is apt that the now hotel is dog friendly as she was a real lover of all things canine, in fact, if you are coming along for www.festivaloftheunexplained.com this year (and tickets are available) go and have a wander into the woods and see if you can find the monument to Smut, a black and tan old English terrier who had belonged to Lady Florence

And the Emperor played on...

Sun, 09 Jun 2024 16:40:00 GMT

On 9 ^th June 68AD, Emperor Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus took his own life, the blade at his throat guided by his loyal assistant (and freedman) Epaphroditus rather than face the ignominy of being stripped and beaten to death due to his newly decreed status as being an enemy of the state by the Roman senate.

Based on some of the well- trodden historical roads that have been travelled by biographers of Roman history such as Suetonius and Tacitus, any type of violent and unnatural death was exactly what this supposedly hated tyrannical leader deserved and nothing more.

But is this fair?

There are so many figures in history who have been maligned by the writers after that you would think they were the devil incarnate whilst they were alive, Richard III, Queen Mary I, Catherine the Great even Vlad the Impaler, but when you start to dig into the time in which they lived, the danger they were constantly facing, then it makes it a lot harder to castigate them for their actions. What I mean by this is I read an article recently that discussed how awful Catherine the Great was, the author was both disgusted and horrified that during a bout of pleurisy she had consented to bloodletting…how absolutely heinous of her!

And yes, I am being sarcastic, another cause of complaint was when Catherine decided to read and better her brain when bored with her marriage, well banish her to a deserted island for that abhorrent act.

Anyway, Nero. I like so many others naïve of the intricacies surrounding his reign thought that he was a vicious killer, slaughtering wives, walking around the city of Rome under cover of darkness and murdering unsuspecting city folk, tossing their bodies in the sewers like common garbage, not to mention starving the locals of the proceeds of taxation and erecting extravagant buildings to benefit him and him alone. Not to mention his dislike of Christians, burning them as human candles, but as with so many things, there is doubt being cast on that by modern day scholars who study that time.

When I visited Rome in 2018, we were lucky enough to have a tour of the infamous colosseum and what was even more fortunate for a total history nerd like myself was that our guide was a working archaeologist (her current project at the time was at Pompeii). When she was showing artists images of the area around the colosseum she mentioned Emperor Nero, and how he had envisaged a place for the common people (as opposed to nobility) to enjoy themselves. Being the inquisitive pain in the backside that I am, I asked her what people thought of Nero as my knowledge was he was a narcissistic murdering sex addict who just wanted to party and write poetry rather than rule. Fortunately, she was not offended at my portrayal and said that current research was actually painting him more as a hero of the average Roman, and that in the areas surrounding Rome he was adored as opposed to vilified. It seems that many of the senate were the problem here, not happy with the fall of Rome as an oligarchy and its transference into an empire with an all powerful individual at its lead.

The area that the huge palace – the golden house – and the accompanying buildings were due to occupy was devastated by the Great fire of Rome in 64AD, the very same one that the line “Nero fiddled while Rome burned” is meant to have originated from. The fact that he was around thirty miles away when the inferno blazed, did not stop those with an agenda (again, the upper classes) blaming him and insinuating that he had the fire started deliberately to clear the area so this could all be built.

Conveniently ignoring the fact that closely situated wooden constructs were catching fire on a regular basis and it was not an isolated incident.

When he returned to Rome, blame for the destruction was levied by him on Christians, and this is where the “Roman torch” method of execution is said to have been devised, and whilst I do not condone murdering people for their religious beliefs, one only has to look at the number of assassinations and deaths that happened during the empires existence to see that nothing was off limits.

This is a man whose own mother married her uncle and then after finagling her son into the line of succession, is said to have killed her husband.

Roman laws denoted that death by execution could be comparable to the crimes which a person had been charged with. Even with the absolute kangaroo courts that would have found the Christians guilty of burning down the city of Rome, killing hundreds of people and making many thousands homeless – oh yes, there is evidence that Nero opened up his palaces as shelter for those who had lost everything – then being incinerated alive would have been viewed as acceptable punishment.

Historians like Suetonius (who was not born until at least a year after Nero’s death) and Tacitus (around ten when the emperor died) have written in scathing contempt of Nero’s rule, one does wonder if their depiction of his life is painted as deliberately revolting to appease the new leaders of the Roman empire, I mean do we really think he raped a vestal virgin?

Whilst his death at the age of only 30, and having ruled the empire for thirteen years may still to some be seen as no big deal, and there are certainly elements of his (and other Romans, he was not an isolated case) behaviour which in modern day eyes is most definitely loathsome, I want you to question what you believe you know about these people.

The ghost plane

Mon, 22 Apr 2024 08:28:26 GMT

As most of you probably know, I have been doing a podcast called Haunted Histories for many years now – if you were not aware, it is on Spotify and any other podcast platform that you may use. There are many things I enjoy about doing a show like that, but a very big one is when listeners email their own personal stories and accounts to me.

The recent show I did on Bomber superstitions with James Jefferies was one such episode, and I got an absolutely wonderful story sent by a listener. It is such an interesting account that I asked their permission to write it up, which they gave as long as I did not use their real name, so let’s call them “Guido”.

Guido tells me that they were just approaching junction 11 of the M11 motorway, it was mid afternoon and they remembered it was quite warm as they had their windows wound down. Shortly after the traffic ground to a halt – not an unusual occurrence for that particular road – they were aware of what sounded like a WW2 type aircraft near them, but at that point could not see anything. Shortly after the noise came the sight of a four engine bomber

Guido says

“Suddenly I was aware of a huge WW2 bomber type plane flying past very very low, with the wing tip only about fifty metres away from the hard shoulder over flat open farmland…”

Reading this account, I would have had the same theory as Guido, IWM Duxford was only one junction up, and maybe there was an aircraft practising for an airshow of some description? But here’s the rub…Guido described the plane for me, and the only one that fitted the description was a Short Stirling. It had the four engines, the bulbous nose, the window high up on the fuselage and rounded wing tips and my guess of which WW2 aeroplane Guido saw was confirmed when I emailed them a picture of a Stirling and the answer came back

“Wow! That is it, I forgot to say there was only tail fin and this totally fits what I saw”

This is where it gets really interesting, there is no way in the last twenty years (at least) that a Short Stirling would have been flying from anywhere, let alone in a show based at Duxford. So, the investigator in me started researching. There were a lot of airbases in the Cambridgeshire area, and one, right by this particular junction of the M11 was RAF Bourn – it was a bomber base, and guess what? from 1941 to 1945, it served to test and transport damaged Short Stirling’s to and from the manufacturers factory at nearby Maddingley.

The Short Stirling is an often forgotten bomber from WW2, eclipsed normally by my favourite the Lancaster or even American aircraft like Liberators and Flying Fortresses, but it is unfair to dismiss her as she was the “original” heavy weight bomber and was lauded by its pilots as being incredibly agile and even able to outmanoeuvre enemy night fighters – not to mention the level of punishment she was able to take and keep flying. It does seem a shame that she went into a more secondary role but was still pivotal in so many important missions – forming the initial pathfinding squadrons, working with specialist navigation and also target finding with the main units. She was also commandeered for towing the huge Horsa and Hamilcar gliders from 1943 and also from around 1944, the Special Operations Executive acquired some to use on their operations.

Talk about versatile.

So, what did Guido see that day? They assured me they were stone cold sober, and not given to hallucinations but says that it did not appear that anyone else saw it. Guido also stressed to me that they are not an aircraft groupie, so would not have known what they were looking at, and I can confirm that when you look at the four engine bombers available during WW2, the Stirling is very distinctive.

Have you ever had a similar experience? If so please email hauntedhistories@virginmedia.com and let us know.

The man behind the home

Thu, 11 Apr 2024 14:36:47 GMT

If you have listened to my recent podcast, with my guest the wonderful James Jefferies, where we discussed some of the superstitions and traditions shown by bomber crews during the Second World War, you would also have heard us mention a few names.

Guy Gibson – he of Dambuster’s fame – and also Leonard Cheshire, a name which anyone with a passing interest in bomber history is aware of, but in my experience many people are not and that is a great disservice to the man that he was.

James knows I am a massive Gibson groupie (there really is no other word for it!) and said that Cheshire seems to be overshadowed by the former in the history books and people’s memory, I actually agreed, he is and unfairly so. My belief is that because Guy died as a very young man and under slightly unknown circumstances, was it pilot error? Was it due to friendly “fire” or was he taken out by a Luftwaffe pilot during a mission? Personally, my view is that it was a combination of perceived invincibility, arrogance and exhaustion that led to ultimately a fatal pilot mistake. Many of the posthumous comments made about Gibson did state that he was incredibly pompous and had absolute self-belief in his own abilities, as this blog is not about Guy, I am not going to share my thoughts on that but Cheshire was the polar opposite in personality, and perhaps that is why he survived three tours on bombers during the war.

Read any of the books he has written, and do not forget to get hold of a copy of Tail Gunner by Richard C Rivaz, the title tells you what his role was, but perhaps it is better to read what one of the flight crew felt about their pilot than how he came across in print. Cheshire had an incredibly hard working and studious approach to being a pilot, he took the responsibility with uber seriousness and whilst he was training under Hugh “lofty” Long, he would be expected to repeat tests and scenarios until he was absolutely perfect. This gave him a sense of caution which is perhaps why, after he was made a Group Captain at RAF Linton on Ouse, for 76 Squadron, he still flew on missions, albeit a few times a month (apparently the Commanding Officer was only meant to fly once a month, unless it was absolutely necessary, Cheshire always found a reason to meet that criteria). He had an amazing knack for making novice crews feel at ease, and was always looking at ways to improve the men’s morale and lot. Flying Handley Page Halifax’s out of Yorkshire, they were not able to reach such high altitudes as the Lancasters, so were more susceptible to flak than their higher flying sister. Cheshire looked at reducing the weight of the aircraft under his command and subsequent losses were reduced = improved morale.

I am fast forwarding through four years of constant work here, but I would need thousands upon thousands of words to correctly put into print the amazing achievements of this man. It is believed it was his experience of seeing the second nuclear bomb dropped on Nagasaki on 9 ^th August 1945 that changed his outlook somewhat.

“ We are faced either with the end of this country, or the end of war. Ending war and making a better future is not a responsibility that we can say belongs exclusively to the government …each one of us must play our part.”

This is the same person who was awarded a Distinguished Flying Cross, two bars to his Distinguished Service Order and a Victoria Cross, so why have so many people not heard of him?

If I were to say “Cheshire Homes”, you may know of one? I certainly grew up near to the place in East Carleton Norfolk, and as a Brownie and Girl Guide (yes, I was young once!) we would regularly help at the summer fete with our stall selling groceries but we never saw the people who lived there and I wondered why.

When I became older, I learned that Cheshire Homes were actually founded by…Leonard – actually, he was also married to another amazing charity founder, Sue Ryder, that is one humanitarian powerhouse of a couple! It is the story of how it happened however that is well worth reading about.

After the war had ended, Cheshire was still looking for meaning in his life and started a communal living project entitled “Vade in Pacem” to help former service personnel transition back to civilian life, unfortunately that did not work out but he heard that a former member of the experiment, one Arthur Dykes, needed somewhere to live and had asked Cheshire if he could park his caravan on the site of Le Court, Hampshire. This gave Leonard his purpose back, and he proceeded to learn nursing skills to help both former army veteran Arthur – who unbeknown to the patient, had a terminal cancer diagnosis – and by 1949, twenty four other residents.

Whilst initially he may have veered more towards ex service personnel, now the many homes set up in his name are a place of safety for people with severe disabilities, whether physical or learning, and all due to one person having seen the worst of humanity, wanting to give something back. It is slightly tragic however, that Cheshire passed away after being diagnosed with Motor Neurone Disease at the age of 74, the youngest ever Group Captain in the R.A.F certainly left an amazing legacy.

Poor Arthur...

Wed, 06 Mar 2024 18:50:23 GMT

Everywhere you go, you can find traces of the Victorian era if you look close enough, especially the changes that they were looking to make to healthcare and the treatment of poverty. Due to the Lunacy Act of 1845, and also the County Asylums Act of the same year, counties had an obligation to provide care via a hospital setting for those with mental health problems – be they born with them or having developed them. One of the huge asylums that was built was known as the East Kent (or sometimes second Kent) County Asylum in Chartham, just south west of the more well known Canterbury.

Now those of you who are chomping at the bit to go and investigate, hold those horses as the site is now a housing estate with few parts of the original 19th century building remaining, but talking about Chartham is not the purpose of this piece, it is to tell you about one of its residents that met with a horrible end.

Arthur Izzard was born in Tonbridge in 1904, but by the age of 7 years old, he was in what was known as a “Farm Training Colony”, in Lingfield Surrey, and although the history books would describe these places as a type of industrial school for wayward children, in Arthur’s case it was to do with the fact he had epilepsy – as did every other boy on the census record of 1911, all of whom were under 16 years old.

Even though we do know that epilepsy is not a mental illness, it was many years before there was trustworthy treatment to help those having seizures, but my heart does truly break at the thought of so many children, taken away from their families and who were thrown together due to a neurological condition.

What is the link between Arthur and the hospital at Chartham? Some time between 1921 (when he was last mentioned on a census record) and 1938, he had been taken into East Kent and was there as a patient. According to reports he was one of the more “better off” of the residents, and would frequently lend money to others within the hospital but had a tendency to threaten reporting them to the Medical Superintendent if they did not pay him back in a timely manner. Obviously this did not make him a popular person, and according to the reports that the police were to subsequently obtain, he had made enemies within the hospital.

On the 22nd October 1938, Arthur had gone into Canterbury on his weekly shopping mission for the other patients as he was one of fifty nine who were allowed “out” of the hospital grounds. At some point along the way he was attacked, and suffered multiple blunt trauma wounds to his head, which proved fatal. He tried to stagger back to the asylum, but was found about twenty yards away from where he was assaulted, the money he was carrying for the others to pay for their purchases was stolen, as was his cap in which the thrifty Izzard had sewn his own cash.

It was quite obvious to the police who were investigating that it was someone who knew Arthur, who was aware of his weekly route and who also would have known that he had funds concealed inside his hat. They took copious statements, over two hundred according to reports, but this was not to be enough. The police had even put together a short list of suspects, with one having been seen near the vicinity of the murder, but the crime was never, ever solved, partly due to the realisation that a court would not take the evidence they had collated because it came from patients of an asylum.

With the capacity laws we have now, this kind of disregard for the ability of individuals with mental health problems being taken seriously would not happen, unfortunately those changes came too late for Arthur and his killer was never brought to justice.

The London Burkers

Wed, 15 Nov 2023 14:03:34 GMT

I would wager that most people have heard of Burke& Hare, the infamous Scottish resurrection men who when not enough fresh corpses were available from graveyards, turned to creating them instead…but have you any knowledge of Bishop & Williams?

If you have, then bravo if not, read on.

In July 1830, John Bishop rented number 3 Nova Scotia Gardens, a house in a run-down area in Bethnal Green, a frequent visitor to his home was Thomas Williams, and these two were to become very well known in the London area.

Back in the 1830’s, the medical training establishments were making giant leaps forward in terms of research and understanding of the human body, but they required cadavers in order to learn even more. The powers that be had probably thought it an absolute stroke of genius when they ordered those who had been hanged for whatever crime they had been found guilty of – normally things like rape, murder, arson and burglary - were to be used for this purpose. By the early part of the 19 ^th century, the amount of people being sentenced to death had reduced so much that there were not enough bodies to supply the colleges and the resurrectionists were formed. These individuals would stalk graveyards, looking for freshly dug plots to remove the deceased and then sell them to places like St Barts, Kings College and St Thomas’ for a tidy little profit and no questions asked.

When the move into murder came is not quite clear, but on the 5 ^th November 1831, John Bishop and another man, James May, tried to sell the corpse of a 14 year old Italian boy to Guys hospital, but were turned down so took him to Kings college instead. When examining the body, one of the men in charge of the dissection displays, Richard Partridge, felt that the body did not show signs of having been laid in a coffin, and certainly not buried. Knowing that the men were eager for their money, Partridge made a big show of needing to change a large note and asked them to wait, in the meantime someone had been sent to fetch the police who arrested Bishop and May immediately.

Another man, Thomas Williams, was found to have been at Kings college in the first instance and he too was arrested. The police went to search number 3 Nova Scotia Gardens and found various items of clothing belonging to different people and the assumption was that this had not been an isolated murder, and that there were more victims.

Whilst trying to protest their innocence had failed, Bishop admitted to having taken the boy – now identified as Carlo Ferrari, a young Italian lad who had moved to Great Britain about two years prior – drugged him with rum and laudanum and then dropped him into the well. Many witnesses came forward to confirm they had seen poor Carlo hanging around Nova Scotia gardens, he was notorious for having two white mice in a small cage around his neck which he would strive to amuse people with.

It was not just his body they sold; they also ripped his teeth out to offer to a local dentist – Mr Mills of Newington Causeway - who commented to the courts that “They appeared to have been violently extracted ; part of the gums adhered to them”

Realising now that they had nothing to lose, the death penalty had been passed, they admitted to killing Frances Pigburn, a woman who slept rough in Shoreditch, even incorporating Bishop’s daughter Rhoda into the disposal of the body (she was actually married to Williams, a real family affair). A third person, a young lad by the name of Cunningham, was also to fall victim to their desire for money, he was found without anywhere to go, promised shelter and food, and then drugged and murdered in the same manner as poor Carlo.

Who knows how many more poor unfortunates they targeted, as when asked how many bodies their gang had sold they estimated well in excess of five hundred over the last twelve years.

Chief Justice Tindal - who is actually a local hero of my hometown Chelmsford – sat on the bench, and the court opened the windows for the throngs of people gathered to hear sentence passed. Somehow May was able to convince the judges that he knew nothing of the murder, instead he was transported and died in Van Diemen’s land in 1834.

On the 5 ^th December 1831, John Bishop and Thomas Williams were hanged at Newgate Prison and with a bitter stroke of irony, their bodies were taken to Kings College and the Theatre of Anatomy respectively for dissection.

One Man's Horrors...

Wed, 18 Oct 2023 11:45:36 GMT

I rarely read investigators accounts of their time in regards to a specific location, if I am completely frank, most of my time is taken up deep in the pages of history books whether I am researching for something or just wanting to learn more, but when I found out that the author had written a warts n all account of his time in the notorious House of Wills, I was intrigued.

Daryl Marston is probably best known as the quietly observant bearded fellow in the Ghost Hunters series, he seems the kind of individual that could not be scared by anything, but reading his book, “The Horrors of the House of Wills” shows you that this is not true, and that everyone has their breaking point.

Without ruining the surprises within Daryl’s first ever piece of literature by giving you too many spoilers you have to read it, but here is a bit of background to the location in question.

The history of the building in Cleveland, Ohio is quite difficult to come by, it was originally built as a German dance and music hall around 1898, the architect being Frederic William Striebinger. He was a very seasoned and well respected designer of buildings in the area and had many city creations to his name. The interesting fact – especially when you are reading Daryl’s accounts of what happened – is that Striebinger was both a Mason and a Knights Templar, two organisations shrouded in paranormal mystery, the question has to be asked…did he create his structures to channel occult energy?

Not only that, it also functioned as a hospital of sorts (for Jewish Hungarians) and a rumoured speakeasy…all that was before it became the main office of funeral director, John Walter Wills took ownership of the building in 1941, the same year that it’s reported the designer died.

Daryl tells the story of the book in that he decided to write it to keep himself busy during the covid lockdown and initially sent a manuscript to the publishers whose response was - and I am paraphrasing here - “write more words please, much more”, so he did, and The Horrors of the House of Wills was born.

The biggest things that I think will strike you about this book are both the raw honesty and total vulnerability shown by the author. He does not try to brush off some of the scarier things that happened to him – in his mind, due to the House of Wills – and has no issue in telling you how terrified he was, he calls East 55 ^th Street a “living entity” saying “…much like a predator in the wild such as a shark or a wolf. It is doing what comes natural to it by feeding on the weak”. He also talks about when things started happening in his own home following his first visit, and how angry he was that whatever had followed him, could be affecting his loved ones. These experiences lasted about six weeks, which as an investigator myself, does make me wonder if it basically ran out of juice and had to go back to the power source, the building itself.

For me personally, the book raises more questions in my mind about the House of Wills than it answers – not a bad thing! – for example, why is the activity deemed more evil since the current owner Eric took over? Also, what came first? The evil in the building or the bad feeling from locals directed towards it? lastly, Daryl mentions mould in the property, it would be interesting to know how long that has been there and what type it is, certain types of mould have been proven to be hallucinogenic, could this be exacerbating people’s negative experiences or could hungry spirits be feeding off the potential irrational behaviour?

Whatever the case, this is a totally sincere account of one mans experiences with a notorious location, and how it nearly stopped him investigating anywhere ever again, read and take heed.

Should we judge the past?

Tue, 29 Aug 2023 10:24:14 GMT

Some thoughts...

I am sure this blog is going to be pretty incendiary, and whilst I apologise if the subject matter is triggering for anyone, it is a question which I think should be contemplated.

This is a subject that I have been pondering over how to write a piece on which would provoke questions as opposed to arguments, although it is so sensitive it is likely to do both!

For example, take the Bristolian, Edward Colston, his statue was toppled on the 7 ^th June 2020 and thrown into the river due to the anger of his being involved in the slave trade. I can whole heartedly agree that the use of human beings as commodities to be traded at will and worked to death is despicable, but…for a man of his standing at that time, it was purely business. Interestingly, in all the articles I have read about this case (and his memorial was due to his philanthropy of which the area benefitted greatly) not one mentions the fact that the Royal African Company (of which Colston was a deputy Governor for a year) was formed by the House of Stuart, Charles II and his brother, the future James II.

Another element of history which makes me question my own life somewhat is the age at which young girls (not women, girls) would get married, especially in the upper class echelon. Whilst it is no secret that I am not a fan of the future King Henry VII’s mother, Margaret Beaufort, I do admire her chutzpah and determination, and have said on many an occasion if she had been born now, she would most likely have been an incredibly successful (and somewhat scary) C.E.O. of a huge multinational company. At the age of around 6, she was married to the similarly aged John de La Pole, but it was her second husband when she was just 12 and he, 25, Edmund Tudor. At the age of 13 she was pregnant with her only child, Henry Tudor. I know that historians have to be unbiased, but am I the only person who feels a bit “icky” at the thought of a 25 year old man impregnating a 12 year old child?

But, back in the 15 ^th century, it was acceptable…

The last thing I want to mention combines 12 ^th and 13 ^th century bias with one of the most horrific mass murders to happen in the 20 ^th century, that of the Holocaust.

I do hope I do not have to educate you on that subject, but what I found out (whilst researching for another project) is quite shocking to me, and does make question how we choose what to judge.

There are many cases following the Norman invasion of England of violence against the Jewish population, without going into too much detail, William the Conqueror brought those of Jewish faith into England to make use of their ability in commerce and money lending with interest – the practice of usuary which was forbidden under Catholic doctrine. In 1144, the myth of “blood libel” appeared when a young boy known of William of Norwich was found murdered, and the blame was placed on the Jewish community of the city. This is an utterly ridiculous piece of propaganda against the faith that they had to sacrifice a Christian boy to use his blood in the making of Passover bread and for other rituals. This has been used since then as an excuse to attack Jewish communities even now, whether people genuinely believe it or whether they are scared to dismiss it, I have no idea.

Which brings me to another one, the infamous yellow star of David badge that we associate with the Nazi’s and their vile slaughter of the Jewish people. You would possibly think that it was the invention of Hitler and his cronies, but no, in the Statute of the Jewry issued in 1275 by King Edward I, it said -

“ Each Jew, after he is seven years old, shall wear a distinguishing mark on his outer garment, that is to say, in the form of two tables joined of yellow felt of the length of six inches and of the breadth of three inches”

There are many other cases of historical deeds which should be condemned, but why are we selective in what we judge? In that case, should we “cancel” some individuals but not others? And if so, who gets to make that decision? For what it is worth, my belief is that there genuinely were people who were evil and deserve their reputation, but there are also those that were part of their time and with 21 ^st century eyes, we would see their behaviour as being immoral or even murderous, but during their period, it was normal.

Suda Bay

Mon, 14 Aug 2023 19:23:37 GMT

Recently, I was lucky enough to visit the beautiful island of Crete on my summer vacation with my family. Whilst there were quite a few “history” type trips I planned to take us all on (kicking and screaming in some cases), there was one which was not up for debate nor negotiation, and that was to pay my respects to the war dead commemorated at the Commonwealth War Graves site in Suda Bay (sometimes spelled Souda).

It is always a sobering moment walking around so many immaculate white gravestones, some with the names of the fallen and others with just the date of the war that the unknown person it commemorates took part in – those are perhaps the sites that affect me the most.

Whilst we were there, my eldest son (nearly 14 years old and a typically Kevin and Perry type teenager) actually took an interest, and was asking me questions. They would consist of things like “why does that grave not have a name on it?” “Why are there different symbols on each?” and “Why are some graves bunched together and not spaced out?”

That got me thinking, I guessed it was to do with a group of people who had either died at the same time, or had gone missing in action and were presumed dead, being kept together in the afterlife. Most of these were quite easy to explain, but some had six or seven together and the logical explanation was that these had been bomber crews, and I wanted to find their story.

This is not the only one there at Suda, there are sadly, many but I was drawn to the young men listed on these stones and wanted to find out who they were, and what had happened to them.

When we landed at Chania airport (pronounced “Hania”), as we were walking to our arrivals building, we were greeted with the sight of seven F-16 aircraft noisily taking off along the runway, it served to remind us that the area we were in was still used for military purposes and that the history of the surrounding land was continuing to be written. As we were driving west to our accommodation we saw many Greek naval buildings and also barracks for the Hellenic air force. The location in Suda and at Chania is no accident, the bay itself is very sheltered and was the perfect place for the British and Allied forces in world war two to base their ships to enable to attack the Mediterranean land being held by the Axis forces, and bombers could reach the oil fields at Ploiesti in Romania with ease. On the 28 ^th October 1940, the Italians attacked but were repelled by the Allies, however by the following April, the Germans had taken Greece and had their eye on Crete. A bitter thirteen day battle from the 20 ^th May 1941 to the 1 ^st June 1941 commenced when German paratroopers landed near Maleme airfield and the Battle of Crete began.

The next few years consisted of the Allied forces trying to recover the island, and this is where our brave air crew came in. Anyone who has studied second world war history knows that if a heavy bomber aircraft - with upwards of six souls on board – went down, nearly all of the men would perish.

So, what happened to Flight Lieutenant Cox and his crew?

On the evening of the 27 ^th October 1942, ten B-24 Liberator aircraft were being readied at the RAF base in Agir, Palestine to fly to Maleme and look to destroy the aircraft that the Germans had there. Of the ten made ready, only eight took off (due to mechanical failure of the other two), one of these was piloted by veteran flyer and Distinguished Flying Cross holder, Flight Lieutenant Eric C. Cox of Hawke’s Bay New Zealand. Cox had completed around thirty seven operational sorties and had nearly a thousand flying hours logged – not bad for a 28 year old former accountant. His aircraft, AL548, code BS-R of the 160 squadron left the airfield at 19:18 hours, and proceeded to its target on the island of Crete.

The Operational Records for the mission simply state that other crews saw red light on the ground, south of the target which may have been a burning aircraft, it is later in the report that it mentions that Cox and his crew are missing from operations. The other seven Liberators returned safely to base from around 4:00 the following morning. Subsequent eye witness reports confirmed that AL548 had been shot down and fallen slightly south of the target, so this would have been the fire that the crews had mentioned when giving their operational debrief.

A group of men, the oldest being Pilot Officer Reilly at 29, the youngest Wireless operator and gunner flight Sergeant Gibbons at 21, from Australia, Britain and New Zealand, commemorated together forever.

The Jigsaw Murders

Mon, 08 May 2023 09:51:03 GMT

We do seem to have a preoccupation with giving heinous serial killers “catchy” nicknames, and every police procedural show has the obligatory boss detective groaning at whatever the newspapers have cooked up moniker wise.

Just a quick google brings up names like Bondage Killer, Chessboard Killer, Toyboy killer, Japanese Bluebeard (yes, really) and many others, but the one that I thought I would mention is a murderer known as The Jigsaw killer.

Now, without meaning to sound disrespectful to the two women whose lives he took, I thought maybe he had used an actual jigsaw in the process, or did he leave a jigsaw “piece” by each body? Yes, I have perhaps watched too many cop shows…but no, the reason for that particular epithet was to do with the puzzle that the investigators were met with when the bodies were found.

This is pretty nasty, so you have been warned.

Dr Buck Ruxton was born in India, 1899 as Bukhtar Hakim, and in 1925 under an arranged marriage, was wed to a Parsi woman, although this did not appear to last long as a year later he had moved to Britain to continue his medical studies having qualified as a Doctor in India a few years previously. When in 1927, he moved to Edinburgh to work towards becoming a surgeon, he met a lady by the name of Isobel (or Isabella depending upon which account you read), she was officially married to a Dutchman but had left him after just a few weeks of matrimony and was living under her maiden name of Kerr when she met the Indian doctor.

There is nothing documented to state that either had divorced their respectives spouses, but very soon he had changed his name to Buck Ruxton, and she was calling herself Mrs Ruxton, a child was soon to follow.

Moving to Lancaster, Ruxton established himself as a friendly and respected General Practitioner and after their third child was born, they employed a nurse maid called Mary Jane Rogerson to help with the family. All was not sweetness and light behind closed doors however as Ruxton was incredibly jealous and had started to believe that his “wife” Isobel was having affairs with multiple men. This building up of resentment would cause multiple fights, often resulting in Ruxton beating the mother of his children, her leaving, and then returning when he would beg her to come home. In fact the records state that Isobel tried to take her own life in 1932, but with what subsequently happened, one cannot help but wonder if that was truly the case.

In early September 1935, she went to Blackpool to see the lights and to visit family who lived there, upon her return to Lancaster it seems that Ruxton had built himself up into a swirling pool of angry paranoia and killed her. The next person to suffer was 20 year old Mary Jane, the housekeeper, the belief is she saw him murder her mistress and so she had to die too.

On the 29 ^th September 1935, a young woman walking over a bridge in Moffat, Dumfriesshire found a parcel that had a decomposing human arm protruding from it…as the police started to poke around various other body parts were found. Forensics was still in it’s infancy at this point, but the scientist Professor John Glaister established that they were the parts of two different women. The identification process was hard however as the killer had removed all the parts which would be used to make composite drawings or obtain dental records -they had cut away the eyes, ears, skin, lips and removed teeth.

To illustrate how fast this particular way of obtaining information on a murder victim was progressing, they even employed the services of an entomologist to work out the rough time of death – a technique which is pretty common place now.

Mary Jane was the first to be positively identified, even though the police also knew that 35year old Isobel was missing – it was the obvious conclusion that the other remains belonged to her but they had to be sure before they arrested the well respected doctor, Buck Ruxton.

To cut a long story short, the evidence mounted up and he was taken into custody and on March 13 ^th 1936 was sentenced to death. Reading newspapers from the time, the Aberdeen Press and Journal makes an interesting supernatural link in pointing out how the number “13” factored heavily. He was arrested on October 13 ^th , he was committed for trial on December 13 ^th and received his notification of punishment on March 13 ^th .

Despite the guilt being pretty unequivocal (read the court transcripts if you wish to learn more), residents of Lancaster still tried to appeal for clemency, and Ruxton himself kept proclaiming his innocence, right up until he was hanged by Albert Pierrepoint on the 12 ^th May 1936.

You may think that this was an innocent man, executed unfairly, that the jury was swayed by technical science rarely heard of, but after his death a letter he had lodged with that was only to be opened after his death, and if he was acquitted, to be returned to him which said –

“I killed Mrs Ruxton in a fit of temper because I thought she had been with a man. I was mad at the time. Mary Jane Rogerson was present at the time. I had to kill her."

Fire in the workhouse

Mon, 10 Apr 2023 18:05:57 GMT

Any type of institution where you have hundreds of people has the probability of danger, and with the emphasis on health and safety being no where near what it is now, then horrific accidents and fatalities were always a distinct possibility - especially when you factor in open fires, smoking, lack of supervision and people who should perhaps have been in a more strictly monitored setting.

The workhouse in Stafford was built between 1837 and 1838, and located on the West side of Marston Road. In the 1881 census it had just over two hundred and eighty residents (or inmates as they were known), so it was not a huge facility by the standards of the time, but not a tiny one either.

It was whilst going through newspaper accounts looking for some interesting workhouse related stories that I stumbled across a really sad event. Unsurprisingly, fires breaking out in workhouses was not an unusual event, in fact, there were even worse tragedies than this one that happened during the Victorian era, one in Forest Gate in 1890 resulted in the deaths of over twenty six boys who were attending the district school (a sub division of the workhouse) there. What I found especially interesting about this one however was the fact that it caused some changes to nearby Poor Unions and illustrates how they were permanently “trying” to evolve.

On the 16 ^th May 1901, Nurse Elizabeth Langabeer – who was a 49yr old widow – was looking after the old infirmary of Stafford workhouse, most of the eleven people who were residing in that part were elderly or lacking mental capacity in some way (the term used in the report was imbeciles). At around 2am, she smelled smoke and went to investigate, finding the room that belonged to the workhouse cook, Ann Middleton, aflame, she endeavoured to battle the inferno herself using a stirrup pump before shutting the internal doors to try and prevent any further spread. Sadly, seven people died in the fire – Peter Ellis, John Higstoo, Henry Stanley, Samuel Smith, George Cartwright, Edward Powell and Ann. When the inquest was held a few days later, the fire was determined to have started in the room directly below Mrs Middleton’s quarters, and it transpired that an inmate - who had signed himself out, and then broken back in to sleep there – called Bullbrook - was in the exact location when it ignited. According to him, he had been asleep in the shoe making shop, and awoke to see the flames, witnesses did state he tried to help but was very drunk and disappeared again later that morning.

Nurse Langabeer was commended for her actions and bravery, and the Union admitted that a telephone and night watchman would have possibly helped (due to the time it took to get the fire brigade there. Amazingly, some of the Guardians felt that a telephone would be too intrusive and voted against it! they did however agree to changes during the rebuild, which included fire proof staircases and more internal “fire” doors. Even if they did not learn from events that quickly, neighbouring workhouses did, with both Dudley and Walsall voting unanimously to have phone lines installed as soon as possible.

It was never confirmed how the fire started, but if I was a gambling person, I would be laying odds on that it was something to do with a former inmate who had passed out unconscious after a drinking binge and would have been smoking.

The Lamb Inn

Mon, 30 Jan 2023 18:26:27 GMT

A wolf in sheep's clothing?

They call me the Holy Lamb, Rat & Parrot, Henry’s….that’s not my name, that’s not my name, that’s not my – oh you get the picture!

This is all about the Lamb Inn, of Orford Place in Norwich, a pub that I have personal “knowledge” of, although I have never been inside, more of that shortly.

The history of this hostelry is quite fascinating, and their website boasts at least three ghosts (hey! I’m a poet…) , although sadly they do not go into any detail on them apart from one for whom I have done a little bit of research. With the weird addiction business owners seem to have of renaming places to try and change up their clientele, my guess is that some of the former drinkers are not happy with their pub being called the Rat & Parrot or Henry’s.

When I was a teenager living in Norwich, I used to have a part time job at a Newsagent’s in the city centre, and our staff room overlooked the courtyard of the Lamb Inn. The pub was well known for being incredibly strict on checking ID, so I never ventured into the main bar (hence my comment above), but on a nice summer’s day, I would go into the outdoor seating area as they had a tendency to have bands playing on a regular basis on a Saturday midday.

So, why would this place be haunted? It is believed to date back to the 12 ^th Century as The Holy Lamb and had parts built from stone taken from derelict churches, fast forward to the late 16 ^th century and it became an “inn” and was renamed The Lamb. It has weathered both multiple fire and floods, with a newspaper article from January 1939 telling how the landlady’s grandson dropped from a twelve foot high window in order to call the fire services when he realised the pub was aflame.

The saddest (and also most interesting story) is that of John Aggas, one of the previous residents who is believed to still reside there. In November 1787, he got into a disagreement with his brother in law, Timothy Hardy (who was from nearby Newton Flotman). Many modern on line reports say that Hardy was fighting with his wife, something that was a regular occurrence apparently, however, a newspaper article from the time say that it was Aggas’ wife who he was arguing with, and that John stepped in to calm the situation down, it was at this point feigning acceptance that Hardy plunged a knife into the fifty one year old father of one, with the injured man dying nearly twenty four hours later.

What had prompted Hardy to do it? that seemed to be a question that the news reporters of the time asked also, and one commented that “we are sorry to find that neither intoxication or insanity can be offered in extenuation of this deed”. So, in other words, he was stone cold sober and of sound mind when he plunged the blade into this brother in law’s torso.

The next article I find is advising that Hardy would be tried on 25 ^th July 1788, and as the legal system moved incredibly quickly back in the 18 ^th century, he was executed in the grounds of Norwich Castles ditches the following day, 26 ^th July 1788. His body was then cut down from the scaffold and used for analysis and dissection, something which the sentencing judge would have ruled in accordance with the 1752 Murder Act.

Weirdly all the reports I could find of John’s ghost is of how affable he is, and how he frequently watches people drinking with a friendly smile on his face, he sounds like he would have been a fabulous Landlord.

Brave?...or a bit bonkers

Tue, 01 Nov 2022 13:15:22 GMT

I have been focussing on all things Special Forces on Haunted Histories this week, firstly because the new drama “SAS Rogue Heroes” has started showing on BBC1 - and it definitely seems to be a marmite series, I know that historically it is inaccurate and also the portrayals so far of the three main characters Stirling, Mayne and Lewes are missing out key elements of their personalities which are intrinsic to their development – and secondly, because one of the strongest pieces of evidence I have ever garnered on an investigation was to do with a Commando who I believe may have fought either with or alongside Paddy and his crew.

Of the three names I mentioned, Lewes is the one I know least about, so I thought that I would focus on that for a short blog. Straight away, you notice that all three of these men had sporting prowess that made them stand out, Stirling was a mountaineer and training to climb Everest, Mayne was an incredibly good rugby player who received caps for both Ireland and the British Lions in the sport, and Lewes was an Oxford Blue. Was it his aptitude for team sport which helped him after the SAS (L Detachment to be correct) was established?

“ Lewes did more to win the 1937 Boat Race for Oxford than any other man, in or out of the boat. He was passionately convinced that the need was for men who race, and who would be happy together, and that the technique of rowing style was something to be taught by the coaches.” (The Oxford and Cambridge Boat Race; 1954)

This ability to coach was definitely a skill as when the new regiment was created, he was made the Training officer for L Detachment (not LRDG, Long Range Desert Group, they worked alongside Stirling and his men) and often led by example. One story I found was that during parachute training at their camp in Kabrit Egypt, two soldiers died when a jump went wrong, it was Lewes and Stirling who went first the next day to make sure the equipment was safe…they also would leap from the back of speeding lorries as part of the tuition, definitely confirmation of you don’t have to be mad to work here but it helps…

Lewes also invented the bomb that carries his name, he knew they needed an explosive which was light enough to be carried by an incredibly small group of men, but also powerful enough to destroy enemy aircraft. The Lewes bomb weighed just one pound, so vast quantities were able to be taken on the various raids without impacting on the soldier’s ability to move.

A quick search will also link the words “Jock Lewes” with “Nazi sympathiser”, this is not something you would expect to see so I thought I would elaborate on it for you. During the early period of Nazi rule of Germany, Lewes had gone to Berlin and was impressed by the discipline and dynamism of the regime. He was quite an austere person himself, and felt it was an admirable way to conduct one’s business, however, after the events of Kristallnacht - the November pogroms – in 1938, where thousands of Jewish businesses were destroyed, tens of thousands of Jews were arrested and placed in concentration camps, hundreds of synagogues were burned to the ground, his admiration turned to disgust and he became an avowed opponent of Hitler and his minions.

It was only nine days after he turned 28, on 30 ^th December 1941, he was part of a raid on Axis airfields deep into enemy territory when was shot (reportedly through the thigh) and died minutes later. His men buried him where he fell, but sadly the location of his grave has been lost in time.

If you want to learn more about Jock, his nephew John has written a few books based on his Uncle’s diaries and notes that are worth reading.

Oh, and do I think they were brave? For sure, do I think they were bonkers? Very definitely, is this what made them so good at what they did? Without a doubt.

Actor or spy?

Thu, 13 Oct 2022 20:28:53 GMT

Any of you who have spent time with me will know that my brain goes off on tangents – all of which make total sense to me – that can confuse mere mortals. A recent cluster of facts that I linked together was to do with the Supermarine Spitfire and whether actor Leslie Howard was in actual fact a British spy.

I see you with that bemused look on your face…let me fill in the blanks.

The First of the Few was a film starring both Leslie Howard and David Niven, (actually produced and directed by Howard, he was a man of many talents) all about the development of the iconic aircraft by its designer, RJ Mitchell.

Released in 1942, what makes it more bittersweet is that the actor playing the eponymous lead role actually died the following year on the 1 ^st June. That was not unusual, the country was in the middle of World War Two and many people were being killed in air raids and the such. It was the conspiracy and intrigue that surrounded what happened to Howard which still has people talking to this day.

He was on board a DC-3, BOAC flight 777 when it was attacked by a squadron of JU-88 maritime fighters, bringing it down over the Bay of Biscay with the loss of all life on board (including both Howard and Anglo German Jew, Wilfred Israel who was a fundamental person in the setting up of the Kindertransport project).

Seems pretty clear cut? It was war, one side attacked the other? But why shoot down an unarmed commercial airliner that posed no risk.

After the war, Luftwaffe reports did state that those eight Junkers had ventured a long way out of their normal patrol zone, and had not been ordered to shoot – having taken it upon themselves when they thought they detected an enemy military aircraft. Further research done by author Christopher Goss backed up that they had not known who or what they were firing upon, but that the pilots were angry at their superiors for not advising them that there was a scheduled flight between Lisbon and Britain.

Was that omission of information intentional? One of the theories is that Nazi minister of propaganda, Joseph Goebbels believed that his nemesis – Howard had produced many good anti -Nazi propaganda films, and even ridiculed Goebbels in one of them – was incredibly dangerous and needed to be stopped. People also cite his earlier military career during the First World War, did he survive until being invalided out with shellshock due to the fact he was working as a spy in Germany? Was he masquerading as an actor and director, promoting British film on an intelligence gathering mission as nobody would suspect the star of movies such as Gone with the Wind, or The Scarlet Pimpernel as being a world class secret agent.

Another theory, which is almost as popular as the one of the spy formerly known as Leslie Steiner, was that it had been leaked to the Germans that Churchill was on board this flight, he had visited North Africa a few months previously to meet with Eisenhower. The concept of the Prime Minister using commercial airlines was not that outlandish as he had done previously, plus (supposedly) German agents had seen a man they believed to be the portly cigar smoking leader climbing aboard BOAC flight 777 (it was actually case of mistaken identity, the person in question was Howards

accountant and close friend Alfred Chennalls). Even the man himself accepted this was the reason for the attack on the DC-3, saying in his memoir

" The brutality of the Germans was only matched by the stupidity of their agents. It is difficult to understand how anyone could imagine that with all the resources of Great Britain at my disposal I should have booked a passage in an unarmed and unescorted plane from Lisbon and flown home in broad daylight ." (Churchill, page 695-696) . In fact, he actually departed on the 4 ^th June flying via Gibraltar on a converted Consolidated B-24.

So, you have some of the facts, did the upper echelon of the Luftwaffe deliberately not tell their maritime air patrols that a commercial passenger plane would be in their airspace? Was it Churchill they were targeting or was Goebbels carrying out a personal vendetta against a well spoken Englishman who had made him look a bit stupid? Or was Leslie Howard, actor, producer and director actually a world class spy who had to be stopped.

You decide.

Disaster in Butte

Fri, 09 Sep 2022 16:30:00 GMT

Those of you who follow my Facebook page “Haunted Histories” will probably recall that I recently did a series of posts of places I would like to visit and/or investigate, and one that I had seen on “Ghosts of Devil’s Perch” recently with the team of Dave Schrader, Cindy Kaza and KD Stafford which had really blown me away.

I will not spoil it for you if you have not watched it, but grab a copy if you can and you will hopefully agree with me.

The episode where they visited the part of Butte known locally as “the Cabbage Patch” told a tale of poverty, self -rule and murder, but one of the other facts the local historian mentioned was that many of the women living there were single mothers whose husbands had lost their lives in the mines of the area – keep in mind, Butte was once called the “richest hill on earth” due to its abundance of geologically precious materials found below the ground.

But why were so many women left widowed? Health and safety in the mining trade has always been a difficult one to manage, but go back one hundred years or so, lives did not matter, profit was all that counted and during the First World War, the demand for copper was extensive.

That was just the material that these men were digging for, and as the need became greater, so did the demands placed on these workers. By mid-1917, the need for the material that was being mined in this area was increasing substantially, copper was used in so many different elements of war from electrical wiring to shell fuses to being alloyed with zinc to create brass for shells.

Ironically, the worst ever hard rock mine disaster in the United states happened when the owners were actually in the process of implementing a new sprinkler system to help with fire safety. On the 8 ^th June 1917, they had dropped an electric cable some eight hundred metres or more into the shaft but the outer casing had been damaged, exposing the oil soaked cloth insulation beneath. When one of the foreman was inspecting the wiring to see whether it was still suitable, he set light to the fabric outer coating and it took mere minutes for the flames to traverse the entire length of the shaft and turned it into a terrifying chimney for the fire which proceeded to suck up all the oxygen that was in the mine tunnels themselves.

The death toll was horrific, at least one hundred and sixty eight miners lost their lives, most not from the flames themselves but from asphyxiation, the Irish newspapers carried stories about it – not unsurprising as the area had a very high Irish contingent - which sadly underestimated the death toll, placing it at less than a third of what actually happened. When the rescue teams were finally able to get into the works to try and rescue any survivors (of which there were ultimately around two hundred and fifty), attempts to bring teams back to the service by means of the cages was met with horrific circumstances as the gusts of air that were a side effect of the hoists working caused what can only be described as a backdraft, roasting the poor men alive.

There were heroes, one we shall mention was a man by the name of Manus Duggan, he was a young chap who worked in the mine sharpening and delivering tools to the other workers, he persuaded a group of around twenty nine to barricade themselves in a dead end tunnel, and building a blockhead to protect themselves from the advancing poisonous gases produced by the fire. These men had to overcome their fear of being buried alive, and after around thirty six hours, twenty five of them made it to safety on the surface. Duggan went back down into the mine in search of other colleagues and tragically perished and became one of the one hundred and sixty eight.

This may seem horrific enough, but Butte in Montana was to see other high profile events, it is no wonder it is as active as it is, just look up the Anaconda Massacre, or the murder of American Labour leader and unionist Frank Little, or the disabilities and deaths caused by silicosis – aka miner’s consumption.

A Butte Irish Miners song.

Hurrah for Old Ireland, the land of good miners

The dear little isle I see in my dreams.

I'll go back to Old Ireland

to the girl who waits for me;

To hell with your mines and your mining machines.

Canada and Nuclear War

Fri, 29 Jul 2022 10:24:37 GMT

Ok, so a slightly overly dramatic title but I bet it made you want to keep reading did it not? As a child in the 70’s and 80’s, I remember the fear of nuclear war and being made to watch the warning videos of what to do in the event of…although I am still not sure what benefit there would be of a wet towel around your head, or hiding in a cupboard with nothing but the stairs and a mattress above you for protection. The Cold War is not something that many people talk about, whether that reason is the fact it is still relatively recent or if for many of the younger generation, it seems something of a fairy tale, this threat of mutually assured destruction.

Or is it because it is a permanent spectre hanging over us?

The whole design and use of nuclear bunkers have fascinated me for years, the fact that there are many still sequestered underneath official buildings, hidden in the wilds or even still operational on military bases is absolutely fascinating and I love learning about new ones.

I am sure those of you who specialise in the subject, or are even from Ontario in Canada will know of this one, but it caught my attention, the Diefenbunker.

This particular construct is in Carp, Ontario and was one of fifty bunkers commissioned by the Canadian Prime Minister John Diefenbaker in 1957 as a response to the threat of nuclear war. These were to enable the continued running of a country via these regional bunkers (very similar to the system in the UK of which places like Drakelow and Kelvedon Hatch were part). The Central Emergency Government HQ Carp was to be the largest and the nearest to Ottawa. They began building in 1959, finishing in 1961 and containing four storeys over one hundred thousand square foot, construction used thirty two thousand tonnes of concrete and five thousand tonnes of steel.

People like to give things nicknames, an irreverent moniker if you will, and like the forts of Lord Palmerston were known as “Palmerston’s follies” in the UK, these bunkers were coined Diefenbunkers in Canada.

It had staffing levels of between one hundred and one hundred and fifty, with a twenty four hour shift, but to anyone observing, it would look like nothing more than a low level military establishment…despite the secrets it held below the surface. That number was only a fifth of what it designed to cater for however, plans included being able to house over five hundred with a constant supply of food to cope with a thirty day lockdown was in place. I would guess that not many people would look at the innocuous warehouse type building and think “oh yes, there’s four floors of technology and nuclear know how down there”.

Life and the Prime Minister were not the only “valuables” it was going to contain, like in WW2 in the UK when various valuables were placed in secret parts of the London Underground, the Diefenbunker had a purpose built strong room to hold the gold reserves that belonged to the Bank of Canada. The security system was pretty spectacular, not only would you have to know the code for the thirteen tonne blast door into the giant safe, there was a second air controlled entrance which you needed also.

The bunker was decommissioned in 1994, and a few years later turned into a museum.

I know most of us will never get the opportunity to visit these piece of Cold War history, but pop along to their website and you can at least have a look at the virtual tour https://diefenbunker.ca/virtual-tours/

Down at the docks

Wed, 13 Jul 2022 05:45:00 GMT

London is a truly fascinating place, if you look behind the buildings there is always something new to discover, and this was the case with my recent visit to St Katherine’s Docks in Tower Hamlets (a stone’s throw from the Tower of London and a rather lovely place to eat if you are ever in the area)

Originally my plan for this blog was to write about the docks themselves – how a parliamentary Act in 1825 allowed them to bulldoze over a thousand “slum” homes in order to build a new wharf and how none of those displaced residents were given new places to leave or any financial compensation.

Once I started my normal process of research, I discovered a story I found even more interesting and worthy of telling for those who were not aware of it.

I went onto the newspaper archives and typed in St Katherine’s Docks, up came an article about piracy and murder in 1845, colour me intrigued…

There was an advert talking about a schooner named Elizabeth and had been formerly known as the Echo, and the more I dug into this story, the more information I found.

The Echo had been a Brazilian slave ship, it had been captured by the British Navy off the coast of Africa (near Lagos) in late February 1845, and tragically eight sailors of the HMS Wasp had been killed in the process. It seemed a clear cut example of murder on the part of the Brazilians on board as they had been boarded and over four hundred slaves were found hidden below deck.

This is not a post about my abhorrence of slavery, although many do not realise that Brazil had a huge percentage of its occupants who were enslaved, and despite the Brazilian government declaring that all enslaved were free upon reaching their soil, they did not enforce this. With the British Navy doing its utmost to bring a halt to this disgusting trade in humans by seizing these ships (they had stopped one called the Felicidade just weeks before the Echo), it just meant that the supply of newly enslaved people declined and those that were brought back to Brazil were more valuable to the “traders”.

Back to the Echo…so the British Navy had captured the Felicidade after watching her moored some fifteen miles off the coast of Africa, and boarding her to find a fake deck and more water stored than that which would be needed by the crew, she was taken as a slave ship and given Royal Navy status. They then spied the Echo, who tried to escape and gave chase, a small crew went to take control of the vessel, and you know how that ended.

The men of the Echo were captured and brought back to Exeter ready to face what seemed like obvious charges of murder, but astonishingly in December 1845 they received full pardons – huh I hear you say?

They got off on what I guess could be said to be a technicality, the capture of the Felicidade was illegal, the 5 ^th George IV C 113 actually declared that it was the carrying of slaves which was piracy, not the preparation for such an event. Add to that it was the Felicidade which made the capture of the Echo as a nominated British vessel attached to the Wasp, and the treaty also declared that no one below the rank of Lieutenant should search a ship suspected of slave trading…it was the Midshipman Palmer (one of the murder victims) who had boarded first, it was subsequently determined that the Brazilian crew were unlawfully kept prisoner and therefore their violence to achieve freedom was justifiable.

Like I said at the beginning, always dig deeper than the surface of these places, something possibly shocking, certainly informative and maybe even interesting can appear.

And I left with my head...

Mon, 04 Jul 2022 10:57:44 GMT

The Tower of London

Those of you who listened to my podcast recently with my friend, the gorgeous and very funny Tom Houghton

( https://honourabletom.com/ ) will know that he invited me to visit him at the iconic Tower of London – yes, that one! To cut a long story short, Cinders did go to the ball and got to spend an hour behind the scenes at one of the most well known tourist attractions in the UK and also one of the historic royal palaces.

To give those who maybe are reading this without knowing quite how popular it is, pre Covid, it had nearly three million visitors in one year…and on the day I went, it was pretty busy too, but the first thing I noticed as I walked through the East gate entrance, escorted by my generous host, was how quiet it was once you were within the walls.

Tom and his Father, General Sir Nicholas Houghton, Baron of Richmond, GCB, CBE, DL (and yes, I did have to google his full title) who is the current Constable of the Tower, live in the building known as Queens house, this dates back to Tudor times and is believed to have been built around 1530. I felt slightly out of place as I had to walk past the Tower guard wearing his bearskin hat at his post and through the front door.

Being the complete nerd you all know and love, it was some of the antique furniture that was blowing my mind, that was until I was shown the cell of Sir Thomas More. This part of the tower is not accessible to the general public as you have to go through Queens House to access it, moreover you are asked not to take photos as it is seen as a Catholic shrine, and had been since 1885 when More was beatified by Rome. I will not go into a long history lesson as to who More was, other than to say he was the one who wrote the History of Richard III (which I may have referred to in my book, the Battle for Bosworth Hall), Lord High Chancellor and a noted philosopher, but also fell out of favour with execution happy Henry VIII when he refused to take the oath of supremacy, he basically signed his death warrant and was beheaded on the 6 ^th July 1535, sixteen months after being taken prisoner and kept in the Tower.

Whilst I am anything but religious, I found this particular room with its high stone walls, uneven floor and ground level windows that meant you could still hear all the sounds from outside, quite relaxing and not feeling like the place a man who was going to be killed stayed. For those of you who like to read, it was the kind of space that I could quite happily nestle down in a comfy chair, with a long drink and lose myself in a good book.

The next area I got to see had a very different atmosphere, it was the cell in which Lady Jane Grey, the nine day queen, was kept before her execution courtesy of her cousin Mary, 12 ^th February 1554. She was declared monarch on 10 ^th July 1553, although many historians have pointed out that her rule could be backdated to the date of Edward VI’s death on the 6 ^th July 1553. She was only 16 or 17 years old when she died, and being Queen had not been a role she coveted or ever expected, plus if her father had not been involved in the Wyatt Rebellion, she may have been spared.

It was in here that I had a weird experience, and one that worried Tom a little bit. I felt the over whelming urge to cry, not to shed tears in a hysterical kind of way, but a gentle sobbing of despair and desolation, I had to restrain myself from pacing the floor with tears brimming in my eyes. I felt such a strong sense of melancholy, that I asked to leave the room as it was getting so powerful, and the minute I walked out I was back to normal. There is a belief that this austere hang out had held not only Queen Elizabeth 1 ^st but also WW2 Nazi, Rudolf Hess, but that was not what I think affected me so badly, I do wonder if I had tapped in to some energy remaining from poor Jane.

Here's something for you to ponder however, why is she never known as Queen Jane I? the argument is that she was never coronated, but neither was Edward IV’s son (the infamous half of the Princes in the Tower), yet he is mentioned in history books as Edward V, bit of misogyny going on by historians maybe, Quelle surprise….

That is just a little bit about my once in a lifetime visit behind the walls of this historically abundant castle, and I want to thank Tom for being true to his word – if you like a laugh, go and grab a ticket to his new tour, dates are on his website.

Devil's Island

Fri, 17 Jun 2022 17:20:59 GMT

This week I have been focussing on Victorian prisons on my Haunted Histories social media, that to me would include any type of incarceration from that time period so I decided to get inventive, and one of the worst jails of that time seemed to be the notorious Devil’s Island – made famous in the book and film, Papillon.

Many seem to think of Alcatraz as being dark and foreboding, yet I would argue this place, built on one of the Salvation Islands in French Guiana is much worse. It started to be used in 1852, and whilst only originally envisaged as a place for political prisoners, it soon became home to all sorts including violent killers, thieves and every other criminal that you can think of. Over the one hundred years it was in operation, it is estimated around eighty thousand prisoners passed through its doors, however many never came out as the death rate was nearly seventy five percent.

That is quite shocking I think, but what may astound you even more – for a 19 ^th century prison managed by a first world nation – was how the inmates were treated from the minute they got on the ship to take them to the island. They would be locked into cages that were held below deck, keep in mind it would have been hot, stuffy, rife with disease and the guards were not paid to care if you lived or died. Through each cage would have been a large hose, if you tried to escape your cage or were disruptive, steam would come bellowing out of the pipe not only scalding the unruly individual, but everyone else crammed in there. If that was not enough, the guards had another method…sulfur. There were metal shutters around each area, if prisoners were disrespectful or upset the keyholders in any way, the seals would go up, and burning sulfur sticks thrown inside.

You can only imagine what damage that, and the lack of general air circulation (not to mention hunger, thirst etc) would have done to them.

Once they arrived on the island, many initially thought it would be easy, after all, there were no walls, minimal supervision and you could roam pretty much anywhere…but it did not take long for them to realise that the island WAS the prison, there was really no escape. That being said, it was only during daylight hours that this restricted freedom was allowed, a witness to the methods employed said that they would be locked up in huts from six in the evening, until six in the morning. It does not take a genius to work out that forty men, hungry, annoyed and coming from a variety of not so salubrious backgrounds does not make for a harmonious residency. The authorities did try and improve the morale and morals of the men however, at one point in the 19 ^th century, they brought across fifteen sex workers, who they hoped that some of the men would settle down with and have children. These women were looked after by nuns, but it was obvious that playing happy families was not on anyone’s mind, and quite quickly sex could be procured for rum, and a syphilis epidemic rampaged through the island.

Those who did decide to try the shark infested waters did not make it very far, those that did make it past that first sharp toothed hurdle had to then survive the jungle and tropical conditions of the mainland, with no tools or food, and certainly no one coming to their aid, they tended to perish.

There was a bell that was rung every time a prisoner went to escape, the rumour goes that it became so common place that sharks would gather the minute they heard the sound – sort of a perverse version of Pavlov’s dogs really.

Another reason that someone may want to get out and was willing to take the risk could have been what happened after their sentence was served (assuming they were not one of the seventy five percent who did not make it), they were then expected to be on parole in French Guiana for the period of time that they had been incarcerated for.

That is not to say that nobody did escape, there are the more well known cases, Henri Charriere (the writer of Papillon, although authorities have said it was pure fiction) for example, but there was one I found that I thought would appeal to you all.

In 1907, Albert Juge was sentenced to twenty years on Devil’s Island, but in 1908 he decided to make a bid for freedom in a boat, what did he use? He dug up a coffin from the burial ground on the island and used it as a type of canoe to paddle to the mainland. He managed to evade capture for twelve years living in Brazil, before homesickness for Paris overcame him and he was arrested whilst visiting his elderly mother and returned to complete the rest of his sentence.

It was in 1924 that external pressure began to shut the prison island down, and in 1938 that they stopped taking any “new” individuals into the facility, but it was not until 1953 that it was closed.

The walls have ears

Sat, 21 May 2022 11:01:41 GMT

Most of us would have read some time, accounts of state secrets being spilled via the method of “pillow talk”, with both male and female spies using this particular brand of espionage to obtain valuable data.

But what if you needed to do it on a much larger scale? And with multiple targets? How would you go about accomplishing it, you would play to vanity and ego.

Introducing Trent Park near Enfield in North London, whilst this beautiful country home had been the home of many including Sir Phillip Sassoon, when he died in 1939 the building was requisitioned by the Government for use in the Second World War, and established as a kind of Prisoner of War camp, but this was a camp with a difference.

Catering solely to Axis officers, and with nearly two thirds of those being General or above, they were given every luxury imaginable – apart from freedom – to encourage them to relax and to chat.

For what purpose however? Well, there were hidden microphones everywhere, and fluent German speakers who had escaped to the UK due to threats on their lives in their home country would listen to the conversations twenty four seven. Originally those there in 1940 were downed German Luftwaffe pilots which gave the intelligence units invaluable information about the air force strength, it’s perceived weaknesses and much more.

When the residents began to be higher ranking officials, the secrets they were divulging became more and more astounding, for example, the powers that be were able to piece together the various parts to determine where the V2 rocket factory was (that we now know of Peenemunde) and order a huge bombing strike on it in the August of 1943. Although that did not stop it completely, it did delay the research by around two months by destroying the prototype.

Something that would have amused those British Intelligence Personnel highly would have been reading transcripts of these German officers being incredibly derogatory towards their “enemies” skills by frequently commenting on their stupidity and the fact that they were not even clever enough to bug the place…oh the irony.

They also had the opportunity to attend garden parties, hosted by the amiable Colonel Thomas Kendrick. Something I have experienced myself when with someone who is comfortable speaking other languages is that they switch into that when they do not want you to understand what they are saying. Whilst this may seem an easy way to talk in secret with each other, it is perhaps best to work out if the seemingly ignorant British officer smiling and passing drinks round is not only a senior officer with MI6, but also a fluent German speaker himself.

When you read some of the accounts that were documented, it makes you realise how not all German military were pro-Nazi, in fact some were very much against it and found it abhorrent. Take Generalleutenant Georg Neuffer, a former Luftwaffe pilot who had risen in the ranks but was captured in 1943 in North Africa. He had sympathies with the Russians (not many dared voice these), and said “What will they say when they find our graves in Poland? The OGPU can’t have done anything worse than that” we can now estimate that somewhere in the region of 57% of Russian POWs died in German hands compared to under 4% of British or American (I am not including any of the non-German POW sites here)

All in all, the work carried out at Trent Park was seen to be of similar importance to that at the more famous Bletchley, and keep an eye on the website www.trentparkhouse.org.uk for details as to when the museum will be opening.

She's a firestarter

Mon, 25 Apr 2022 18:51:33 GMT

Near Luton in Hertfordshire, is a place called Markyate, in 1145 a convent called “The Priory of St Trinity in the Wood” was founded by Geoffrey de Gorham, but after the reformation, the building became a hall and eventually ended up in the hands of the Ferrers family.

The most famous person associated with the family is normally known as the Wicked Lady, her name was Katherine Ferrers. At the age of 6, in 1640, it is said she lost her father and consequently inherited a great fortune, her mother remarried very quickly after but Katherine was to become at orphan at around the age of 8 or 9. Those familiar with historical dates will know that this coincided with the period of time normally known as the civil war, and Lady K and her family were staunch royalists – their wealth had come from their support of the monarchy, and the residence at Markyate Cell was built of the site of the previous priory - it having been seized during the reformation.

Lady Katherine was then taken as a ward of court when her new stepfather was arrested for being a supporter of the royals, and at the tender age of 14, married to her step father’s nephew, who was only 16 himself. Sir Thomas Fanshawe proceeded to sell off as much of his new wife’s estate as possible, including Markyate Cell (which had been leased to tenants in the years following her father’s death)

This is where the history books differ, some believe that in 1660, Katherine died in childbirth however, many believe she embraced what so many broke Royalists did instead, she turned to highway robbery. In fact, the impoverished Katherine was so successful, dressing in men’s clothes and targeting victims on places like Normansland Common, that she built a strong reputation for herself. The legend says that she was shot whilst hunting on her normal ground (looking for marks, not animals…) and galloped back to Markyate Cell, where she was found in a passageway by servants the next day.

Any truth in this? probably not, but it is interesting to note that she is not buried in the Fanshawe family vault as most deceased members would be and has a grave of her own….but that is not the end of the story at all.

Fire is associated with her, as a criminal she was said to burn down houses, and steal livestock, interesting when you find out that her former home (now known as Cell Park) has suffered blazes so bad that it had to be totally rebuilt in the first part of the 20 ^th century.

In 1840, during one of those conflagrations, firefighters struggling to control the flames claim to have spotted Katherine swinging from a branch of a nearby sycamore tree whilst watching the destruction. According to symbol experts, this tree symbolises protection, love, fertility and eternity – was she trying to tell them that it was hers for ever whether it had been sold or not?

A quick search on the internet for Markyate Cell does bring up a real sense of doom and gloom, and it does certainly seem to have negative energy (and reported hauntings of a woman meeting Katherine’s description, and a black horse galloping across the grounds) as it was also the place where murdered Australian heiress, Janie Shepherd, was found in April 1977, barely concealed in a shallow grave, by two young boys.

Do you think Lady Katherine Ferrers was a criminal mastermind? Or just a young woman who was dealt a bad hand in life and taken advantage of by men?

Churches and challenging stories

Tue, 12 Apr 2022 10:17:04 GMT

I always joke that whenever I walk into a church I take a bottle of water with me, just in case I burst into flames….I do say it in jest, especially as I have a great affection for these beautiful buildings, many constructed hundreds and hundreds of years ago and would have been the centre of the village (or town etc) that they were part of. Whilst I am not religious, and so go into them to see the amazing architecture and absorb the history, I still try to be as respectful as I can to those people who have gone there to worship, it seems that not all people are that considerate though.

A myth that I dispelled early in my Haunted Histories days was that of the Church of St Peter in Alresford Essex. This 13 ^th century building burned down in 1971, and many accounts say it was on the night of Halloween, and that devil worshippers had crept in and accidentally set fire to it whilst conducting their satanic rituals.

Really?

Well, no, weirdly even though the fire took place in the latter part of the 20 ^th century, there was nothing really written about it and it was a genius researcher at the Essex Records Office who suggested I look at Parish records. In those I discovered a note, kindly written in by whoever was officiating ceremonies saying that a baptism for the 3 ^rd October had been moved to a different location due to the fire the night before.

So not the 31 ^st October then, and most likely not those engaged in the dark arts either, more probable were errant teenagers meeting in the graveyard for a sneaky cigarette, or even that close to Bonfire night, messing around with fireworks.

As I was going to be visiting a client nearby, I decided to make a short detour to the now ruined church and have a look around. It is set quite a way from any houses and is almost in the middle of some fields (with lots of dog walkers using the footpath, I may have made a fuss of all the pooches). Strolling around the graveyard - which is still used, so respect and decorum are a given – I found two war graves, almost by accident, belonging to Lieutenants Rowland and Frederic Giles Prichard. It drove me to look into these two young men, and what had happened to them, Rowland was around 19 years old when he died, and his older brother only 22. I can say it brought tears to my eyes, and when I started to research their story, the emotion got stronger. Their father was the church priest, Revered Charles C Prichard, he had five children in 1911 (seven in total, but two had died) and both his sons had joined the military by 1914, Frederic Giles was with the East York’s and Rowland George with the Suffolk’s. According to the military records, Frederic spent four days in hospital in late February 1915 with frostbite, but was released back to the front soon after. Rowland was in Belgium, and on the 24 ^th April 1915, during the second battle of Ypres, he died. His name is listed among the fifty four thousand, eight hundred and ninety six others on the Menin Gate. The family must have thought that would be the end to their tragedy, but sadly not, on 9 ^th August 1915, Frederic died from injuries sustained in battle.

Their father paid for a beautiful stained glass window to be erected in the church as a tribute to his sons, and the other fallen from the Great War, this was one of the first things that the fire of 1971 destroyed.

When I went back to the church some months later after learning about this family, I wanted to show a friend the two graves that had made me look into their story, oddly I could not find them. Had these young men wanted me to pass on their story and once that was done, they were satisfied? I truly do not know, but we should never forget the sacrifices brave souls like the Prichard boys made.

Why do we?

Wed, 09 Mar 2022 09:31:47 GMT

Why do we “Ghost Hunt”

This article is not meant to be an in depth discussion on what terminology to use, personally I hate the term ghost hunting, but it does seem to be one that is universally known as opposed to Paranormal investigating, or paranormal researching etc.

Being the inquisitive soul that I am – both a blessing and a curse I can promise you – I am always asking questions, of both myself and things that I read about, and one of those recently is why do some of us go into these buildings etc and try to see if there is anything paranormal in there.

I cannot comment for others, only myself, and I am fascinated by things that we cannot explain, those occurrences that are termed “paranormal”, but I do not believe everything is a ghost – am I in the minority here?

A recent report I read said that over 50% of those in the UK who were questioned believed in the possibility of supernatural beings, and in the USA, the figure is around 40%, but in Taiwan? The figure is over 90% - in fact in many countries like China, Malaysia, Singapore, Taiwan and others, each year they have a ghost festival, in fact, Taiwan has a Ghost Month where they tend to avoid things like moving house, having surgery or even swimming – they also issue strict instructions not to let any spirits know your address in case they follow you home. The difference here is that their religions explicitly believe in ghosts, they are mentioned in their writings, whereas Christianity does not.

Most of us have heard of the term pareidolia, where the mind tries to order images into something that it would recognise, normally a face, read any paranormal page and you will see the word used over and over when people ask for an opinion on a photo. We as humans, are conditioned to try and make sense of everything, is this why so many of us go out looking to be spooked? We want to rationalise the unexplained? Or is it something else…

Could it be a psychological yearning to know that the time we have on earth is not necessarily it? how comforting is it to know that loved ones we have lost may have the ability to communicate, to lead us, to give us an insight in what may yet come? Some studies believe it is to do with the explanation of what causes a ghost to be a ghost, think about every story you have heard, the haunting is normally down to a murder, a suicide, someone who was unfulfilled and so on, could these be seen as ethical lapses and so by investigating them we ensure we will not commit the same error.

Another observation I read said that those who tend to go in search of the paranormal are more like to anthropomorphise things, in other words, applying human emotions and characteristics to non -human beings. I could be said to be guilty of that as I do talk to my animals as though they are capable of the same feelings as me, and I would argue that how do we know they do not experience love or affection etc.

Whilst I can understand science being very sceptical (some may say cynical) about what ghosts are, let us just remember that it was only relatively recently in the grand scheme of things that people still thought bad smells (miasma) gave you illnesses like cholera and when Dr John Snow made the link between polluted water and the disease, his findings were ignored for some time.

I think we all have our own basis for doing this, mine is probably a combination of a few of the reasons I have listed, but like with so many things in life, if you do not have someone asking “what if…” you will never get any answers.

The Massacre of Kondomari

Fri, 25 Feb 2022 10:15:03 GMT

If you ever get the opportunity to visit Greece, and its beautiful islands, there is an overwhelming sense of animosity for anyone German from older members of the community. I remember the first time I visited this beautiful nation back in about 1994, and was told not to mention WW2 or to ever say the word “German” as I would most likely be either shoved out of a building, or spat at.

Whether this was true or not - I did not try to find out! – it made me want to learn why these incredibly placid and laid back people would have such virulent hatred to an entire country of people. It does not take much to find out why, and also to work out the reasons that those old enough to remember 1941 and onwards still carry those feelings of bitterness.

I could probably pick anywhere in the Hellenic republic to talk to you about, but in this case I am choosing Crete, the largest of the Greek islands, the most populated and also a very well used holiday destination.

On 20 ^th May 1941, the Battle of Crete began with the landing of around six hundred German paratroopers of the 1 ^st Air Landing Assault Regiment, of these, two thirds were killed by the New Zealand forces stationed there and the Greek forces on the island. Over the next eleven days, the battles raged on with the Germans sending more troops and the native Cretans fighting with whatever they had to hand. When the island finally surrendered on the 31 ^st May (although some reports say it was the 1 ^st June) reprisals against the defenders began.

In Kondomari (also known as Kontamari), 2 ^nd June 1941, inhabitants were all crowded into the village square; men, women, children…age and gender did not matter. Then all the adult men were taken away to a nearby olive grove and executed by firing squad. Whilst the numbers murdered are almost irrelevant, it is the act which is horrifying, the German records say it was twenty three, whereas local estimates are nearer to sixty. This atrocity and war crime orchestrated by Generaloberst Kurt Student may never have come to light if it was not for the official Wehrmacht photographer Franz-Peter Weixler who recorded the entire event – although he was only supposed to immortalise positive Wehrmacht actions, not murderous ones. He was actually imprisoned eventually for passing some of his negatives to the “enemy” to expose what was happening, and was cited as trying to help Cretans escape their punishment. His photos were discovered in 1980, and historians tried to work out the location which was how the massacre of Kondomari was discovered.

As I said, it was not the only location of mass killings, just one day later, Student authorised the reprisal measures to hit a place called Kandanos and in scarily medieval echoes, the German soldiers slaughtered at least one hundred and eighty villagers, killed all the livestock and razed the homes to the ground – also forbidding anyone to return to try and rebuild.

Remember, this is just one small part of what happened to this nation during WW2, and to add insult to injury, Student was charged with mistreatment and murder of prisoners under war crimes but not with the massacres of civilian communities and managed to avoid the harsh sentencing that he should have been due. He was only given a five year prison term, of which he was released twelve months later due to ill health.

It is a shame that the same leniency was not shown to the brave Cretans who tried to protect their island in the face of the huge German war machine.

The Fallen Prince

Fri, 04 Feb 2022 07:15:03 GMT

I am a very inquisitive person (some may say nosey) which has both advantages and disadvantages, the benefit of being one of those individuals who is constantly wanting to look things up, and find out who what why etc is that I am a cracking person to have on your general knowledge team…the downside is that my head is permanently stuck either in a book or the computer.

Anyway, I have been watching a Netflix series called “The Irregulars”, it is loosely based on Conan Doyle’s short stories and follows a group of teenagers as they ostensibly investigate seemingly paranormal crimes occurring in London. It does feature some of authors most famous creations, Dr Watson, the Holmes brothers, Inspector Lestrade…but it is not something that Sherlock purists would possibly enjoy so you have been warned! One of the group is known as “Leo”, and he is actually meant to be Prince Leopold, Queen Victoria’s eighth child and her youngest son. Most people are aware of the issues Leopold had in that suffering with haemophilia, he had to be incredibly careful and it also was the contributing factor to his death at only 30 years old.

Whilst I was looking up just whether he had got married or not, and if so, who to (watch the series to learn why I was wondering this) I saw that despite his only being a husband for around two years before he died, he had fathered a daughter and his wife was pregnant (with a son) at the time of his fatal accident.

That’s when it got interesting….

On the 19 ^th July 1884 Leopold Charles Edward George Albert was born, deemed a Prince and known as Charles Edward, he inherited his late father’s title of Duke of Albany immediately and then fifteen years later he was the decided successor to his uncle for the title of Duke of Saxe-Coburg & Gotha. His cousin, the then German Kaiser, Wilhelm II was keen for whoever was to be a ruling prince of Germany to have some kind of country specific education so young Charles, his mother and his sister Alice all uprooted from London and moved to Germany. He then enrolled in the Leichterfelde Military Academy and the seeds for his future were sown.

At the outbreak of the First World War, whether his loyalties were torn no one would really know but he fought for Germany, and in 1915 had his name removed from the Most Noble Order of the Garter. In 1918 he lost his dukedom and the respective properties that went with it under the German Revolution, and then a year or so later, he and his children (he had five in total) lost their ability to use Prince or Princess as they had sided with the British Monarchy’s deemed enemy when taking the German side.

Now with no “royal” ties, he began to side proactively with very right wing political groups, which inevitably led him to Hitler, and in 1932 he was actively promoting and endorsing the future Fuhrer, even attending his cousin George Vs funeral as Hitler’s personal representative in 1936 complete with helmet and the uniform of a Sturmabteilung (aka, a brown shirt). He is sometimes nicknamed as the “Fuhrer’s favourite royal” and was given the presidency of the German Red Cross, and association not necessarily aligned with saving lives during that period, more likely with taking them when they were the main tool in the horrendous eugenics programme of murdering both mentally or physically disabled Germans. We all know the result of the Second World War, and at the end of it, Charles (now known more commonly as Carl Eduard) was captured and held under house arrest for being an ardent supporter of the Nazi party – this was obvious by his joining the Brown shirts even though he had been too old to fight. By 1950 he had been exonerated by a court of being a war criminal (although some historians actually believe he had full knowledge of many of the atrocities going on, and gave large sums of money to the Nazi party) but was deemed a “follower of lesser guilt”, but as I said, that could be open for debate.

He died in 1954 of cancer, penniless due to the fines imposed upon him by a de Nazification court and living in a flat in Coburg . Whether his downfall was due to his grandmother’s insistence that he move to Germany, whether it is “right” that the grandson of Queen Victoria has almost been airbrushed from history and whether he did know of the mass murder that went on under Nazi rule, I guess we will never know for sure.

The Zaubererjackl witch trials

Thu, 27 Jan 2022 09:45:49 GMT

Caution! The subject of this blog may upset some.

I recently posted a picture of Moosham Castle on my Facebook page, this formidable looking edifice was the centre of one of the most shocking witch trials that I have read about, and it has raised a lot of questions in my mind.

Back in 1675, a woman by the name of Barbara Kollerin was arrested on suspicion of theft and sorcery, and quite quickly, in what I suppose was a vain attempt to save her life (let’s face it, 17 ^th century Europe and she’s accused of witchcraft, the chances of her walking away were slim…) told the authorities that her son Paul Jacob Koller had made a pact with Satan. Twenty year old Paul was the son of a known executioner, and that alone was enough to raise concerns amongst the ruling classes.

Soon the hunt began for this “hideous” creature who was riding out with the devil and causing chaos wherever he went…it took the powers that be two years before they arrested a twelve year old disabled beggar known as “Dirty Animal” who began to paint an incredible picture of Mr Koller. The boy Dionysos (his real name), described Koller as what we would probably call a Fagin-esque type character, a leader of beggars and homeless children who not only taught them how to steal and con people out of money, but also black magic.

You can imagine the hysteria which followed, in fact, the more of these destitute youngsters that they arrested, the more fantastical the descriptions of Koller became. He was said to be able to make himself invisible in order to conduct his rituals, he was able to enchant destructive rodents to ravage the farmers crops (the harvest had been particularly bad that year, and of course witch craft was to blame) and he was said to be a murderer and such a scary one at that, that officials pretended to stop wanting to capture him.

As the hysteria amplified, executions began, and this is where it really is shocking and awful to read. Over the course of these witch trials (and the newly named Wizard Jackl was never caught, if he existed at all) one hundred and thirty nine people died, 81% of them being male but that is not so shocking more of a surprise when we look at the myriad of other witch trials pervading Europe and the Americas…what is absolutely terrible is that thirty nine of the executed where children between the ages of 10 and 14, and that fifty three were teenagers and younger adults (15 to 21). The youngest was a wee boy of 10 called Hannerl, the oldest, Margarethe, an 80 year old woman.

Some of the children arrested and not executed had their hands cut off, and were branded on their chests with hot irons, marched through the streets of Salzburg as a warning to others…but many were burned, some were hanged or decapitated first, but many were thrown alive to the flames.

Whilst the ages of those accused and killed is bad enough, it is the fact that only two of the total number were not beggars or homeless, was it really a witch hunt or was it a way of culling the perceived undesirables to remove the fear of them spreading disease and basically not looking very appealing?

You decide…..

The Industrial school

Mon, 17 Jan 2022 12:15:51 GMT

Off one of the main(ish) roads in Chelmsford is a little side street full of very modern houses, just a stones throw from the city centre, and a place I tend to park at weekends when going to the gym. I was there recently and I noticed the stone in the picture and decided to have a look to find out what it was.

It reads “The Essex Industrial School and home for destitute boys” and the date at the bottom, AD 1878.

Obviously with my interest in Victorian social history I wanted to know more, and although I had heard of Industrial Schools I decided to delve and find out what these places were, who did they cater for and why did they exist (and is there a modern equivalent)

These type of establishments were founded after the Industrial Schools Act of 1857 which enabled Magistrates to send children (invariably boys) between the ages of 7 and 14 to these boarding schools to combat juvenile delinquency. They were very different from reformatories which were more of a penal facility, and catered for those lower end crimes such as begging and something which we would not see as being illegal, homelessness. The theory behind it was to teach these youngsters to be industrious and to therefore save them from a potential life of crime.

Initially the cost of funding these places – many were residential, day schools were not as common – was meant to be the responsibility of the parent of the child who was being sent there, this was not always possible however as many came from destitute families (hence the need to steal) or were homeless or worse, already orphaned. If a child was in the workhouse they could be sent to an Industrial School by a magistrate if it was felt they were unruly, if a parent felt they could not control their child they could apply to have them committed as well.

Whilst there are accounts of mistreatment, and many diaries saying how hard they were (one child reported having to work for over eighty hours a week), many children did go on to avoid being brought up in front of the beak again. The days were certainly regimented, Monday to Friday they would rise between 5.30 am and 6am, there would be prayers, breakfast, and the rest of the day until early evening (with time out for dinner and supper) would be a mixture of schooling and industrial training/work. The boys would invariably be learning tailoring skills, shoemaking and even carpentry.

When the new school reopened in 1879 ( it had outgrown its previous site on the other side of Chelmsford), it catered for one hundred and fifty boys, had its own gardens which the students would tend to provide vegetables both for their meals but also to sell at the local market to produce extra revenue. Whilst the work was not easy, the boys had luxuries (for the time) of a library with games as well to play when it was wet, gifts from locals who admired the school and even a swimming pool!

A quick glance at the newspapers of the time shows that some of the graduates of the school emigrated to places like Canada, New Zealand and Australia, and seemed to make lives for themselves. Looking through the various census records from 1881 and 1891, you do see how far these children came from originally, all parts of Essex and London, but it is heart-breaking when you see “unknown” for their place of birth, makes you hope that they found some kind of roots. Or the case of William Tudor, aged 10 in 1881, made a career for himself as a tailor and married in 1900.

There is so many stories to discover before the school changed in 1933 to an Approved school (an amalgamation of industrial and reformatory schools) and then finally closed in 1980.

Essex Records Office holds a lot of information relating to our school just off Rainsford Road ( http://www.essexrecordofficeblog.co.uk/tag/essex-industrial-school/ ) and if you want to learn more, check out Peter Higginbotham’s brilliant site www.childrenshomes.org.uk .

The Truth...

Wed, 15 Dec 2021 13:42:37 GMT

Dramatic title do you not think? Ok, so the subject of this piece is not about whether UFO’s have really been documented by governments around the world, whether the earth is flat (it is not), if orbs are just dust or any of the other fascinating questions posed by people, it is about a subject that drives me absolutely potty when people mention this.

Are you ready?

Alsatians are a different type of dog to a German Shepherd.

Alsatians are the vicious ones, but German Shepherds are good family pets

Alsatians come from the Alsace region in France, German Shepherds are German

Alsatians are smaller with short coats, German Shepherds are bigger with longer fur

And so on.

It is all a load of rubbish, they are in fact the same dog but purely a different name, do you not believe me? Well, I shall elaborate…

Back in the mid 1800’s, the German dog world was trying to standardise the breeds but this led to many debates over whether working lines were more important than appearance, with some breeders believing that appearance should be the primary objective when creating new canine varieties and that their ability to do a roll was very much secondary. One of the people who was involved in this was Max von Stephanitz, a former cavalry officer who had studied at veterinary college and felt that to be a successful working dog (herding and guarding sheep in this case) the animal needed endurance, protectiveness, intelligence and be very courageous. He set about finding the perfect dog and at a show in 1899 found one who he bought and renamed Horand. He called this new breed “Deutscher Schaferhund” which translates as German Shepherd Dog and began to develop Horands offspring.

You all know your historical timelines, in 1914 World War One broke out and everything German was seen as the enemy, the American Kennel Club had the breed society there drop the German part of its name, so that it was now called the Shepherd Club of America. The British went even further, completely rebranding this particular type of dog and calling them an Alsatian to totally distance themselves from their European enemy.

Whilst after the Second World War (and let us not blame an entire breed of dog for the fact that a tyrannical leader favoured them, after all, it is rumoured that the death of his dog Blondi affected his followers more than Eva Braun’s demise) people did start to revert to their original moniker, although it was not until 1977 that it was officially changed back.

So, there you have it, feel free to quote any of this at people when they tell you that an Alsatian is a different breed of dog to a German Shepherd or just shake your head pityingly at them and direct them my way.

Ashby de la Zouch Castle

Thu, 18 Nov 2021 16:34:57 GMT

I am fortunate enough that my financial budget allows for us to have a family membership with English Heritage. Whilst visiting Market Bosworth over the summer of 2021, my husband and I decided to pound said membership and visit Ashby de la Zouch castle.

It is a ruins, and some parts of it due to Covid restrictions were inaccessible, but it is set in the most beautiful grounds and we enjoyed walking around and taking on board the nine hundred year old history of the site – in a prior life it had been a manor as many were and had been converted into a castle in the mid 1400’s by William Hastings, aka Lord Hastings who had fought alongside King Edward IV at the Battle of Towton and held some very important roles in the royal household.

Those of you with knowledge of the Wars of the Roses may recognise that name, he was the same Lord Hastings who Richard III had executed for treason in the June of 1483, many say it is because he was scared of Hastings and thought he would stop his "seizing" of the throne.

Anyway, even though it was a charge of high treason, there was no Bill of Attainder against Hastings estate (unusual for such a crime), and the castle and his lands carried on passing through the Hastings line. The next big hurdle was the Civil War in 1642, the Hastings subsequently surrendering the castle in February 1646, although in November of 1648 orders were given to slight it due to the suspicion that maybe they were not as subservient to the parliamentary cause as they were giving the illusion of.

This brought down a huge part of both the Great Tower and the Kitchen tower, but it stayed with the Hastings name until 1789 when it passed to Francis Rowden, the Earl of Moira.

Time waits for no man…and a castle costs a lot of money to upkeep, especially one that had dynamite charges set underneath it with the plan to stop it being habitable, and in 1932, the Rowden family gave it into the guardianship of the Ministry of Works.

There is quite a bit more to the history over those eight hundred years as I am sure you can imagine, but it is nigh on impossible to cover it in a blog.

Anyhoo….back to my husband and I! so, we are walking about, spotting some of the amazing stone work dotted around, reading the guidebook and chatting and we decide to go into the tunnel. I have to admit, I get dizzy on steep stairs, am slightly claustrophobic and there were lots of signs around saying that there was to be no mixing in the area due to the pandemic.

Anxiety building.

So, intrepid husband goes down first (I can hold onto him, he’s a roofer, pretty sure footed, I have been known to call him a mountain goat!) and we are shouting out “coming down” and all that jazz in case someone else is walking through the one person width passageway. As I took a photo, we both saw a shadow disappear around the corner, a full adult human height outline, neither of us were moving so it was not from the camera flash and anyway, it was in motion. Fully expecting to find another person in the area at the end of the passageway we were both shocked to find it empty.

I did what any good investigator would do, checked the doorway out – locked tight – and then made our way back. When we were about to leave I asked the duty manager where the tunnel came out, apparently it was for the servants to get to and from the kitchens with food etc quickly and not have to traipse it through the castle. The exit I found was permanently shut and only she had a key, and as she was the only member of staff there, she had not been in the tunnel that morning.

Had we seen someone rushing to get food to the Hastings before it got cold? Or was it one of the Royalist supporters using the shortcut to beat the parliamentarians? Who knows.

The many faces of the man known as Dracula

Fri, 12 Nov 2021 09:11:28 GMT

Imagine filming a scene in an iconic film (Lord of the Rings in case you are wondering), and the Director asks the character to scream as he gets stabbed in the back, what would your reply be when this legend of stage and screen says that he has seen plenty of men get killed in this way and that the only noise they make is that of sighing as the air escapes their lungs…

I do not know about you, but I would be asking questions, or maybe you would not, considering the actor was 6ft5 Sir Christopher Lee and according to witnesses to the conversation, his reply broached no further enquiry.

But what had the man who had played characters like Dracula and Scaramanga (where I first saw him, that dastardly man with the golden gun) experienced to enable him to make a quite shocking comment? As with so many of his era, he had seen action in the Second World War, and by that I do not mean he dabbled, he was heavily involved. Whilst exactly what part Sir Christopher played is still shrouded in secrecy, even before he passed away in 2015 he would not reveal exactly what he had done, we still have some idea as we know the units he worked with.

If after reading this you do not see him in a different light, even if you admired him before, then read it again…

He came from a military family, his father was a Lieutenant Colonel with the 60 ^th Kings Rifle Corps and had seen action in both the Boer War, and World War One, it seemed that Lee was destined to follow his father when at the age of 18 and in a military academy, he volunteered to fight for Finland against the Russian invasion in the Winter War. Whilst they kept the British volunteers far from the front line, and they returned back to Blighty after only a few weeks, Lee did say with hindsight that he probably would not have still been alive if he had been allowed to fight.

Fast forward to March 1941, and the death of his father made him realise that joining the Army was not a step he wanted to follow, and he enlisted in the Royal Air Force (RAF) whilst he still had a choice. The original plan was to be a pilot, but after an optical problem was found just before he was due to go solo which caused him to have blurred vision, headaches and associated dizziness he was grounded – despite his many appeals to the contrary.

This set back did not stop him wanting to do his bit for King and Country, he joined the Intelligence branch of the RAF and spent time in South Africa and places like Southern Rhodesia before joining the Long Range Desert Patrol. These men were experts in desert navigation, and during the bulk of the North African campaign, spent their time behind enemy lines guiding the SAS (called L Detachment) and other special forces. Lee not only took on the role of “guide”, he saw active combat and had airfields he was based at bombed to near destruction, came down with Malaria (six times according to the history books) and tripped over a live bomb when an aircraft crashed near him. He also spent time attached to Churchill’s Special Operations Executive (SOE), whose role was that of espionage, sabotage and reconnaissance in those parts of Europe that were occupied. His ability as a multi linguist and fluency in French, German and Italian (it is reported he could speak six different languages) would have been a definite plus point for this secondment. Even those with a rudimentary knowledge of WW2 history would know the danger anyone posing resistance to the Axis forces took, hangings, public shootings…thrown into one of the camps (something thing Lee did mention he saw, the aftermath of the worst of humanity).

Even after the war ended, his service did not, he began working for the Central registry of War Criminals and security suspects, in effect, he became a Nazi hunter, tracking down the worst of the worst when it came to offenders.

I have not gone into detail as to the battles he took part in, basically because we do not know, the records are still sealed and may well be for a very long time. After his death in 2015, as tends to happen, people started to question whether this operatic singer, actor, and former soldier had actually done everything he discretely alluded to. As with another war hero, Dirk Bogarde, I would ask, why would they lie? In fact, with Lee he never particular told anyone anything, so who exactly was he trying to mislead?

We do know for certain that he joined the RAF after August 1940, and that his service number was 1389854.

Maybe one day when those ultra-secret files are opened, we will see his name on all of these missions, but until then, I think we take his “word” for it.

The Marauding Monk

Wed, 03 Nov 2021 15:54:21 GMT

I have long said that fact is often much stranger than fiction, there is never any reason to fabricate information because a little bit of talented research can bring up pieces of history that make you go “eh?”

This is no different, and you may wonder who or what the marauding monk was, let me explain…

I have recently started learning more about the medieval period, whilst delving into all things Battle of Bosworth I developed an interest in the Plantagenets, and whilst reading about Henry III came across a chapter on the Battle of Sandwich 1217, and an interesting protagonist called “Eustace the Monk”.

Colour me intrigued.

I am going to tell you his story back to front, as basically he was fighting for the French and when his ship was captured by the English forces led by Hubert de Burgh, he offered them a lot of money to spare him but so hated was this monk, that he was executed and then his head was said to have been paraded around the southern ports of England to reassure residents that he was dead, but why?

Eustace is believed to have been born in 1170, his father being Baudoin Busket, and biographers believe that he spent some time in Spain learning black magic, and then he returned to Boulogne he became a monk in the abbey of St Samer…bit of a strange about face but there you go. There are two stories as to why he left the monastery, one is that he was persuading his fellow brothers to misbehave, the other is that he wanted to avenge the murder of his father.

His next role was to work in the court of the local Count, Renaud de Dammartin, but was accused of fraud and not performing his role as a bailiff (near enough) in 1204 and went on the run. There are also stories of the revenge he took out on the staff of Renaud, forcing a young messenger boy to hang himself, cutting the feet off soldiers of the Count’s and leaving one unharmed to go back and give the message to his master. It does seem to be around then that his leanings towards crime really started to flourish as he is sometimes described as the French Robin Hood, although his main business became piracy in the Channel and surrounding areas. Being a very competent sea farer however, he would also offer his services for hire and did some work for the then English King John, being given a fleet of around thirty ships to wreak complete and utter havoc on French shipping.

However as with most of those choosing a life of crime, they do not care where their booty comes from and his pirates would attack English vessels as well as the French ones he was being paid to target. Establishing a base in Castle Cornet on the island of Guernsey and also capturing Sark, it is understandable why anyone who had to take to the sea was absolutely terrified of him.

In 1212 he changed his allegiance to King Phillip of France instead, the English King John having allied with Eustace’s arch enemy, Count de Dammartin. Probably not the best timing as in 1216, Prince Louis (Phillip’s son) had made his way to London and was being “crowned” as King Louis I of England.

His father seeing that he needed supplies, requested our monk to sail to the area in 1217, but they did not expect to be beaten by the smaller fleet of de Burgh during the Battle of Sandwich. The French ships were under the command of Robert de Courtenay, with the experienced sailor Eustace his deputy. This article is not an assessment of what happened, but suffice to say, that if de Courtenay had listed to the advice of the monk, things may have turned out differently.

So, there you have it, we are back to the beginning, now you know why he was so hated by the English, why all the southern ports feared him but I do wonder what turned him that way? Was he really as vicious as history paints him? I guess we will never know.

Great Expectations

Fri, 01 Oct 2021 16:36:21 GMT

As those of you who read my ramblings on a regular basis will probably know, I rarely write pieces that are based on my thoughts or observations, they normally have more a factual bias.

Well, I thought I would put together something a little different for once, and no, this is not a book review of a tome by Charles Dickens.

I was being interviewed recently for the excellent History Hack podcast (check it out if you have not already) and was asked

“What expectations do you have when you first go into a haunted venue”

It did actually stump me for a split second as I had never given much thought to what I expected to happen, and came to the realisation that I never assumed anything paranormal would occur, much less expected it to (I do realise from a language perspective I am using derivations of expect a lot, sorry, cannot think of another word to alternate it with!)

So, with that in mind, how come I seem to be really lucky in experiencing things on regular basis of which I cannot offer a rational explanation? For ever paranormal (so not normal) thing that happens, I can give you ten visits where absolutely diddly squat occurs, I just do not tend to write about them as much.

I am a real believer that if you are the kind of person to whom the living gravitates to speak to – you know, the type who is sat at a bus stop minding their own business, and a complete stranger starts telling you their life history? – then the probability is that so will those who have passed. We talk a lot about “sentient beings”, and debate as to whether intelligent hauntings actually have the ability to feel emotion, if they do, would it not make sense that they might be intimidated by anyone walking into their home and shouting, yelling and being quite bombastic in their approach?

Or if not cowed by the intruder, suitably irritated enough to hide away and just observe…let’s face it, I know I have done that before when relatives have come to visit who I would rather didn’t.

I cannot speak for anyone else, but I know that I am incredibly grateful if anything paranormal does happen, even if in time we will learn a logical explanation for it. There are certain standards of behaviour which I think should be de rigeur on an investigation or trip to a “haunted” venue, manners being one, another is allowing a spirit in on the joke – yes, I know that may seem a bit of a strange thing to say, but how many times has the activity been zilch and someone has made a joke or said something amusing, you have all creased up laughing and listening back to the digital recorder you have left on you hear a chuckle that is not your own?.

The most important? Respect, not just for the spirits or what may have happened there, but for each other.

To conclude, do I have any expectations? Quite frankly no, I visit these places to educate myself historically, to get the chance to explore after dark – or during the day without interruption – to meet new investigators for whom you can learn more and to just “be”.

The Forgotten Assassin

Tue, 14 Sep 2021 12:30:02 GMT

Imagine facing the kind of trauma that Kristallnacht ( night of the broken glass) brought in the November of 1938. This horrendous attack orchestrated by German brown shirts against all Jewish businesses and their community as a whole inside all countries controlled by the Third Reich is quite well known, but how many people are aware of the reason the Nazi’s say it happened?

In 1911, two Polish refugees called Zindel and Rivka Grynszpan left their home country and emigrated to Hanover in Germany. They were a hard working couple by all accounts, with Zindel working as a tailor and Rivka giving birth to six children (only 3 survived to adulthood), the youngest of whom, Herschel, was described as a sensitive boy with a strong attachment to his Jewish faith.

Due to them being immigrants – even though the children were born in Germany – they were never classed as “German Jews”, but always described as Ostjuden, translating to East Jews, who were much more fastidious with obedience to their religion, speaking Yiddish and tending to be less well educated than their German neighbours.

After failed attempts to be granted the paperwork to relocate in Palestine, Herschel ended up living with an uncle in Paris. While he was there – reportedly as an illegal immigrant and being hunted by the local police for deportation, that coupled with Poland ruling those who had not been resident for the last five years as losing their status as Poles, meant that our sensitive young man was in effect stateless. This, and the plight of Jews around the world, is reported to have caused him much pain and he is believed to have cried frequently over his inability to do anything.

His parents situation in Hanover was becoming far more precarious, as at the same time that Poland removed residents abroad of their citizenship, Germany announced that all permits for foreigners would be cancelled and have to be reapplied for. Just before this was due to take place, the Gestapo arrested and deported all the Polish Jews they could find – somewhere in the region of twelve thousand – and transported them across the border.

Whether it was hearing about his parents and siblings plight that motivated him, who could say, but Herschel went out and bought a gun and on the 7th November 1938, he walked to the German Embassy and after asking to see an official – using his German residency as a reason – he shot junior diplomat Ernst Vom Rath in the stomach. Our would be assassin made no attempt to escape, and when he gave himself up to the French police was found with a postcard to his parents which read

“With God's help. My dear parents, I could not do otherwise, may God forgive me, the heart bleeds when I hear of your tragedy and that of the 12,000 Jews. I must protest so that the whole world hears my protest, and that I will do. Forgive me. Hermann ".

Not one to let an opportunity pass by, two days later Rath died and his death was used as the catalyst and justification of Kristallnacht.

Young Grynszpan, only around seventeen years old, was held in the terrifying Fresnes Prison in Paris for some six months, before he was moved to Toulouse and then eventually to the Gestapo prison in Berlin. You may wonder why he was not executed immediately, but the Nazis planned to use him in an elaborate show trial conducted by Goebbels to show the evil nature of the Jews and how they planned to plunge the world into a horrific war.

Nobody knows for certainty what happened to Herschel (Hermann being his Germanic name), with many believing he died in a Gestapo cell but some believing he survived the war and disappeared into obscurity, utterly distraught at the trauma he believed he had caused to the Jewish people. With hindsight, we know that the destruction of Jewish property would have happened with or without the shooting of a relatively insignificant German official, but imagine thinking you were doing something brave and then finding out that you may have been responsible for the destruction of the very people you were trying to help?

On the road again - A very British review

Fri, 10 Sep 2021 08:00:02 GMT

I have to be honest, when I first heard about the film “The Parapod – A very British ghost hunt” I really thought it was going to be an irreverent mickey take of the paranormal field and stayed away from it. When someone I have a lot of respect for in the field (Hazel Ford of Haunted Happenings in case you are wondering who) told me how good it was, and I got the opportunity to be on a ghost hunt with one of its stars, Barry Dodds, I decided that I was being a bit narrow minded and to watch this UK made flick.

I am very glad I did; this was the ghost “busting” duo I did not realise I needed in my life.

Without giving too much away as you have to see this film, it is a cinematic version of the very successful podcast, Parapod, which pitted two diametrically opposed views against each other. The staunch supernatural sceptic, Ian Boldsworth and the equally vehement, albeit believing Barry Dodds. The plot of the film being that Barry would take Ian around to various reputedly haunted locations in the UK to try and crack his somewhat pathological disbelief in all things paranormal.

What I found interesting as well was that Ian (the sceptic) posed some refreshing points which I as a believer albeit a sceptical one (a “sceliever” if you will) have raised myself at times, for example, just why do we ghost hunt at night and in the dark? Most people will explain that it is to cut down on noise and light pollution, but is this necessary?

Whilst sitting in a very well known location, famous for a black monk and poltergeist activity, he said that he thought that some hauntings may be “an idea that got out of hand”. I thought this was quite astute (sorry Barry!) as one of my bugbears is when people re write history based on a paranormal experience they have had. If you have read that a whole family was murdered in a place, you may go in with that already in mind, which will in turn, influence your experience, whereas in actual fact, it was something a Medium had picked up on and there is no documented proof anyone even died there – murder or not.

This may sound like I am bashing Barry the believer and siding with Ian the image breaker, I am not, I sit in the middle of the two…I see both sides of the argument, although for full disclosure purposes, I do believe that there is something going on we do not yet fully understand. After all, the dictionary does say that the word paranormal means “ denoting events or phenomena such as telekinesis or clairvoyance that are beyond the scope of normal scientific understanding”.

So, should you part with your hard earned cash to support this production? Hell to the yes! If you are not laughing within about the first ten minutes I will be surprised ( “have I failed my test in toy town?”), and for the giggles alone, it is more than worth it…but do look further, there are definite questions raised in this so I for one, would love to see a sequel.

The Mizpah Creek Incident

Tue, 31 Aug 2021 12:21:54 GMT

Anyone even with a minute amount of historical knowledge (or interest) cannot fail to be aware of the way that indigenous groups were treated when their worlds were changed by those wishing to settle in the areas. The more you start to dig into it, you start to discover smaller incidents which are not so well known but should perhaps make it out there onto a bigger platform, Mizpah creek is one such account.

Whilst women are more than capable of exhibiting bravery, it does tend to be men that are documented more, which is why when I read a post on a Facebook group called “Life and Crime in the Victorian and Edwardian eras” that I was fascinated by the two women it focussed on, a Cheyenne by the name of Buffalo Calf Road Woman and an Arapaho called Pretty Nose who the Northern Cheyenne had confirmed were responsible for knocking the infamous General Custer off his horse during the Battle of the Little Bighorn in 1876. I found that Pretty Nose lived until she was 101, but Buffalo Calf Road Woman died in 1879, and had also been responsible for rescuing her brother during Battle of the Rosebud just a few weeks before unhorsing Custer – Chief Comes in sight had been left wounded on the battlefield and his brave sister galloped into the melee at full speed and scooped him up and to safety.

But what happened to cause her death just three short years later? Was she killed in battle? Or was it something else?

She was married to a fellow Cheyenne called Black Coyote, and they had children, however after her husband stole some US Army horses, and when one of the elders (Black Crane) demanded he return them to avoid a skirmish, he refused and went on the run with his family after killing the chief and being banished from the tribe.

On the 5th April 1879, two US military men (Private Baader and Sergeant Kennedy) were by the Mizpah Creek repairing a broken telegraph line that covered Fort Keogh to Deadwood when they were attacked by Black Coyote and his party. Sergeant Kennedy, although badly wounded, was able to crawl away to relative safety whilst Private Baader was not as fortunate and died. Unsurprisingly, when it was discovered at Fort Keogh what had happened - after three miners had discovered Kennedy and got him back to the camp – a detachment of soldiers was sent out to hunt down Black Coyote and his group. It only took a few days for the military men to catch up with the outlaws from the Northern Cheyenne tribe (this was how their former chief Little Wolf had described them) and on or around the 12th April, two of the party surrendered quietly, whilst one carried on firing at the soldiers, however all three men were captured without any further bloodshed and taken to Custer County Jail in Miles City as it was deemed a civil and not a military case.

On the 4th June 1879, the courts ruled that the three Northern Cheyenne men should be hanged for their crimes and a date set of 7th July 1879, but they were to cheat the noose as two were found having committed suicide in their cells the following day. But what of the brave Buffalo Calf Road Woman? Tragically she contracted Diphtheria and died whilst in Mile City, her distraught husband also took his own life once he heard of her demise.

But, and this is a big but, should we feel sympathy for them? After all, they killed a soldier who was doing nothing more than repairing a communication line and was seemingly caught unawares. When you delve even further into it, there are musings that Black Coyote was not the same after the Battle of the Little Bighorn, and that perhaps he had received some sort of head injury that had affected his personality causing him to not only be a danger to what was perceived as the enemy but also his own “People”. You could also surmise that if they had not been driven off their lands, none of this would have happened, but that is the thing about history, you cannot change it, but you can learn from it.

The Secrets of Graveyards

Thu, 19 Aug 2021 11:00:04 GMT

I am going to start this blog with a comment that Charles Dickens made about the city of Chelmsford, there are many positives you can associate with Dickens, but also many negatives and what he said about my home is perhaps one of them

“Chelmsford is the dullest and most stupid place on earth”

A bit harsh I feel, as I do not think it is either, and the more you look into the history of the place, the more stories you find that are both interesting, and tragic.

In the grounds of Chelmsford Cathedral is a monument, that lists three women’s names and reads;

“Who were hurried into eternity by the awful fire which visited this town on the morning of 19th March 1808”

Who were these women? What fire? What happened?

Whilst the story of this tragedy is quite well known to most Chelmsford researchers, I would wager it is not one that anyone else would know.

At around 3am on the 19th March 1808, fire was reported, it had engulfed three properties at what is now known as the Tindal Street end of Chelmsford High Street, and one of the buildings ablaze was that of Mary Smith, milliner. The newspapers report that seven occupants of the residence were hanging desperately out of the windows on the second floor, trying to get away from the flames which were ravaging the first floor beneath them. Quickly, ladders were sent for and even soldiers from the local garrison came to try and assist in both the rescue and the quelling of the fire.

The first to be rescued was the 9 year old niece of Mrs Smith, brought to safety by their neighbour, Henry Guy, a maid servant had managed to get onto the roof by climbing through a window…then they tried to carry Mrs Smith herself out, but she was too scared to step onto the ladder and in a rush to get her away from the flames, her rescuer pulled her from the window with such force that she fell to the floor below – amazingly this did not break any bones at all. The next two were again, young women, Miss Williams and Miss Wilkinson who jumped to the road beneath, the newspapers of the time report that the latter was still very touch and go from a medical standpoint but it does appear she survived.

Not so for two of the names on the monument, Mary Ann Woolmer, 19 of Hornchurch and Mary Elizabeth Eve 17 (or so the Parish records indicate) of Barnish Hall (near to Berners Roding). These poor unfortunate young women were unable to be saved and perished in the fire. Mrs Smith, although she made it out of the inferno safely (relatively so), died twenty four hours later.

The three houses of Mrs Smith, Mrs Peck and Mr Hill were completely destroyed, and the accompanying properties of Mr Rood and Mr Nash were damaged so badly that they were demolished and rebuilt. There was one beautiful story of survival however, a few weeks later when combing the damage for insurance, a cat and her kittens were discovered safe and seemed to have made it through the devastation injury free.

If you wonder what stands there now, it is the Lloyds bank building, go and have a look and say a few words to the three Mary’s who all lost their lives on March 19th 1808.

The Great Escape

Mon, 19 Jul 2021 15:47:25 GMT

This is a subtitle for your new post

I am going to start this piece of writing really badly with a question…how many of you try and find some verification for anything you get given when on an investigation? It probably would not surprise you to know that I do, nearly every single time, and whilst the information is rarely there, when it is, it certainly makes you go “woah” (Bill & Ted style)

On Friday 16th July, I was lucky enough to get the opportunity to do a talk on the Air Transport Auxiliary (ATA) at the Haunted Antiques Paranormal Research Centre, after I had finished speaking, we were able to conduct some investigations of the museum. For those of you who have not heard of the ATA (aka, Ancient and Tattered Airmen or Anything to Anywhere), they were the amazing brave souls who transported all the aircraft during World War Two. The room I was most drawn to at the centre was the War room, or the military room, whatever you want to call it, and when we began to do some investigations I was joined at the Ouija board there by Karen, Dave, Chris and Louise. The latter was taking photographs throughout, more of that in a bit, whilst the four of us were sat around the table. Quite soon, a “spirit” came through, introduced himself as Peter, and said he had been a fighter pilot in WW2, when it came to him spelling out what he had flown, it did not make sense, for some reason I asked him if he was Norwegian…yes came the answer. This confused me as at the time, I do not know why Norway popped into my head, for a pilot Polish may have been a more logically call, but Norway?

The others started asking him questions and he seemed very reluctant to answer anything that may have been deemed war related, at that point Dave said “maybe he was a POW?”….nothing in the room was connected to that as far as we were aware, then we asked him if he was related to any of us, no came the answer, was he attracted to one of us, it shot to yes.

“Please take the glass to the person who you are drawn to…” at that point, Dave took his finger off the glass and it literally catapulted towards me nearly flying off the table, well okay then I thought, the military magnet has not lost her touch! As the evening progressed, it transpired that “Peter” would only talk to me, and had been based at North Weald airfield, I must admit that I knew there was a Norwegian contingent there, but that was about the sum of my knowledge regarding that.

We asked him if he knew when he had passed, and the answer “6” and “9” came out, either 1969 or age 69 we assumed.

That was that I thought, Norwegian fighter pilot called Peter who flew from North Weald and who died on 6 9.

I had visited North Weald airfield and the museum quite a few times, I wondered if he had chosen me because of that? Although wracking my brains, I could not ever remember seeing his name in any displays there.

On the Sunday after, I started researching and even writing this, I am shaking with disbelief. The first thing I did was look for Norwegian pilots based at RAF North Weald called Peter, well obviously Peter is the anglicised version of “Per”, the only Per I could find was Per Bergsland who had changed his name to Peter Rockland to protect his family when he was taken prisoner by the Germans after bailing out during the raid at Dieppe and taken into Stalag Luft III – yes, the same prison camp that the Great Escape happened from.

Then it gets even more amazing, I mean, if you are going to speak to a former POW, speak to one who was one of the three who managed to make it back home, the film (whilst brilliant) is Hollywood and does not tell you about the two Norwegians and the one Dutchman who were the sole successful escapees (he made it back with fellow North Weald pilot Jens Muller, the Dutchman was Bram Van der Stok). Of the seventy six who made the attempt, seventy three were recaptured and fifty of those executed.

Per/Peter made it to safety, so what I hear you say? It may not have been him, but here is the clincher in my mind, Per Bergsland died in 1992…on June 9th – 6/9

Was I talking to pilot Per Bergsland? One of only three fliers to make it out of those tunnels alive? I do not know, have a look at the photos and decide for yourself.

The Gangster Girls

Mon, 12 Jul 2021 11:22:09 GMT

When I was researching for my podcast with Kris Sumner on the Barker- Karpis gang, and the Matriarch, Arrie “Kate” Barker, it made me notice how few female gangsters there seemed to be. Whilst most people have heard of Bonnie Parker (of Bonnie and Clyde fame), surely there must have been others?

Are the female of the species really more deadly than the male? I think some may well be.

Take Kathryn Kelly, the wife of “Machine Gun” Kelly, supposedly it is she who bought him the weapon and started his nickname, reports say to increase the fear surrounding him, she would give away empty shell casings as “souvenirs”….

You have Edna Murray, known as the Kissing Bandit because she had planted one on the face of a male robbery victim. The common denominator with most of these women is that their past and family history was relatively well known, but not so with Vivian Chase.

Although she is believed to have been born in the early part of the twentieth century, Vivian “Davis” did not start to appear until the 1920 census where she is a listed as a lodger and a waitress. In 1921, she marries George Chase and so begins her career as a criminal. What is strange about her is that no one knows anything about her before 1920, was there a reason for her new identity? Was she running from something? Why did she threaten anyone who tried to find out?. A more recent article on the internet talks about her being Minnie Weeks, daughter of James and Laura Weeks, who had run away from her home in South Morgan Missouri.

If that is the case, then why be so secretive and want to erase her past? It does make you wonder.

Whilst her early exploits were classed as quite petty crime, jewellery theft, a bank robbery where she was a suspect and then released due to lack of evidence, another heist where she was placed into Clay County Jail in Liberty Missouri – she escaped from there after four months, by sawing through the bars of the cell and then fashioning a rope out of her bedsheets to escape.

As with so many of the Depression era gangs, they tried kidnapping, a banker by the name of August Luer in 1933, but before they could collect their ransom they had to release him after on one hundred and twenty three hours in captivity as they were concerned that his poor health meant he would die before they had their money. In the early fall of 1935, Kansas City had a spate of drugstore robberies committed by a man and a woman, the female robber was described as “tall, attractive and with hennaed hair”…Vivian was back again

This was not a career to make old bones however, if it was not the risk of being shot in a gunfight with the police, you could get killed by one of your own associates which is what they think happened to the mysterious Vivian. Discovered shot through the neck in a stolen car in the parking area of St Luke’s hospital Kansas city in November 1935, they estimated she had been dead less than two hours when she was found, had someone left her there hoping she would be discovered?

Newspaper reports cited her as “America’s most dangerous woman criminal”, but her death is still shrouded in as much mystery as her early life.

Behind her eyes?

Wed, 07 Jul 2021 06:30:02 GMT

There is a series on Netflix that has an incredible twist in it that has left many people (especially those without an interest in the supernatural) going “eh?” So, if you are planning on watching the 6 part programme called “Behind her eyes” (based on the novel by Sarah Pinborough) look away now or I cannot be held responsible for any type of plot spoiler…

Ready? Ok.

As I said in my opening paragraph, there is an element of esotericism that begins quite early on and covers something commonly known as astral projection. This type of out of body experience (O.B.E.) goes by many names depending upon the religion or belief practice that you are referring to, dream body, astral body, Buddhist light body, Egyptian kha…you get the drift. This is also not a new discovery either, there are many reports of the Ancient Egyptians embracing the idea of astral projection and drawings of this have been reportedly discovered on their properties.

Plato, the ancient Greek philosopher is also said to have written about this practice, when he had an out of body experience in the Temple of Eleusis just outside of Athens – although, it must be said, that during the Eleusinian Mysteries which was an annual festival dedicated to the cult of Demeter and Persephone, various concoctions would be imbibed which could produce certain states of hallucination.

Fast forward to the 19th century and the term “astral projection” is coined by Helena Blavatsky, founder of a fascinating belief system known as Theosophy. Looking into to background of this is at least one article in its own right, but it drew heavily from Eastern religions and was seen as part of the occultist movement of the time by many. One of the big factors in Blavatsky’s writings was the identification of the astral as being part of an individual, sitting above the physical aspect but below the mind principle, the belief being that the mind influenced the astral (vitality and energy) which then commanded the physical. So in tune with her astral portion was Blavatsky, there are reports of her being able to play pianos, and move objects without leaving her seat, her explanation being that she had separated her astral form from her body and that it was performing this supernatural feat.

In the later middle stages of the 20th century (well, 1968 to be precise), philosophy graduate Celia Green decided to explore the phenomenon of astral projection, specialising in the psychophysical world and also being a research officer for the Society of Psychical Research (from 1957 to 1960) she interviewed and published over four hundred accounts of out of body experiences (OBE), which for many included Lucid dreaming, seen to be a precursor for the ability to project out of one’s physical form.

This is just a snapshot of the history of Astral projection and O.B.E, but let’s look at some of the factors involved and provide an alternative viewpoint.

In the series that prompted me to write this piece, Adele takes a bigger interest in Louise when she finds out that she suffers with incredibly lucid dreams (the possible harbinger of projection). Recently scientists have come to the conclusion that those who suffer from this particular sleep state tend to have a larger prefrontal cortex, the part of the brain responsible for decisions and memories. Therefore, it could be reasonably surmised that these people tend to be very self-reflective and analytical, and are most likely to be reviewing things constantly in their mind.

Adele says that she can only project into a place she has seen before, which also suggests that it is memory rather than true travel.

That said, there is so much about our consciousness and sub consciousness that we do not know, anything could be possible and maybe when I dream that I am watching my children sleep, or grooming a friend’s horse, it is not my imagination and I am really there…

The Wrens of the Curragh

Fri, 25 Jun 2021 14:32:30 GMT

A journalist for the South London Press on 26th October 1867 wrote –

“A Correspondent of the Pall Mall Gazette has been visiting the Curragh Camp in County Kildare, and in a series of letters has told all about the Curragh Wren”

But this is not a wildlife blog, nor one with sweet and lovely nature filled connotations, it is one that shows the oldest profession in the world in action and how women supplying the needs of men were still seen as lowest of the low.

During the first half of the 19th Century, Ireland went through a lot, the largest crisis of all was in all likelihood the Great Famine between 1845 to 1852. Millions left Ireland and it is estimated over a million died from hunger, leaving many orphans and young women with no where to go and no means to pay for accommodation or food. One constant however (and I am not going to get political here) was the presence of British military forces in the country, and from around 1856, the Curragh Camp near Kildare was made permanent.

Just outside the base was a secondary camp, but those living there did not have plush bunks to sleep in, nor roofs over their head, they lived in dug out hollows in the group protected by no more than bushes and hedgerows, and this is why they were known as the wrens of the Curragh. Their role was that of prostitution, and to service the military men nearby. Some of the women had followed soldiers from other parts of the country, in the belief that they were “in love” or sometimes purely because they had been seduced and fallen pregnant as a result. Many of the women had been forced to start selling their body for sex due to the famine a few years earlier and have no other means to earn money.

A poem was published in English newspapers in 1867, entitled “The life and death of Curragh Wren”, sadly I cannot find the author but it starts like this

It was on a merry time, when Curragh Wren was young, so neatly as she danced, and so sweetly as she sung

Private Crossbelts won her with his coat of red, he doffed his cap to Jenny, and this to her he said

My dearest Jenny Wren, if you will be but mine, you shall eat nice Curragh pie, and drink nice Curragh wine.

The verse goes on to say how Jenny followed her Private, even though he obviously had only wanted her for one thing and she ends up in the Curragh, turns to whiskey to satiate her and subsequently dies.

These women were ostracised by everyone who should have been there to help them, the Church, the community and even the workhouse. There are stories of priests attacking women from the Curragh who ventured into town and cutting their hair off to identify to all who they were, men from the nearby town thinking it “sport” to burn down their nests and destroy their possessions and Soldiers descending on their home to gang rape the women. Many locals felt that the wrens wreaked of moral corruption and what was worse, their existence was being funded by the tax payer’s money – as it was army wages that paid them.

It was not a pleasant nor easy existence in any sense of the word, but it was a community. Whilst you could not necessarily trust the women curled up next to you – she could be a convict, an alcoholic, a vagrant or anyone else deemed unworthy of respect – they cared for each other, they shared their earnings, they shared their food and they shared childcare.

Yes, children lived there too, many of these women were single mothers who felt it a positive thing if their child did not survive.

I hasten to add, it was not unusual for sex workers to ply their trade and follow army camps around, but the way that these women lived is what makes it so unique and also, so tragic.

Fact meets Fiction

Tue, 08 Jun 2021 15:30:02 GMT

I have an admission to make, until very recently I had never seen an episode of Peaky Blinders…yes I know, I am very late to the party but over the last few weeks my husband and I have made up for it by watching every single minute available via Netflix (other streaming services are available, I think). What has impressed me the most about the series is the incorporation of real actual history (albeit artistic license has been employed) into a fictional story.

For example, the Peaky Blinders? Genuinely did exist although whether they had someone going “by order of the peaky f*****g blinders” every so often Arthur style I have no idea, plus I do not think their leader was the incredibly charismatic Tommy Shelby (I actually know that it was not, that is all make believe). Other names like Billy Kimber, Sabini, Al Capone…all real and in the later series, Oswald Mosley is a true person and there is a lot you can read about him should you choose to do so. Any of us who have an interest in the Great War will also know that the PTSD and personality changes that so many of the gang are said to suffer from once they returned from - in this case – France was incredibly common back in the 20th century.

The true character who interests me the most is definitely that of Jessie Eden, and whilst I do like Charlie Murphy’s portrayal of her, I wanted to know who she really was.

Born in 1902, and known as Jessie Shrimpton, her mother had been a munitions worker during the First World War. We see Jessie help lead out workers (it was actually the few women who were unionised) during the UK General Strike of 1926, but at this point she was only a small fish in a very big pond. Five years later, she was still working at the Lucas Factory, filling shock absorbers and was to be pivotal in changing the owners plans as to how to monitor their workforce. She had noticed that she was being watched and timed whilst working, and discovered that they planned to observe staff output, and were using her speed and efficiency as a benchmark – the women were already being clocked whenever they went to the toilet and if they took what the overseers felt as being too long, ran the risk of losing their jobs. These were young women, a vast proportion under the age of 21, with some only 14 years old and they saw 29 year old Jessie as a big sister figure. Whilst many of the main trade unions did not allow women to join, she managed to organise a mass walk out of over ten thousand women for a week. This resulted in Lucas backing down with their plans to time the workers, but resulted in Jessie being one of those who lost her job.

It was after this that an invitation to go to Moscow was given to her, as a lifelong member of the Communist party, she was it could be said, an obvious choice. This was also coupled with her difficulty in finding work in Birmingham due to her reputation as being a believer in fairness being seen by many employers as a negative.

I think it was her stand to help with the issue of rents in 1939 which is the most interesting, and underreported, of her achievements.

On the 6th February 1939, Labour MP Cecil Poole asked the Minister of Health in Parliament…

…whether his attention has been drawn to the proposal of the Birmingham City Council to impose a means test on the tenants of their municipal houses, which will result in large increases in rents to many of these tenants; whether he is aware of the large amount of discontent which exists among the tenants in consequence; and whether he is prepared to receive a representative deputation from the tenants with a view to their being enabled to put their point of view before him with the object of alteration or amendment of the proposed scheme?

This was coupled with an increase in rent of between ten and twenty percent to all tenants, and was such an injustice that would appeal to the Communist Jessie. A Tenants Association was formed and in May, a renter’s strike was called. The fascinating thing was that the majority of those who were demonstrating were women, it was the women who controlled household budgets and they felt that these increases were taking food directly out of their children’s mouths. Whilst Birmingham Councillors may have felt that those who could, should pay more than those who were in dire need of financial support, the irony was that the means test included the size of house which you were living in, but did not take into account the number of children you had…a quick glance of the newspapers at the time do show that the method of differential rent was not a popular one.

A renter’s strike was called which lasted for ten weeks, and in the July of 1939 the Local Authority backed down with their plans, it was probably quite terrifying seeing how the working class came together to fight what they felt was injustice.

Just these few things show that Jessie Eden was indeed a strong and amazing woman, who believed in fairness and was not afraid to speak up.

The Katyn Massacre

Fri, 21 May 2021 08:13:04 GMT

Those of you who have listened to my recent podcast on the infamous Cannock Chase will have heard me mention a memorial to something which happened hundreds of miles east, affecting Poland to be accurate.

Most people are aware of the murders which occured in places like Auschwitz, Treblinka, Sobibor etc, but what knowledge do you have of the killings that were perpetuated against the Poles themselves? In August of 1939, the non-aggression agreement was signed between the Soviet Union and Germany, neighbours of Poland to the East and West, known as the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact. The failure of this is what partially led Stalin to swap sides and to move across to the allies, but that was not before ordering the deaths of thousands beforehand.

When the Soviets started to invade their “half” of Poland, they decided to round up and imprison all those they thought to be a threat to their rule, that included Military officers, Police, Intelligence and Counterintelligence…these were placed into prison camps such as Kozelsk, Starobielsk and Ostashkow - all in Soviet Russia, and all NKVD sites, then the executions began. The chief of the NKVD, Lavrentiy Beria proposed to Stalin that they rid themselves of the problem of Polish Officer Corp, and the leader of the Soviet Union agreed to it, signing what is believed to be around twenty thousand people’s death warrants. There was to be no trials for these individuals, no assessments to find out if they were a threat to Soviet leadership, they would be shot without any due process whatsoever.

The prisons were overcrowded, with a lack of water and food, lists of those held there would be released daily for those who were being moved on (the Soviet internal documents called it “unloading”), what they did not realise is that they were not being set free, they would be taken somewhere and shot in the back of the head.

When on 14th August 1941, General Anders formed the Polish Army (known as Anders’ Army) from Poles who had been either incarcerated or forced into exile, he was also able to start investigating those who were missing, but received little help from the Soviet authorities, not surprising really with hindsight.

On the 13th April 1943, German radio announced the discovery of a mass grave in the Katyn Forrest which contained the bodies of over three thousand Polish Officers. A couple of days later, Pravda (the Soviet media) came up with the theory that it had obviously been committed by the Nazi forces who had murdered anyone they found in Soviet Prisoner of War camps when they invaded the USSR. What Stalin and his cronies did not know at the time was that the Germans had actually discovered this site nearly a year before making it public, so they knew these poor souls had not been killed under their authority.

Overall, it is believed that this series of murders took the lives of around twenty two thousand Poles, whilst not all were buried at Katyn, the name has become the symbol for this horrific time. There is also a belief that all the victims were men, this is not true as it has been confirmed that at least one was a woman, a pilot in the Polish air force, 2nd Lieutenant Janina Lewandowska. Researchers into the genocide believe that there are at least fifty four other women whose names were on the kill list who have yet to be identified (przystanekhistoria.pl). Adults may seem fair game whether male or female, but there were also sixty five minors between the ages of 8 and 17 held prisoner, and whilst many were released, there are a number unaccounted for.

What is even more disgusting is that it was not until April 1990 that Moscow admitted involvement, but to date, no criminal charges have been brought, partly because those who still survive are reluctant to say anything and also because the Russian federation does not recognise what happened in Katyn and the other areas as genocide.

But what happened to the man behind it all? Beria himself was exposed as a sexual predator and rapist - even Stalin would not allow him to be alone with his daughter - and was shot in 1953, through the forehead by General Pavel Batistky, apparently on his knees begging for his life...

I cannot begin to convey the entire history that led to this, there is so much you can read, not least the lists of names of those who have been given their identities back after their discovery, but I would suggest if you are ever in Warsaw, you visit muzeumkatynskie.pl to learn more about this horrendous mass murder.

Who did it?

Fri, 16 Apr 2021 10:55:57 GMT

People sadly die in war, and not just those who are taking up arms to fight but civilians in their millions, we seem to expect and accept this, but what about murder?

I was researching for a friend regarding his Uncle, and came across a news article of a young woman who was discovered on the 9th September 1943 in the woods at the base of the Wrekin in Shropshire, an otherwise beautiful natural landmark in the west of the country, and it made me want to find out more.

Louisa Edith Jenny Price (known as Lou) was born on the 13th June 1925 to John and Jenny (nee Deans) Price of Higher Tranmere, Birkenhead. At the age of 14, she was living at 42 Mill Street and working as a bread delivery girl. Keen to do her duty, she enlisted in the Auxiliary Transport Service (the women’s branch of the Army) , and in 1943 was stationed at Wellington in Shropshire.

It appears that on the evening of the 8th September 1943, she attended a private party with local American Army personnel at nearby Forest Glen Pavilion and the next thing heard of poor Lou, was her body being found at 7am the following morning by men on their way to work at a nearby quarry. Her head had been severely injured with what they believed to be a rock, and her clothes were dishevelled with some of her uniform missing – 1940’s speak for a sexual attack.

Much was made of the fact that the American Military Police were assisting the British constabulary, quite obvious considering the facts that Lou had been enjoying a party attended by lads from the local American Army base. Unsurprisingly, it was an American who was arrested, 22 year old Sergeant Michael Pihosh.

Those who gave evidence were quite adamant in what they said, a Private Parent said that Pihosh had told him he had been out with a girl, and when they had to literally pour him into his bed after the dance ended, he had blood on him, when asked how? “I had an ATS girl out…keep it quiet”

ATS Lance Corporal Margaret Dickson had seen young Private Price leave with a tall dark American soldier and not return, but she could not identify him as she had not seen him clearly enough.

Pihosh maintained all along that he was innocent, after seven days being tried in a court martial by nine US air force personnel, he was acquitted, his words to the waiting press?

“ My first reaction to the verdict is to discontinue drinking, I shall try to see my girlfriend Miss Yvonne Lane of Shrewsbury as soon as I can, she has written to me and she believes in me “

So, either the words of Parent and Dickson were ignored, or the boys club was at play.

Although with regards to his wonderful paramour Yvonne, I’m not sure how much she did believe in him, according to the records she married Ronald Jones in 1948, Michael survived the war and passed away at the age of 54.

What is so tragic about this case is not just that it is certainly not the only unsolved murder that took place during World War Two, Bella in the Wych elm happened around the same time as did many others, but that the authorities said they would keep looking, yet no-one else was ever charged with the assault and murder of a young 18 year old who was just trying to be a typical young women but also serve her country.

If you are ever in the Wirral, Private Price has a gravestone in Bebington Cemetery.

Do you think they had the right person? Do you think that having strapping young soldiers was more important than justice? If it was not Pihosh, then who was it?

The Russian Woodpecker

Thu, 01 Apr 2021 18:48:34 GMT

No, please do not worry, this known sufferer of ornithophobia has not done a one eighty and suddenly cured her fear, this is actually about something very different.

My short piece here is about a former secret construction in the Ukraine, and located around 10 miles from the more well known Chernobyl nuclear reactor in Pripyat, and it’s known as the Duga radar, or at least, part of it. Built during the cold war, this huge piece of steel (ironically one of the NATO codewords for it is believed to be steelyard) was part of the Over the horizon radar system which the Soviets were experimenting with, their goal to be able to detect the exhaust blast of a ballistic missile coming from the west thousands of miles away. This site, called Chernobyl-2 - the nuclear reactor that most of us know about is not actually in the town of Chernobyl, but was named after it – was a top secret military town, with all the facilities to enable those personnel living there to be able to function. As with most Soviet projects, there was a system of deception and mystique to anyone who looked for it on a map, it simply stated that the various properties were a camp for children and nothing else.

Building began on this huge installation - which was only the signal receiver, the actual transmitting centre was 37 miles or so away in Lubech – in 1972, those historians of you may have released that this was the same time that construction began on the nearby nuclear reactor, was this to distract prying eyes away from the gigantic structure that was being put together literally just up the road? It is an interesting point to ponder as both became operational at a similar time to each other, was this planned by the powers that be? And was this the reason that cheaper materials were used on the nuclear plant and that the construction was somewhat rushed? Unfortunately, no one will say for certain but we do know that Chernobyl 1 had an alternate use to just power provision, it could easily be converted to enrich plutonium for military purposes so it is highly plausible.

Back to the array, before spy satellites had picked it up, operators in Europe were complaining about the “Russian Woodpecker” that would come through when operating short wave radio. The signals from the Duga (which means arc in Russian) were incredibly powerful, around 10 mega watts in some cases, and were being detected by anyone operating in the 10 Hz range. The sharp continuous tapping noise led to it being coined the Russian Woodpecker by those who detected it, but no one seemed to realise what they were connecting to. Conspiracy theorists said at best, it was a secret communication system to submarines, some said it was some kind of weather control, the other being that it was a form of mind control being operated by the Soviets – I guess with the suspicion and paranoia that the cold war produced, this is not a surprising train of thought.

On 26th April 1986, the world found out about this one hundred and fifty metre high and seven hundred metre long heap of metal, the irony being that it was nuclear related destruction from its own power plant and not an external weapons launch that rendered it useless when the reactor at Chernobyl-1 exploded, spewing its lethal radioactive dust everywhere and rendering an area of a thousand square miles a no go zone. It is only relatively recently that the true purpose of this has been admitted, in fact, when visitors were first permitted to go to Pripyat from outside the former Soviet Union, they were told that the giant framework they could see was actually the skeleton of a luxury hotel that was being built.

Although I have not been fortunate enough to visit this fast deteriorating example of Soviet ingenuity, you can appreciate its eerie technical beauty from photos and videos, but I hope it stays around long enough for us to learn more about its engineering and use.

The White Rabbit

Thu, 01 Apr 2021 13:58:44 GMT

I have no idea about you, but I love walking around cities and towns and spotting the blue plaques up on the walls of various buildings. Whilst I cannot even begin to admit that I know who each of these people were and for what they received this memorial, I do enjoy finding out, and there is one who could be called a forgotten spy that I am going to tell you about.

If you are ever on Guilford Street in Bloomsbury West London, you may see one of these dedicated to someone by the name of Wing Commander F.F.E. Yeo-Thomas SGC put up in 2010, but who were they and what did they do?

Born in 1902 to Welsh parents living in London, Forest Frederick Edward Yeo-Thomas (known as Tommy) ended up living in France very early on in his life as his father was a coal merchant supplying fuel to the French Railway Network. This was possibly his introduction to his second home and quite soon he became fluent in the language, being able to speak both English and French like a native, something that was going to be intrinsic to his future career.

Whilst only twelve years old when the Great War broke out, he lied about his age four years later and ended up serving with the US Army as a dispatch rider, but it was during the Polish-Soviet War that followed where he was captured by Soviet forces and managed to escape a prison camp – realising that he was likely to be executed – by strangling a Red Army guard and getting to safety.

All this before he was twenty years old….

Whilst during the interwar years he worked in mainstream industry, the General Manager of the Molyneux Fashion House believe it or not (not an occupation I would expect of a former soldier) yet when the Second World War broke out, he enlisted immediately but was incredibly unhappy to find out that he would be given a non-active role with the Royal Air Force due to his age. As a very adept intelligence officer, it was not long before the newly formed Special Operations Executive approached him to work with them in their Free French division. By February 1943, the man who was deemed to be too advanced in years to have been on active duty was parachuted into France and put his ability as a convincing French speaker to good use by helping to unify the various resistance groups. It was on his third mission into occupied France that he was to be betrayed by a contact and captured by the Gestapo – having been on their wanted list for some time. He suffered horrendous torture at Avenue Foch before being taken to the infamous Fresnes Prison. Despite the punishments being inflicted on him including being drowned and then resuscitated (only to repeat the process over and over), being beaten, and other horrible acts of violence to try and make him talk – which he never did.

As with so many of the SOE agents who were captured, he ended up being sent to one of the concentration camps, in this case, Buchenwald. He had already seen a third of the other Operatives he had arrived with having been executed, and whether he knew that the American forces were close, he staged an escape attempt. His ability to take on a different persona stood him in good stead when the German forces who found him believed that he was a Frenchman and transferred him to a French Prisoner of War camp. On the 16th April 1945 (five days after Buchenwald had been liberated) he escaped again but was recaptured…again. Although the “White Rabbit” was not to be defeated and a few days later made a break for it for a third time and managed to get through to the American lines and safety.

What I find amazing about the man who Ian Fleming cited as one of his real-life inspirations for the iconic James Bond, was that he never stopped wanting to beat the enemy as he saw it, and on each of his escapes, he took other prisoners with him. He was awarded many medals including the George Cross and the Military Cross (which are on display at the Imperial War Museum), and was a witness in some of the war crimes trials including the Buchenwald case that was held at Dachau.

He died at the age of sixty one from a massive haemorrhage (possibly caused by his beatings at the hands of the Gestapo captors historians believe) and his ashes interred in Surrey.

So next time you see a blue plaque, look into the person and you will find some fascinating stories.

Doctor Death

Thu, 25 Mar 2021 16:18:14 GMT

This is a possibly contentious story, but one that interested me enough when I discovered it that I thought I would cover it.

Most of us have heard of Dr Harold Shipman, the GP who was found guilty of murdering many of his elderly patients and although he was only prosecuted for fifteen deaths, the actually figure is believed to be in excess of two hundred.

Was he the first? most certainly not, however he was the first medical doctor in the history of British medicine to be found guilty of this offence, but had he looked at a previous case in history and thought he could use that as a blueprint to get away with it? the case of Dr John Bodkin Adams.

Adams was born 1899, in County Antrim in Ireland, his mother was 36 years old when she had him and his father nine years her senior. He was followed by a brother who died at 15 during the 1918 Influenza epidemic – his father had passed away four years previously. It was in 1921 after a very unassuming academic spell that his career in medicine began, as an assistant houseman at Bristol Royal Infirmary. What is astounding is that even though he spent a very unsuccessful twelve months in this role, he was persuaded to apply for a role as a GP and subsequently moved to Eastbourne. It was during this time that red flags should really have started to register with the authorities, he borrowed £2,000 from one patient and bought a huge house at 6 Seaside Road (the 1939 register shows him living there with his elderly mother, his cousin Sarah, a cook named Louisa Phillips, a domestic called Hilda Brookman, two others who are blanked out and a five year old child called Donald). That was not the end of his scrounging as the same patient’s wife commented that he would invite himself round for dinner on many an occasion and even charged his shopping to their account – without their permission.

A quick cursory glance of the newspapers shows him as being in receipt of quite a few inheritances, one, a Mrs Whitton in 1935 left him nearly the equivalent of half a million pounds, it is no wonder that he was seen as one of the richest GP’s in Eastbourne (some reports say even England). One of Adams modus operandi seemed to be to use very powerful drugs with patients such as morphine and heroin, whilst accepted painkillers, they still had to be used sparingly. In 1952 his cousin Sarah developed cancer, and whilst nobody can prove anything, she died shortly after Adams administered an injection…

He was investigated for homosexuality ( this did not start to be decriminalised until 1967) but in 1956 he was arrested on suspicion of murder, his reply to the officers who told him the charges –

“Murder... murder... Can you prove it was murder? [...] I didn't think you could prove it was murder. She was dying in any event."

The authorities had started to investigate the claims of a killer in their medical midst when after the rumour mill in the seaside town had swept to such a crescendo that they had no choice. It was being said that a local GP was persuading wealthy widowed older woman to re write their wills in his favour, and then administering a lethal concoction of drugs. They decided to re examine a proportion of deaths that Adams had been the consulting Doctor on, and found over half that were “suspicious”. The average rate of deaths in the elderly group from Cerebral thrombosis or Cerebral haemorrhage in the area was 15%, Adams' rate was 42%.

After a court trial, Adams was found not guilty of murder and resumed working as a GP again in 1961, and it also established the doctrine of Double Effect, whereby in a nutshell a medical professional could not get in trouble for administering drugs to relieve pain in a terminal patient that may sedate them or shorten their life. Scarily, Adams was still receiving bequests up until his death in 1983, maybe these inheritances were from grateful patients but it certainly does beg the question…I will leave it to you to answer.

The Indian Princess

Fri, 19 Mar 2021 09:23:06 GMT

If someone said to you “suffragette”, what image would pop into your brain? Would it be a slightly austere Pankhurst type figure? A determined and impulsive (and tragic) Emily Davison? a martial arts instructing Edith Garrud? What about an Indian Princess?

Let me introduce you to Sophia Duleep Singh, the daughter of the last Maharaja of the Sikh Empire, Sir Duleep Singh. Any of you with a passion for Victorian history may recognise his name as he was the 15-year-old exiled to the country after the British took over his territory and literally kidnapped him. He was befriended (although infatuation may be closer to the truth if you read the descriptions she gave of him) by Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, and cared for.

Sophia was his third daughter with his wife, Bamba, a woman with both German and Abyssinian (now Ethiopian) heritage, and very early on she showed that she had that steely determination and grit that was going to lead to some kind of protest – although I am sure at that point her Godmother, Queen Victoria would not have known what.

At the age of around 22, and after the loss of both of her parents, the Queen gave her a grace and favour apartment in Faraday House, Hampton Court, Sophia did not stay there to begin with, much preferring to be in Norfolk near her brother Prince Frederick. Despite being encouraged to take on the role of a debutante by her Godmother, she was somewhat of a dichotomy, in that she was a socialite with a social conscience. A clandestine visit to India at the age of 27 made her realise the utter uselessness of fame and she decided to change her path and become more than just a face.

In 1909 she joined the Women’s Social and Political Union (WSPU) and became a campaigner for women’s rights. Whilst she began quite quietly in the movement, she soon even annoyed the King, George V by refusing to pay taxes and auctioning off some of her possessions to help fund the Women’s Tax Resistance League. She would sell copies of the newspaper, “The Suffragette” outside Hampton Court Palace but whilst she was fined repeatedly for charges such as unlicensed dogs, or a cart not being properly illuminated, she was never arrested – maybe the powers that be were too frightened of creating a martyr to the cause? Especially one with such important connections.

As with so many of the women in the movement, when World War One came, their activities almost stopped, they wanted to support their sons, brothers, husbands, even fathers as they fought for the country. Sophia was no different, she ended up working as a British Red Cross Voluntary Aid Detachment nurse in a military hospital in Isleworth, tending to wounded Indian Sikh soldiers evacuated from the horrific Western Front. One can but wonder what these brave men would have thought when they had the daughter of the last Maharaja changing their dressings and feeding them, a Princess no less.

Without going into too much of a history lesson, in 1918 women over the age of 30 were given the vote (under certain criteria) and then in 1928, all women regardless of land ownership over the age of 21. This was not enough for our Princess as she wanted women’s suffrage everywhere, and it was a cause she promoted until her death in 1948.

Whether it was due to all the different cultures she was privy to, her somewhat displaced upbringing, or some other influence as she grew up, Sophia should be recognised as both walking the walk and talking the talk of her ultimate goal, the advancement of women.

The Haunting of Bly Manor

Fri, 12 Mar 2021 11:32:32 GMT

So, who here was waiting for the new series from Mike Flanagan “The Haunting of Bly Manor” to drop with baited breath? I know that I was as I thoroughly enjoyed “the Haunting of Hill House”, even though I still could not understand those people who were supposedly throwing up in horror and fear after watching it. I thought I would leave my thoughts on it until quite some time after it was released.

CAUTION! there may be plot spoilers!

Without wanting to give away too much of the plot for those who have not as yet watched Bly, the reviews do seem to be very marmite, in that some love it and some hate it. I would wager that particular term would not have been used as one of the biggest criticisms I have seen is that of Americanisms being spoken by British actors (cake batter, math, yarn etc). The second largest gripe is definitely the accents, that did make me laugh as one of the actors English accents that was criticised was in fact, English.

However, let us get back to the show itself, we are told that Bly Manor is in Essex, and not Hampshire as many reviews have said (although according to literary folklore, the novel on which it is based on by Henry James, The Turn of the screw was inspired by the stories of a haunting at Hinton Ampner near Alresford, not Alresford Essex but Alresford Hampshire, just to confuse things further). Residing at the house are the two orphaned children, Miles and Flora, who have not just had to deal with the grief of losing both their parents, but also having discovered the recent and unexplained death of their beautiful nanny, Rebecca.

As our heroine, the mysterious runaway from America Dani, soon finds herself questioning everything and after seeing a mysterious man (who is later identified), she starts to unravel. Couple that with the almost obligatory lady in the lake, the children’s personalities seeming to change on a whim and with the ever-present housekeeper, Hannah Grose, you start to wonder who is real and who is possibly a ghost.

When it comes to the main villainous wraith, once you understand their back story, it is not surprising that they are a tad annoyed and wreaking havoc, however it does make me question which is the overriding emotion, love (for their child) or anger (revenge for what was done to them). One of the later threads running through the show is that as a spirit you fade, not so much in as an ethereal being, but your memories and perhaps why you are hanging around a specific place. This is an interesting take on the subject of hauntings as it is certainly something that many paranormal investigators debate, the subject of energy and does a spirit diminish over time. If you pass away with an overwhelming sense of fury, do you retain that feeling but forget what it was that caused it and attack everything and everyone in a scatter gun approach? Or are there specific triggers which attract you?

Personally I think terming this show as horror is a misnomer, anyone thinking that watching it will produce the same level of nail biting that Hill house was able to evoke is misguided, I think it is more of a love story with various types and veins of the emotion running through it and I thought it “Perfectly splendid”.

The Haunted Holiday Cottage

Tue, 23 Feb 2021 12:34:16 GMT

This is a subtitle for your new post

I rarely write blogs about my own personal experiences of the paranormal, not because I am embarrassed by them or even sceptical that they actually happened, but more because it is hard to cover them in a short article and do them justice.

We had decided to take our two sons to Normandy to both have a relaxing holiday and also to educate them on the D Day landings, and possibly take in the odd museum along the way (anyone who knows me will also realise that it was more than the odd one, after all, I am a total junkie when it comes to that kind of thing).

When we arrived at the cottage we realised we had hit the jackpot, it was a very old building (around four hundred years I believe), set in a huge field and surrounded by trees and crucially our only neighbours were cattle and a few horses. Not only that, the weather was beautiful and we could relax for the next two weeks.

Perfect…or so we thought.

From the first evening there, the atmosphere in the home changed when night fell, and it was not me who said it first, it was my husband who does not have a spiritual bone in his body. His actual words were that he did not want to have to go downstairs after dark to use the bathroom as he felt he was not alone. It is hard to explain that feeling if you have not experienced it yourself, but things were to happen over the next week to make me even more sure that we did not have the quaint gite to ourselves.

Frequently we would hear very clear footsteps on the landing between ours and the children’s bedrooms, so distinct was the sound that we expected one of the boys to come walking in…you can probably guess that they did not. One night I was woken up by the sense I was being “watched”, not an uncommon thing with youngsters as you frequently wake up and find them staring straight into your face akin to something like the children of the corn. As I opened my eyes I saw a large shadow leaning over my sleeping husband, but it was the fact he said “who’s watching me?” and the mass looked up at me and vanished. The strange thing was, whatever was upstairs felt different to downstairs, it felt caring rather than threatening, it was still a weird experience for me.

A few days later, after we had spent the entire day playing in the huge field that surrounded the house, sunbathing and generally relaxing, that we were to see something that if I had not had another person with me, I would not have believed myself.

The downstairs of this cottage was all open plan, with the various areas being separated by nothing more than beams, and in the eating part was a small four person table which my son had placed his bag on, in the middle, it had been there all day. As my husband said to me

“it feels weird in here tonight”

we watched as the bag literally flew from the table and onto the floor, as though someone had swept it away with their arm. Looking back on it now – and I still have trouble rationalising it – I know that we were both sober, there were no earthquakes, tractors working in the fields or even lorries coming past that could have caused the table to vibrate, the bag did not just fall, it flew.

After this I decided that I needed to have words with whoever was unhappy with us being there, so the other three went out the next day to the supermarket and left me alone. I did not have any gadgets with me, so I walked around the ground floor just chatting, asking if it was alright if we stayed for another ten days, saying that we appreciated them allowing us to experience their home and assuring them we would respect it.

I will not say that after that the activity stopped, but it certainly reduced, it ended up with washing machines being turned on, the odd cushion moved and the such which I found amusing as I had felt the energy was female, maybe she felt sorry for me and was trying to help with the housework?

So, not only was it a holiday full of history (if you ever get to go to Normandy, visiting the beaches, Pointe du Hoc and the birthplace of William the Conqueror are a must) I also got to walk away with one of the most extreme paranormal experiences I have had to date and one I will never forget.

The Glen cinema disaster

Sun, 21 Feb 2021 19:26:54 GMT

Those of you who have listened to my podcast with the gorgeous Jolene Jackson-Lockwood would have heard me mention the Glen cinema disaster, we had been talking about the fire at the Tivoli cinema in 1945 which resulted in the loss of one life and I was explaining how film fires were actually scarily common.

On New Years Eve, in 1929, hundreds of children were crowding excitedly into the Glen Cinema in Paisley, Scotland to watch a film, a definite treat for many. The picture house had been opened twenty eight years prior and was an integral part of the town, but was soon to become a place of death.

The projectionist had removed the first film and given it to his assistant, to place in the winding room ready to be used again, what happened is a bit uncertain but fire chiefs later believed it was placed against an accumulator (a type of rechargeable battery) which still had enough volts in it to heat the film canister up to a temperature where the highly volatile nitrate film would start to smoulder. This type of film did not need oxygen to burn and had (has, although it is not used anymore due to its instability) a very low flashpoint of only 120 degrees Fahrenheit.

The manager, Charles Dorward, was called and he threw the smoking case into the back yard, but this was in the sight of children who started screaming “fire”…there is some discrepancy as to how many youngsters were in the cinema at the time, the ticket collector during the coroner’s inquest said around five to six hundred, yet other reports say it was nearer one thousand. Regardless of the number, panic ensued with hysterical kids stampeding to get out. The owner of the cinema had agreed to put more emergency exits into the building, but at this point had not, and they also discovered that the back gate into Good Templar was locked – something that Dorward would do to stop people sneaking in during a performance without paying.

Tragically, sixty nine children (although some reports say seventy-one) died in the melee, with many others being removed to the infirmary, the cause of death for all rather than being smoke inhalation (the fumes produced by burning nitrate film is incredibly toxic) but crush injuries. What is even more heart-breaking is the age of some of the victims, one was only four years old, you can only imagine the terror and sheer panic in the parents who would have gathered around the building praying that their little one who they had left there, thinking they would have a fun afternoon watching a movie, had escaped.

As with all things, there was an inquiry, and Major Crozier - H.M Inspector of Explosives – wrote a comprehensive report and whilst he agreed with the cause of the fire itself (there had been allegations of the projectionist and his assistant McVey having been smoking near the films) he also praised the young McVey for having the foresight to remove the canister as soon as he saw it smouldering, if not, it would have set alight a number of other reels which were waiting to be rewound. He also said that he believed that there was definite overcrowding of young children, without suitable adult supervision and that even without the back gate being locked, they would have struggled to open the doors.

Dorward, was arrested almost immediately and charged with culpable homicide, but was found not guilty in just eighteen minutes by the jury on 3rd May 1930.

Such an awful incident, and one that families in Paisley still remember to this day, as nearly every one suffered a bereavement due to it. The building still remains, but is no longer a cinema, and there is a plaque to remember the awful day known as “black Hogmanay”.

As a sidenote, when I put into the newspaper search facility on a well-known genealogical research page “Glen Cinema”, exactly 666 hits came up, now I am not naturally suspicious but knowing the number of deaths that happened there, that did spook me a bit.

The Barker Karpis gang

Mon, 15 Feb 2021 10:09:58 GMT

So recently I recorded a really interesting podcast about the house in Oklawaha, Florida where Ma Barker and her son Fred were gunned down in a tense five hour or so shoot out with the FBI. I know that some people do not want to read a six or seven hundred word blog on a subject so I thought I would try something a bit different for you and put some facts down about them to whet your appetite to listen to the recording (if you have not done so already).

So, here we are, and just to be different, I’ve listed eleven facts rather than the more conventional ten – I am such a rebel….

1) Ma Barker had four sons, all of them died violent deaths

2) Lloyd, who was born in 1897, actually served with the American army during WW2 and earned a Good Conduct Medal

3) The gang was known as the “Barker-Karpis” gang, and the believed mastermind, Alvin Karpis had the nickname of “Creepy Karpis” due to his rather sinister smile

4) Only one of the brothers was actually deemed murdered and that was by… his wife

5) Ma Barker idolised 19th century outlaw, Jesse James

6) Both Fred and Alvin had plastic surgery performed by Joseph Moran, medical man for the mobsters, who incidentally disappeared and was found on Crystal Beach in Ontario…minus his hands and feet. Many believe that he was killed by the Barker Karpis gang

7) They would rent properties under assumed names, the house in Oklawaha was “Blackburn”

8) The boy’s father, George Baker, is said to have lived the rest of his life in fear of repercussions after he left the family in 1928

9) The song by Boney M “Ma Baker”, is not strictly accurate, When Arthur (aka Doc) was released from prison he moved to Chicago but did not stay, as he had no wish to work for Al Capone

10) Fred was quite petite, his arrest warrant from when he shot Sheriff C Roy Kelly state he is “5ft4 and around 120 pounds”

11) Karpis actually wrote a biography where he stated that Ma was not the criminal mastermind she was portrayed as, and that this image was created to justify gunning down a 61 year old woman…

So there you have it, if you want to know more, have a listen to https://www.spreaker.com/user/paukradionetwork/hh-ma-barker-shootout-2-8-21-compressed

The Stanfield Hall Murders

Thu, 04 Feb 2021 11:00:23 GMT

I grew up in a tiny little hamlet in the boonies of Norfolk, I always knew that there was some historical interest in the place, not least the fact that it had been the headquarters for the 2nd Air Division during World War Two and then became the home to Lotus Formula One for many years - although coming face to face to the huge car transporter lorries they used on those quiet country lanes was not my favourite memory.

I remembered visiting Stanfield hall as a young child, and not liking it at all, the hallway area although grand and very beautiful, felt cold and scary to me and I can recall clinging onto my mother with all my might despite the then owner being a lovely older lady.

Imagine my shock when I found out whilst researching a tale of murder in the house belonging to my parent’s neighbours, an even bigger story, that of the Stanfield Hall Murders. In 1828, James Blomfeld Rush married Susannah, and they proceeded to have (according to the 1841 census) a child per year from 1831, so nine children by 1841 ranging from the age of ten to just one years old. It seems that Susan had died in 1845, and James with many young children to look after having become a tenant farmer at Stanfield Hall Farm in 1836, had gone to London and advertised for a Governess. It would seem that he wanted more than just a carer for his motherless children and he proceeded to seduce the new lady in his life, Miss Emily Sandford under the promise of marriage.

Rush did not seem to be very competent when it came to balancing the books, according to newspapers at the time, the landlord of Stanfield Hall Farm (and the owner of Stanfield Hall) had wanted to buy Potash Farm nearby when it came up for auction, Rush had decided to buy it himself but did not have the money so asked for a loan from…his landlord. Soon, he was heavily in debt, and unable to pay his dues, despite this being all of his own doing, he felt it was the fault of Isaac Jermy, who was also well known, well respected and the recorder of Norwich. On Tuesday 28th November 1848, Rush “disguised” himself and crept up to Stanfield Hall, shooting Jermy senior dead on the porch of his home, then after threatening the butler, shot Jermy Junior dead too in the main hallway injuring his wife as she ran to his aid. Also wounded was a maid, all of these people were able to identify Rush as being the killer and his fate was sealed.

Digging into his past a little bit more, there were certainly suspicious activities associated with him, a former farm he rented burning to the ground, his step father being found shot dead in his kitchen – the verdict being that of accident, but who truly knows? – and quite a few other threats and rows that came up during the court proceedings.

On 21st April 1849, Rush was hanged at Norwich Castle Hill, the case having attracted such interest that the local railway put on special trains to ensure everyone who wanted to witness the spectacle was able. The young Emily Sandford (calling herself Mrs Emily James) was held on remand at Wymondham Bridewell ( a very interesting little museum to visit if you are ever there www.wymondhamheritagemuseum.co.uk) and gave birth to their child, Emily Martha in the early part of 1849.

What happened to the children of Rush? It seems that they went their own way and that Mary, the eldest daughter took on the caring role of the younger children living near the church in Felmingham but I cannot find any trace of them after that.

I did not know any of this (and there is lots more on the case if you choose to go looking) as a young child, scared stiff and finding the house very threatening, was I picking up on something that had happened there over a hundred years prior? There is a common theory that children see and hear things that adults cannot, is that why I would refuse to leave the car on future occasions? Sadly I do not know, maybe one day I will get to explore the place properly and find out.

The Fighting Bantam Division

Thu, 28 Jan 2021 19:30:19 GMT

The recent podcast I recorded with Jane Rowley mentioned the First World War, and the fact that her Great Grandmother had lost her first husband in that particular conflict but also married a veteran who suffered from the aftermath of the hostilities for the rest of his life.

If you want to listen to it, here is the link - https://www.spreaker.com/user/paukradionetwork/hh-workhousetowar-1-25-21-compressed

But did everyone (male, anyway) get to fight or were there restrictions? Contrary to popular belief, men were not “forced” to join up when war was declared in the UK the August of 1914. For the first eighteen months or so, recruitment was based on volunteers and had little requirements other than the men be over 18 years old, be taller than 5ft3 in height and have a chest measurement in excess of thirty four inches. This may seem very short, but the average height of a man in 1914 was in the region of 5ft6 – in comparison for you, it is now around 5ft9 in the United Kingdom.

The issue was that this height restriction automatically blocked many men who were from the more industrial areas of the United Kingdom and mining towns from joining up to fight for their country, which a huge number wanted to do as they felt it was their duty. In fact, one (reported, although no one seems to know his name) coal miner travelled all the way to Birkenhead to try and persuade them to add another inch to his 5ft2 height so that he would qualify, and when refused, it took many police officers to restrain him such was his anger. The MP for the area, Alfred Bigland, seemed so taken by this that he wrote to the Secretary of State for War, Lord Kitchener, to ask for either the height restriction to be removed or for a separate division of these shorter stature men be authorised.

The Cheshire Regiment was formed, consisting of men between the heights of 4ft10 and 5ft3, and by November 1914, with the three thousand recruits they had received, a second battalion was created. This leniency and allowance of those who did not meet height requirements to fight could also have been to do with how the troops already out there were being decimated. When the recruitment stations opened in August 1914, they were deluged with volunteers, so much so that in the September of 1914, the height requirement had been raised to 5ft6, but it was soon dropped back to 5ft3 by the November when men clamouring to join up began to tail off. In fact, by the July of 1915, the need for new soldiers was getting so desperate that it had been lowered again to 5ft2.

As an aside, Billy Butlin, yes he of holiday camp fame, was actually a bantam and in the 216th (Bantams) Battalion Canadian Expeditionary Forces.

When we read of young boys signing up and lying about their ages, it is quite easy to see how they manage it with such a desperate need for able bodied men to carry arms and those under 5ft3 being offered the chance to fight. Eventually as the war progressed, and some bantam divisions were wiped out (as happened to so many of the various groups of men put together), those with mining experience became tunnellers and so on until the bantam divisions were indistinguishable from the others.

This short poem at the time epitomises how they were seen.

Each one a pocket Hercules

five feet and a bit,

a kind of Bovril essence

of six feet British grit.

The Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire

Mon, 18 Jan 2021 17:05:01 GMT

Being in a fire is terrifying enough at the best of times, but imagine being a young teenager stuck on the ninth floor of a building with no where to go? That is what is believed to have happened to the youngest victims of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire in 1911, Kate Leone and Rosaria Maltese.

On the 26th March 1911, someone raised the alarm at 4.40pm that the Asch Building was on fire, the blaze having started by a window on the north east corner of the eighth floor, where all the material cuttings were thrown into wicker baskets and an area that was meant to be a non-smoking part of the building. A book keeper on the eighth floor was able to warn the tenth floor of the blaze, but nobody could reach people on the ninth .

This factory making shirtwaists – a type of women’s blouse – was staffed mainly by young immigrant workers, predominantly Jewish and Italian, who would work long hours and were watched closely. As the flames started to reach the ninth floor, the terrified staff tried to escape but the doors were all locked and as the Foreman who had the key had run away earlier, they were trapped. You may wonder why the exits had been shut, but this was so that the women (and I am not being sexist, for in the main they were) could not leave for a break without having their bags checked to stopped theft from their employer.

Some of the other floors had managed to get out, and had either made it to the street or even the roof, but those that had piled onto the fire escape discovered to their detriment that it was not fit for purpose and collapsed under the weight of the terrified individuals – dropping over one hundred feet to the street below and killing about twenty people in the process. The stair wells which should have been safe were too narrow to facilitate the secure evacuation and the over populated factory caused these areas to become blocked and inescapable.

There were some though trying to save as many as possible, the lift operators, Joseph Zito and Gasper Mortillo made repeated trips whilst the machinery was still working to get out as many as they could before people started jumping onto the moving car from upper floors and stopped it being able to function.

The saddest of all though was the individuals who felt they had no choice but to jump from the higher floors out of the window, the prospect of jumping to their death being better than being engulfed in the flames that were licking at their heels. Whilst at the time, reports of over two hundred deaths came in from this tragic event, but the official account is of one hundred and forty six, with one hundred and twenty three of those being young women - the older believed to be 43 years old and the youngest, our two 14 year old girls I mentioned earlier.

Was anyone ever brought to task for this? the owners, Isaac Harris and Max Blanck were certainly tried with first degree manslaughter, but seemed to have got off with no charge according to the newspaper reports of the time. Whether they should have been found guilty is not my decision, but when you examine some of the other evidence, it does create suspicion…according to the Topeka Daily Capital in August 1913, there were over five hundred and fifty women and fifty men working on those three floors, each floor was a mass of highly flammable material and a blind eye was turned on the male staff smoking as long as they were discreet. A Fire inspector who reviewed the case afterwards said that workers were packed so tightly into each floor, and only had one window to access the fire escape that it would take around three hours to get out of the building. What is even more damning is the Insurance report, this was not the first time that Harris & Blanck had filed a claim for fire damage, they had done so every year since 1902…and were also over insured, to a tune of $70,000 according to the same newspaper.

The owners had lost money during the shirtwaist strike of 1909, and whilst I am not saying this fire was set deliberately, how can we be sure that it was not?

Aces High

Tue, 05 Jan 2021 18:58:38 GMT

Aviation has always been a love of mine, and even though I have not (as yet, when writing this anyway) been able to find the funds to obtain a flying license, it does not mean that I cannot absorb every single piece of information in relation to pilots and their marvellous machines.

If you know me, you will already be aware of my love of the World War Two bomber, the Avro Lancaster, but what about the pilots that went before the Guy Gibson’s and Leonard Cheshire’s of this world. What of the aviators of the Great War? They were flying in open top biplanes, made of little more that wood, rope and well, hope, with guns that they had to fire by hand until they managed to work out how to get a machine gun synchronised with the propeller. Not forgetting that they did not carry parachutes….

Did you know that WW2 Nazi war criminal and Supreme Commander of the Luftwaffe Hermann Goering was actually a WW1 Ace? An ace being someone who had shot down five or more enemy aircraft. Although perhaps his anti-Semitic leanings were already making themselves known as even at the end of 1918, he believed in the “Stab in the back” myth whereby many Germans had concluded that their loss was not due to failure on the battlefield but treachery on the home front, namely Jews and Republicans.

What about the Red Baron? Manfred Von Richthofen, credited with shooting down eighty enemy aircraft by the age of twenty-five when he died. He really was the ace of aces, and I can imagine an allied airman suddenly seeing his bright red Fokker Dreidecker (meaning triplane) appear from the clouds and know that you were in the company of possibly the best pilot out there – not to mention probably about to be shot out of the sky.

But there were Allied equivalents, although it has to be said, none ever managed the Baron’s astounding tally. It is amazing any of the pilots managed to stay alive long enough to achieve anything, with a life expectancy of just three weeks once they were given their wings (and that does not include the danger of just learning to fly, keep in mind, the Wright brothers only made the first powered flight in 1903, and the first flight across the Channel by Bleriot was in 1909).

Take Edward “Mick” Mannock, a half Irish son of a British army soldier born in 1887, due to his father walking out on the family he took a job as a telephone engineer and ended up working in the Ottoman Empire, finding himself thrown into a prison camp in the early stages of the First World War. Mick had been quite a sickly child and quickly fell ill again whilst in captivity, seeing him repatriated to Great Britain due to the authorities there not feeling he would be able to fight so was therefore no threat.

Big mistake

After joining the Royal Medical Corps, and then the Royal Engineers, in 1916 Mick moved to the Royal Flying Corps (the RAF did not exist until April 1918). In April 1917, after having only been in France for a matter of weeks his skill managed to save his life after one of the wings on his Nieuport Scout biplane came off. By the time Major Mannock had been flying for over a year, many new pilots saw him as invincible and he was used many times as a substitute instructor, helping them with technique and getting their first enemy aircraft. One of his mantras was to never fly too low, but his return to the front in the June of 1918 may be have been one flight too far as he was suffering with depression and shell shock after seeing so many of his colleagues die and he ignored his own advice. Whilst out flying on the 26th July 1918 with newbie Lieutenant Donald Inglis, he dived to seemingly check on the wreckage of the German aircraft and was shot by ground fire. Inglis was also caught in the exchange but managed to make it back to British territory sputtering as he got out of his SE5a “The bastards killed my major, they killed Mick”

Some reports say Mannock’s tally was in the seventies, but many believe that this was more to do with his supporters’ dislike of his biggest “competitor” Canadian Ace, Billy Bishop, and even though twelve months after his death he was credited with fifty victories (the likelihood is it was in the sixties) and awarded a posthumous VC on 18th July 1919.

So, against all apparent odds, coming from a less than privileged background and having a decidedly rocky start to the war, the amazing “Mick” Mannock proved he was in deed a threat and should be remembered by all who are interested in history.

The Saltychikha

Mon, 28 Dec 2020 12:52:48 GMT

I would guess that most people have heard of the infamous female “serial” killer Countess Bathory, her supposed blood lust and dislike of young women is legendary – even if when you dig into it, you can raise substantial doubt as to whether she was the true villain she is oft painted as, but that is a whole different article – but what of a similar tale from Russia, that of Darya Saltykova, also known as The Saltychikha.

Born into an affluent Russian family in 1730, Darya’s life should really have been mapped out as that of an aristocrat and all its trappings, but when she married young to Russian noble, Gleb Saltykov and then became widowed at the incredibly young age of twenty-five, with two young sons to raise and a huge estate to run, she seemed to turn to torture and murder to amuse herself.

Whether her viciousness existed before the death of her husband is unknown, but she would meter out awful punishments to some of the serfs under her control (she is believed to have had over six hundred). What is telling however is that the attacks did seem to be targeted against women, and in the main, younger girls and those who were married to other male members of her household. Was this down to her general unhappiness? Or was she a psychopath that had the opportunity to live out her desires because who was going to have the confidence to go against the Russian nobility?

The first inklings of her homicidal tendencies can possibly be seen when she was spurned by her lover Nikolay Tyutchev, he had broken off their affair and she had discovered that he had married a much younger girl in secret. Absolutely furious at this betrayal, she demanded her serfs kill both him and his new wife, but fortunately for Nikolay, they were not happy with this instruction and warned him of the ordered hit and he was able to escape.

The suffering that she inflicted on her “staff” – which according to her was due to their inadequacy to do their jobs correctly – would range from setting their hair on fire, making them stand naked outside for hours on end in bitterly cold weather, throwing boiling water over their faces and even with pregnant women, making them lie down whilst she trampled them.

Her reign of terror was not to continue forever, a new ruler was in control of Russia and she was determined to make society more equal and was as formidable as Darya was barbarous, Catherine the Great. After the twenty-second complaint of brutality had reached Catherine’s ears personally from one of the male serfs, Ermoly Ilyin (this poor man had been widowed three times by his employer’s cruelty), that she decided to act. The issue that Catherine had however was to ensure the punishment befitted the crime, the death penalty had been abolished in Russia in 1754, so what could she do? (whilst still retaining the support of the nobility, many who believed that serfs were no more deserving of humane treatment than that of animals)

After a very lengthy trial, Saltykova was found guilty of thirty-eight murders, even though the figure was believed to be well over one hundred. In 1768 she was paraded for over an hour on a public platform in Moscow, in chains and wearing a placard around her neck which said “This woman tortured and murdered”, enabling all to mock and ridicule her depravity. She then spent the next eleven years of her life in a windowless cell at the Ivanovsky Cloister, her only contact with people being the daily visits from one of the sisters of the convent who would bring her food and a candle, the latter being removed once she had finished eating. In 1779, she was moved to a different room in the building, where the one window she had was covered by an external shutter, reports say that she would poke passers by with a stick and shout obscenities at them. Whether this behaviour was present before her eleven years in solitary is unclear, but she lived until 1801 (although some accounts say 1800) imprisoned in her cell advertised to all as an aberration and freak of humanity, her status as a powerful noble lost forever.

Human Canvas

Thu, 17 Dec 2020 19:46:03 GMT

Saz is about to celebrate her tenth anniversary of being in business, and to help others achieve their goals, she has given an interview looking at where she came from

PGM - So Saz, how did this all start?

SL - “I started my tattooing career when I was seventeen years of age just before I fell pregnant with my first daughter. I didn’t have what you would call an education after leaving school at fourteen and going to art college for a few months at sixteen . I was what you might call a true recluse, spending hours drawing and finding comfort in my art in my teenage years. At eighteen I did manage to secure an apprenticeship in a local studio, but I really didn’t know anything about the industry and I was living in a hostel with my daughter who was just one at the time, all I knew was that I needed to be a tattoo artist!”

PGM - It sounds like a very positive start, and then what happened?

SL - “ Unfortunately I was sacked within the month but I didn’t let that stop me. I juggled raising a child with learning the craft. Over the years I’d worked in six different studios on and off and tried my hardest to learn everything I could, picking things up along the way. I was always really grateful for any studio who gave me a job, but I was never lucky enough to have a mentor. I was a Mum of two young children by now, but I realised something, out of those six tattoo studios that I had been at, there were only two where the owner had been tattooing longer than me and it occurred to me- I had been tattooing eight years and it was about time I got my own place.

PGM – So here you are, a young family, you have decided to go into business for yourself, how did you start?

SL – The name, it took me ages to come up with Human Canvas, but I remember it well. My sister Lisa and I were sat in a pub in Lichfield and trying to think of how to portray art on skin as a business name and I said “it’s like you’re a human, but a canvas”......bingo. That was it, joint effort between us. Nothing ever stays the same though and I was attending a small business course when my father, Andy, passed away all of a sudden from a brain haemorrhage. He was only forty-six and I was devastated. My father had always supported me as best he could and I did my first ever tattoo on him all those years ago, he was covered in my art and was basically a human practice pad.

PGM – that must have been so hard to keep going, forty-six is very young, where did you go from there?

SL - I had been looking all over for a suitable spot to start the tattoo and piercing business, and lived near Walsall all my life. Then I noticed a beautiful shopping arcade and it seemed perfect for me, back then a lot of tattoo shops were still owned and controlled by bikers, so the thought of being inside a shopping centre was the security I felt I needed seeing as I was doing it all on my own. I had left my husband just before I started in business and found myself homeless living out of a backpack for the first year or so. I was dotting about between hotels and households and had to leave my two children living with their father for a short time as I needed to ensure that the business got off its feet, I did it for them, so they could have security in their future

PGM – it sounds like you had to make a lot of sacrifices, surely it got easier from there?

SL – Yes I guess I did, I had plied everything I had into starting up and I could not afford for it not to work, it just was not an option. I was twenty-five and pretty clueless but failure was not even considered for a minute. The first few years of business I worked all day and night, raising the two girls I already had single handed and I had my third child in 2012 and ended up in hospital for three days as I was exhausted, I was told to take it easy but no chance, there was work to do. After five years of trading, I finally outgrew my first shop, a pokey little place but quaint all the same and needed to move into a bigger premise and then the unit opposite my studio had recently become available. It seemed like a sign as the timing was right and I went for it.

PGM – So you still saw the positives even after all the walls that have been put up in front of you, that is pretty inspirational

SL – Thank you, the problems didn’t end there though, unfortunately the paperwork had taken so long that by the time I actually moved across I had lost half of my work force but I didn’t let that phase me.

PGM – So with all the hurdles you faced, I am sure people telling you that you couldn’t do it, not to mention the sacrifices you talked about, I have to ask, why?

SL – Well, now my business is a decade old and I couldn’t be happier, through blood sweat and tears and the heart ache of not seeing my little girls half as often as I would like, it was all worth it. I want my girls to have a Mum who they can look up to and teach them to be strong and carry on, even if the whole world seems against you. I can offer young people a place to grow and learn the trade, something I never seemed to be able to secure for myself. And I now own and run a mental health awareness live music event which means a lot to me on a personal level. I love the permanence of tattooing, seeing as with the passing of time everything changes, we age, things wear down, deteriorate, need replacing, people come and go...... But tattoos, they stay with me forever. And my art stays with the people I’ve tattooed over the years and I couldn’t feel more honoured every time someone trusts me with their body. Their ‘Human Canvas’.

You can contact Saz at www.humancanvastattoo.co.uk

The Castle on the hill

Fri, 11 Dec 2020 10:02:36 GMT

When you first venture into the centre of the East Anglian city of Norwich, you would have to be keeping your eyes firmly shut not to notice the square shaped Norman castle that welcomes you from its lofty position on the hill. As a teenager, I would frequently make the short bus journey “into town” to sit in the huge window spaces reading whatever book I had been tasked for my A Levels, I found the place both reassuring and calm. It was my go to when I needed to just step away from the hustle and bustle of life, I felt a definite connection.

It is when you start to delve into its history and the various people that have passed through its doors that you start to realise what an amazing building it is. Built on the instruction of William the Conqueror in around 1067 to create a symbol of both power and political control in what was then, the third largest English city (behind only London and York). As was usual in the period, wherever a structure was to be built, it was likely that many Saxon dwellings would be destroyed. In this case historians estimate over 100 homes and even a cemetery were raised to the ground to enable the castle to be completed.

William did not spend much time there and entrusted its management to Earl Ralf de Gael, but in 1075 after the King refused to sanction his marriage to Emma FitzOsbern, de Gael was pivotal in the Earls uprising of the same year and ended up running away to Brittany rather than face the Kings wrath. What is even more amusing though is that he left his new wife to defend Norwich Castle, and when she managed to hold out against William’s armies for three months whilst negotiating terms for her and her entourage, the King allowed her to leave unharmed.

Perhaps he almost admired her ability and tenacity? Unusual however as most historians cite William as being greedy and cruel, but that is for you to decide.

In 1220 AD the castle began its six hundred plus year use as a prison for both felons and debtors and this is where some of the most famous ghost stories emanate. On 7th December 1549 a name well known to most people of Norfolk, Robert Kett, was executed and his body hanged from the castle walls for his part in an uprising against new enclosure rules appertaining to common land that caused great hardship to many of his kin. Kett is one of the apparitions that is reported to be seen walking round the castle walls, decomposed and dressed in rags.

The records of just how many executions took place at the Castle are hazy at best, and we know that many were allowed to choose transportation as opposed to death, such as perhaps the gaols most famous love story, that of Henry Kable and Susannah Holmes. Both incarcerated and awaiting the noose on the charge of burglary, they met by chance in the gaol and even had a son whilst still awaiting their new choice of Australia instead of a rope. The mind truly boggles at how they were able to get so close to actually create a life, but prisons did tend to be mixed in the 1700’s, with segregation due to gender not appearing until the Gaols Act of 1823. The couple did stay together however, and after marrying in Sydney, had a further ten children together.

For nearly a thousand years, the castle has stood watch over the people of Norwich, and I would wager, it will be there long from now.

Healing the mind

Sat, 28 Nov 2020 15:17:52 GMT

Most people have heard of the term “shell shock”, although many researchers and observers of World War One history do actually state that it is not an accurate moniker for this particular condition.

An awareness of mental health and the vagaries of the psyche has become more prevalent in recent years with those suffering with conditions like depression, PTSD and others being treated with much more of a sympathetic hand, but why then does a stigma still attach itself to these conditions?

I wrote recently about Dirk Bogarde, and his experiences when he was one of the early visitors to a newly liberated Bergen Belsen concentration camp in 1945, the things that people experience during war are definitely horrendous but why was it only in the 20th century that it seemed to affect people on a psychological level quite so much?

If you look at battles pre 1914, they did not involve some of the killing machines that were to come, yes cannon balls would cause a lot of damage and ultimately death, but maybe it was not quite so overpowering? The difference in 1914 and onwards was the sheer madness and wanton destruction that would come from mechanised warfare, can you imagine being told to walk into a storm of machine gun fire? Can you picture not knowing if the projectile that had been launched from a mile away was going to obliterate where you were standing? Can you feel the terror that a soldier would have felt being buried alive in a crater and knowing that the chances of being rescued were virtually zero whilst the fighting continued?

Most of these were volunteers, they were not hardened military men, they were normal Joe’s who had either been conscripted or stepped forward to fight for their country, and for some, the mental injuries they were to suffer was possibly worse than death.

One of the most well-known Psychiatric pioneers of the Great War was the amazing WHR Rivers, who had his own military heritage in that his Uncle was on the HMS Victory and the same Uncle also purported to have been the one to shoot the enemy combatant who caused the fatal injury to Nelson.

WHR Rivers was a multi-talented man, not only was he a psychiatrist, he also worked as a neurologist, ethnologist and an anthropologist. It was after a research tour as the latter in Melanesia (Fiji, Solomon Islands etc) that he returned to Blighty in March 1915 and discovered a world at war. He immediately applied to the powers that be to offer his medical services and was posted to Maghull Military Hospital (also known as Moss Side) in Liverpool which was called “the centre of abnormal psychology”. Maghull was the first of its kind and by specialising in the area of shellshock, it managed to stop a large number of military personnel being sent to asylums where their treatment would not have been so targeted to their particular needs.

After a year, Rivers moved on the infamous Craiglockhart Hospital near Edinburgh, where not only was he able to achieve a childhood dream of being accepted into the military as a Captain with the Royal Army Medical Corps (something denied to him previously due to weaknesses from a protracted bout of typhoid as a teenager) but he also began a friendship that was to continue well after 1918 with poet Siegfried Sassoon.

His methods of treatment were not limited to the conventional ways of treating shellshock, psychoanalysis, dream interpretation and hypnosis being the norm, he also promoted talking cures, believing that by revisiting the events which triggered the persons mental break would be cathartic and help to heal them.

What I find most rewarding about Rivers’ attitude was that he did not see those who suffered with shell shock (or war neuroses as it was also known) as being cowards or malingerers, snipers who had suddenly lost their sight, men who had gone over the top and were now unable to walk, others who would lose all senses if they heard certain noises and trash everything in sight in an uncontrollable panic – these were not fakers, they were unwell.

Many of those suffering with shellshock were never able to return to duty, and this was something that Rivers’ struggled with during his time at Craiglockhart, he knew that by “healing” these men he could give them a modicum of a normal life, but he also was cognisant of the fact that they could also be sent back to the front and be met with their death…or a relapse.

The British Army is believed to have treated over eighty thousand cases of shell shock, but I would wager that the number was far higher and many would rather end their life than admit what they were conditioned to see as weakness.

The complexity of war

Sat, 21 Nov 2020 10:31:00 GMT

Before I start this, no, it is not an analysis of some great “how to conduct war” doctrine or a write up of The Art of War by Sun Tzu, it is all about a man who you may or may not have heard of called Wladyslaw Anders.

I have to admit, I only found out about this amazing individual a few years ago when I was chatting to someone in my day job who was Polish, he told me that his father had been part of Anders’ army – “who?” I said…

Born in 1892, around one hundred miles west of Warsaw – then part of the Russian Empire – young Anders’ military career started after graduating from University and he saw action in the Great War as part of the then, Imperial Russian Army. When Poland was given independence in 1918, he switched to the Polish army and just twenty-one years later was part of the force trying to stop the German invasion. After they lost, and hearing about the Soviets marching in from the East, Anders retreated, aiming for Lviv (in now Ukraine). He was captured by the Soviet forces and ended up in Lubyanka Prison in Moscow. What many people may not realise is that the Soviets deported many Polish men who they feared may take up arms against them into their domain and held them in various Gulags dotted around the country.

This particular prison deserves a blog in its own right, but in a nutshell, it was built on the site of Catherine the Great’s secret police headquarters towards the end of the 19th century, and was an Insurance company’s offices before the “Cheka” (the new secret police) took it over. That particular political directorate has had many names, during Anders’ time it would have been the NKVD, during my child hood it was known as the KGB and now, the FSB. As you can imagine, our Polish Generals time at this prison would not have been pleasant, repeat torture, interrogation and many of those incarcerated there thought they were in the basement, when in actual fact they were in windowless cells on the top floor.

After the not very trustworthy (probably not a shock with hindsight) Germans turned on the Soviets and started trying to not only oust them out of the areas they had “amicably” divvied up, but also start to invade other areas of the country, the Soviets realised they had an entire army confined and after the signing of the Sikorski-Mayski Agreement, tens of thousands of Polish soldiers were released and became part of what is now known as “Anders’Army”

Yet the animosity towards Jews and non-ethnic Poles continued with many in Soviet authority not wanting them eligible to be part of this new force, but common sense eventually prevailed and the group made their way via Iran where the infamous Corporal Wojtek (look it up, I do not want to spoil the surprise) became a member of the party and onto Palestine.

Somewhere in the region of three quarters of the Jewish soldiers left the army to remain in Palestine, but the rest went on to fight in the Italian Campaign under the command of the British Government, with many returning with commendations.

But the story is not as pleasant as it first may seem, many people will have heard of Anzio Army Camp, this was actually one of the hundreds of Polish repatriation sites that had to be established to house all of these brave men (and their families) who had fought so valiantly for the Allies but had been left homeless because of the new rule of their country.

Sadly Anders, who had warned Churchill that trusting Stalin with regard to the Yalta Conference may come back and bite him but was ignored, never got to return to his country of birth. After the now Soviet controlled Government of Poland not only removed his military rank but also his Polish citizenship, he was well aware that if he stepped onto the soil of his birthplace he would most likely be arrested and executed. He remained in London and became a key person in the Polish Government in Exile, until his death in 1970 where he was buried in Italy, alongside the fallen from his 2nd Polish Corps

This is a tiny snap shot of the events that occurred, and the moves that led to the formation of Anders’ Army, but do feel free to dig into some of these facts more and let me know what you find out.

Friday 13th

Fri, 13 Nov 2020 09:13:32 GMT

As today is not only a Friday 13th, but also a Friday 13th in 2020 – and let’s face it, who knows what more this year will bring! I thought I would do a quick blog about the history of the date and why so many people fear it.

There is a word (originating from the Greek word for the fear of the number thirteen, triskaidekaphobia) which means the fear of Friday 13th, it fair rolls off the tongue as well “paraskevidekatriaphobia”

But where did this come from, and more specifically, where did the inbuilt fear of Friday 13th originate?

There is no hard and fast evidence that I could find as to why this particular combination of day and date has evoked such suspicion, but one of the theories is that it is to do with Jesus’ last supper. As there were thirteen people and it was on a Thursday…therefore making the following day, the Friday, unlucky. In fact, Italians felt the day Friday itself was and unlucky and the composer Gioachino Rossini actually died not only on a Friday, but on a Friday 13th (Friday 13th of November to be exact)

Another interesting possible theory to throw into the equation is one that many folklorists believe is the origin of this particular phobia, Norse mythology. Apparently over in Valhalla, twelve Gods were having a bit of party but had not invited the mischievous Loki – if the real Loki is anything like the one we have come to know and love in the Avengers movies, he would be first on my guest list. Our naughty God got wind of the shenanigans and turned up as the….thirteenth guest, he then proceeded to persuade Hoor to shoot Baldr with a mistletoe tipped arrow. According to legend, this meant that the whole earth went dark and mourned the death of this otherwise invulnerable God and the number thirteen became seen to be unlucky.

There is also a similar story told in Indian culture, and whilst I could devote a whole blog in itself to the tale, here are the basics. Initially there were twelve immortal Adityas (Hindu Gods) but a demon wanted to drink the powerful nectar in order to achieve eternal life as well. To cut a very long (but interesting story) short, they decapitated the demon creating the enemy of the sun and the moon, Rahu (the head) and Ketu (the body) – the thirteenth entity.

But weirdly enough, in many Hispanic countries (and Greek as well), it is not Friday the 13th that is believed to be unlucky, but Tuesday 13th…

Should we be more careful though? I found this on an insurance website compiled from statistics gathered by insurer, Drive like a Girl (and the first person who makes a derogatory comment about female drivers will wish they had not)

“Analysis of almost five billion miles of driving data and associated claims shows that Friday is the most likely day for motorists to have a road traffic incident. And when its falls on the 13th of the month, accident rates rise, with motorists 32% more likely to have a crash. The risk of injury also increases, with 15% more chance of an injury in a car accident on the 13th when it falls on a Friday”

But is this because the day is unlucky or is it a form of auto suggestion? I can understand a Friday, the last day of the working week, people being tired, maybe thinking about what their weekend would be the cause of more accidents, but why would the number thirteen have anything to do with it?

What do you think…if you want to read some more thoughts, have a look at this piece that I found https://www.history.com/topics/folklore/friday-the-13th

The German Exodus

Sat, 31 Oct 2020 10:57:40 GMT

Recently, I was looking up some people connected with a case that had been highlighted on Fi Mac’s brilliant facebook page “Life and Crime in the Victorian and Edwardian Eras”. The main person in my quest-like search was a 34 year old woman by the name of Catherine Brenzel who had been arrested for rape in the second degree in 1914, and an accomplice was named, 17 year old Frederick Huck – although supposedly Fred had been offered Catherine’s daughter or something along those lines.

So, first step for any budding researcher, census records…whilst we think we found Catherine (not 100% sure as she had a different date of birth) I definitely found Master Huck and also discovered his parents were German and that his mother was widowed. Looking down the list, the majority of the residents were either German themselves or had German parents, but were all living the same part of New York and I wondered if this was common and if so, why.

Immigrants from Germany had started arriving in the New World from the very first settlors, but it was to be the 19th Century that saw the greatest number landing on the shores of the United states of America. Many were farmers and had been driven out of their native land by both a lack of freedom and cheap ground, they settled in the mid west and started forming communities in places like the Dakotas, Kansas and Nebraska. One of the items they brought across with them was their knowledge of brewing, and many set up operations to sell their beer, Johann Lemp of the infamous mansion in St Louis being one of them (you can listen to a podcast I did with the wonderful 3 Girls in the Dark here https://www.spreaker.com/user/paukradionetwork/haunted-histories-historic-lemp-mansion)

Due to the 1848 revolution in Germany triggered by autocratic rule and the deemed mistreatment of the lower classes who had suffered bad harvests and negative economic conditions, a large number started making the journey and between 1820 to 1914 (the outbreak of the Great War) an estimated six million left their homeland to make a new start. In fact, between 1881-1890 over 1.4 million made the crossing, desperate to have a better life. It is unsurprising that you tend to find communities dotted across the country, even with immigration now, nationalities do feel more comfortable with each other and it is perhaps due to this, that the 28th American President, Woodrow Wilson complained about their lack of integration into society.

Even now, this is a common criticism of those who leave ones country to settle in another, they tend to gravitate towards each other where their way of living and language are normal, for example, according to one site I saw, it was a German custom to drink beer after church on a Sunday, something that was seen as blasphemous by other nationalities.

It was when the United States joined the First World War however that the animosity towards these little German enclaves was to escalate, with xenophobic attitudes towards not only first generation Germans, but also those of German descent and even the use of german language – do not forget, the word Kindergarten used so readily in the American educational system is actually of German origin and translates to garden of children. President Wilson said in relation to those who called themselves German-American

"Any man who carries a hyphen about with him, carries a dagger that he is ready to plunge into the vitals of this Republic when he gets ready."

This kind of incendiary comment could be seen as very concerning and did not help the state of mind of many “Americans” when they lynched Robert Prager in a suburb of St Louis on 4th April 1918 – the kangaroo court accused him in part of spying for Imperial Germany, a charge he vehemently denied.

Possibly as a result of this, and wanting to be treated as American citizens and not ostracised, many of the German communities began to disperse and now, despite those with German heritage being one of the largest groups in the United states, the use of the language and continuation of customs has all but disappeared as they gradually assimilated themselves into the general population.

But next time you eat a hot dog or hamburger, drink a bottle of lager and when you decorate your Christmas tree? Say thank you to those hyphened immigrants who were such a danger to the country.

Leonard Cheshire - Vadem In Pacem

Thu, 22 Oct 2020 17:25:04 GMT

Leonard Cheshire VC, OSM, DSO 2 bars, DFC

Every so often, I get asked by someone to provide some interesting information about somewhere (normally an airfield, or a workhouse) and this was no different. I was looking into the history of RAF Marston Moor, basically an RAF training and conversion airfield during World War Two and I saw a name mentioned that I recognised. Whilst I was chatting to my husband and had commented that I did not realise Leonard Cheshire had been Group Captain at this airfield for a short while, he replied with

“who?”

Now, after I had responded with one of my best withering looks, I proceeded to explain who this amazing man was and why he is someone who should be as well-known in the WW2 pilot world as Guy Gibson, Johnnie Johnson or Douglas Bader.

Having learned to fly whilst securing a legal degree at Oxford, he obtained a commission as a Pilot Officer to the Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve, receiving a full commission to the Royal Air Force a few years later. He is noted as having been disappointed that he was not awarded his initial choice of fighter command having been assigned to the bombers but I would argue based on his heroism during the second world war that this was fortuitous.

I recently read his book “Bomber Pilot”, and whilst he talks of the first few years of his career as a pilot with a mixture of humour and technical knowledge that in my opinion, belies his background in law (his father was a barrister). It does feel that in every chapter he mentions another member of his crew who has either disappeared or died, including the pilot who influenced him and stressed the importance of being approachable to your men and also not thinking you were above anyone regardless of rank, Frank Hugh “Lofty” Long. When Lofty was killed on a mission in 1941, it affected Cheshire quite badly and made him realise that nobody was invincible regardless of how well trained or talented a pilot they were.

During his tenure as a bomber pilot, Cheshire was to fly from a variety of airfields – and fly a medley of aircraft – he helped make the Halifax lighter therefore enabling it to fly higher and therefore be more likely to avoid fighters and flak, and he also help develop a more precise method of bombing whilst based at the infamous 617 squadron (aka The Dambusters). The inventor of the bouncing bomb, Barnes Wallis, had created a huge explosive that would be able to wipe out the V3 gun bunkers encased in fifty foot of concrete. The only fly in the ointment of “Tallboy” as it was known was that it would be dropped from twenty thousand feet, but needed to land within twelve metres of the target to cause the destruction. This kind of accuracy was almost unheard of in daytime raids, let alone night time so Cheshire got to work.

Without going into too much detail, it involved dive bombing in a four engine Lancaster…to drop a marker at around one hundred feet, now, I do not know about you, but have you seen the size of the Avro Lancaster? It has a wing span of around one hundred and two feet, a length of just over sixty nine feet and they were diving to one hundred feet? Brave or bonkers, it’s up to you.

The first mission with the Tall boy was to be on the Gnome-Rhone aero factory in Limoges, however shortly before they were due to begin the mission, they were cautioned because over three hundred French women were operating there as night workers and the taking of civilian lives was forbidden in this particular raid.

What Cheshire did is nothing short of legendary, to warn the laborers of the impending attack, he made a series of incredibly low level passes – under fifty feet it is documented – until it could be seen that hundreds of people had evacuated the building and then the precision bombing began. It was a success with only one civilian being reported as injured when she came back to collect her bicycle, in fact, it is believed that the RAF was thanked by the people of Limoges for the warning.

There is so much more to his war career but I would need another ten thousand words to cover it properly.

That kind of consideration for his fellow human was not to diminish after the war for Cheshire, he is probably best known for the “Cheshire homes”, and even the story of that is heart warming to say the least. He set up the “Vade in Pacem” community (VIP), a living space for war widows and veterans which began at Gumley Hall in Leicestershire but moved to Le Court in Hampshire. Sadly, VIP came to an end in 1947, but in 1948 he was made aware of a former resident of Le Court who had been diagnosed with a terminal disease and asked if he could live in the grounds. Cheshire took him in and began learning how to nurse and take care of someone seriously ill, within months he had eight patients and six months later this had risen to twenty-eight.

This amazing human founded the Leonard Cheshire Disability Charity which aims to give those people the ability to live their life their way and provide independence and freedom. By 1992, there were two hundred and seventy homes in forty-nine countries, all being born from the kindness and benevolence of one man.

The astounding, Geoffrey Leonard Cheshire.

I'd rather be blue....

Sun, 18 Oct 2020 13:02:46 GMT

This is a subtitle for your new post

Yorkshire is an intriguing (and huge) area, and I have never met someone who is from one of the former Ridings who is not proud of it, and somewhat protective of their heritage.

It is also home to many ghost stories and one of those concerns a beautiful building by the name of Temple Newsam. This place is fair riddled with spooks, a quick google showed up at least four very different apparitions, so I thought I would investigate one, the hauntings known as the blue lady. You know me, I do not like stating anything as fact unless I have proved it unequivocally and I cannot do that in this case, some blue lady sightings are attributed to an apparently murdered servant girl by the name of Phoebe who was apparently squeezed to death by her admirer. The other belief is that this cerulean female is also believed to be Mary Ingram, daughter of Sir Thomas Ingram, member of a very rich family who owned Temple Newsam at one time.

But why is Mary haunting it, and did she really exist?

The legend of the ghost of Mary tells a fascinating tale, Mary had a necklace which she treasured – some reports say it was a string of pearls, others a gold pendant – that had been a gift to her from her late grandfather, Sir Arthur Ingram. Now Arthur is a fascinating character in his own right, described as a “rapacious, plausible swindler” he was also a landowner of some regard and had been responsible for turning Temple Newsam into the Ingram family seat. He also was responsible for the building of an alms-house in Bootham, York capable of accommodating ten poor widows and became known as Ingram’s Hospital.

Back to Mary, she is reported to have worn her treasured piece of jewellery whenever she could, but on the return from a trip to visit relatives near Garforth, her carriage was attacked by highwaymen and her precious necklace stolen as part of their booty. Poor Mary was bereft as this was her only link to her Grandfather who had died when she was very young, supposedly upon return to the house she went into a huge state of melancholy – some reports say she took to her bed, others that she went quite insane and would hide every single thing she owned due to living in constant fear of being robbed and attacked. A short while after this traumatic event, Mary died, the legend says after having basically starved herself to death through hysteria and an inability to eat.

A tragic tale I am sure you would agree? But did Mary exist…well yes according to the records, she was born to Thomas and Frances Ingram (nee Belasyse) in 1638, their only child who tragically died in 1652. The only fly in the ointment of this tale is that she is listed as having passed away in London and not Temple Newsam, but I guess you could argue that her parents may have taken her to the city to try and find medical help for her.

Is the lady in blue poor Mary? Her portrait hangs in the house to this day, and if you are brave enough, you can go and visit this stunning building and find out for yourself, but remember to take off any pretty necklaces in case she feels they are hers.

The Suicide Table

Fri, 09 Oct 2020 19:58:26 GMT

I recently had the opportunity to interview Nick Groff all about primarily the Washoe Club in Virginia City, Nevada (show available here https://www.spreaker.com/user/paukradionetwork/haunted-histories-nick-groff ) but with the amount of paranormal activity that seems to pervade the whole area, our conversation soon started talking about other parts of the former mining town.

One that fascinated me was the myth of the suicide table in the Delta Saloon and where its reputation had come from, was it really responsible for the deaths of three men?

The answer to that question I cannot give you as quite honestly, I have no idea, but what I can share is the background to the myth and let you decide for yourself whether this particular piece of furniture is indeed cursed.

So, back in the 1860’s (the actual date seems to be lost in the mists of time), a table was brought to Virginia City to play the game “Faro” on. This is a 17th Century French card game that was also sometimes known as “Bucking the tiger” or “Twisting the tigers tail”. It was quite a simple game, which is why it appealed to the groups of men who tended to play it. You did not have to worry about the various suits as it was purely down to the face value of the card, it was also fast moving with each “hand” only consisting of two cards, and you the player, bet on whether you could predict the next two to be drawn.

As typical with fast moving gambling, money could be lost quite easily, and the first supposed fatality associated with the Suicide Table was the owner whose name was Black Jake. He apparently lost somewhere in the region of $70,000 one night and shot himself when unable to cover his losses.

The next person, another owner of the table, ran it for one night and when he too incurred more debt than he could repay, he killed himself (although, there is also a story that he was saved the trouble, whether that means he was murdered or he was able to escape, is lost in the annals of time)

For many years people started to believe the table was cursed and it was locked away to protect any other unfortunate who decided to bankroll it for the night. When in the 1890s it was converted into a 21 table (also known as Black Jack…do you see where the suspicion in these stories may come in? Black Jack/Black Jake) after the game of Faro was deemed to be too easy to cheat at, it was responsible for yet another death.

The tale goes something along the lines of a destitute miner comes into the saloon possessing nothing but a gold ring to bet with, having lost all his money in another bar and hoping to win big. He – although slightly inebriated – wagered this jewellery against a five dollar piece and by the end of the night was walking away $86,000 richer, not just that, also with a team of horses and an interest in a gold mine, everything that the “banker” possessed. To put this into modern perspective, $86,000 in 1890 is roughly the equivalent of $2.4 million today.

A big win I am sure you agree?

The owner of the table did not cope too well and took his own life according to the myth. Some articles on the internet attribute this to one Charles Fosgard who was a Comstock engineer, but an article from the time associates this with the game of Faro (not 21) , was dated as 29th January 1879 and advertising a place called “Sawdust Corner”.

There were sadly plenty of suicides, violent attacks and attempted suicides in the 1890s, so it may well have been any of them, however, I will leave you with one last piece of information. In 2019 the Delta Saloon suffered an explosion which destroyed a large part of the old property, but the suicide table? relatively unscathed…

The birth of Haunted histories

Sun, 04 Oct 2020 12:30:49 GMT

The Haunted Histories podcast has been going now for nearly three and half years, and that accounts for in the region of one hundred and fifty shows, that is one hundred and fifty sets of research for each one. You may think that as the presenter (and producer…and writer…etc etc) that I just google the subject matter for half an hour before each recording and am then ready to roll, but that could not be further from the truth. I probably spend on average eight to ten hours per episode trawling through every single source I can find to bring the listener (and sometimes the guest!) a fact that they did not know or that they can use next time they go back there.

Which brings me to my question, why? I do not get paid to do this, so why on earth would I spend so much of my valuable spare time with my head buried in a computer ploughing through various pages for something that will be over in sixty minutes?

Well, when Richard Clements first asked me to do a podcast, all those years ago, I wanted to do something that combined a few things that I am passionate about, those ingredients being history, the paranormal and the truth. Even before I had started researching for shows I had become quite irritated with the claims made by some television shows about supposed murders, or supposed uses of a property and the suchlike that were being accepted as fact without any form of verification whatsoever.

Firstly, I am not criticising anyone here, researching things and going through primary source type material (such as census records, birth/death records, even old newspaper reports) is pretty laborious and not for everyone, personally I enjoy it so it is something that I find quite therapeutic, but I guess I am a bit weird like that.

Let’s take the Queen Mary, an old luxury cruise liner that is currently docked in California and is well known for its paranormal occurrences. When I was lucky enough to interview Aiden Sinclair about the ship, obviously we started talking about some of the hauntings. One of the common ones that is spoken about is that of a little girl who is said to have drowned on the ocean liner and remains there to this day. I had found no evidence of this anywhere that I had looked, so asked Aiden if it was documented in the Captain’s log, something that would most definitely have been mentioned, his answer? No. It transpires that some years previously a medium had felt this child, and put the pieces together of her appearance and concluded she had tragically died on board.

Rather than state this as being something the psychic deduced, it became absorbed into the history of the vessel, I have lost count of the amount of Queen Mary articles I have read on line that mention this as fact. There may very well be the ghost of a young girl on the Queen Mary, but it is doubtful, with there being no record, that she drowned in the swimming pool, and more likely that her spirit has decided to go back there as it was a time when she had fun.

That is just one example, and those historical researchers like myself who tend to question these stories have actually received not just nasty comments, but even death threats from certain people – I kid you not!

Obviously, none of us really know what is right and what is wrong in the field of the paranormal, but citing something as being an event in the past without being able to show the evidence devalues the credibility. Just have a read of one of my books and you will see how I use the historical data to provide some semblance of verification to experiences I have had – some of those have even turned the most fervent of disbelievers into at least a person who is open to the possibility as the coincidences have been just too strong.

Rather than look at history as being a way to spoil your fun, look at it as a way to confirm the experiences.

A Spanish Diplomat

Fri, 25 Sep 2020 17:01:02 GMT

As a writer, I do believe that you never quite know when and where inspiration for a piece will come from, even if in this case it was watching the new Netflix film “Enola Holmes”…now I will admit that it was the lure of the sublime Henry Cavill that made me watch it, but I was absolutely blown away by the ridiculously talented (and scarily young) Millie Bobby Brown.

Anyway…without giving the plot away, the Holmes matriarch is played by the actress who I would suggest most of us in the paranormal feel a weird kinship with, the wonderful Helena Bonham-Carter. Part of the reason that I am so interested in researching things is that I am one of those annoying people who cannot just let it go if I do not know the answer to something. I will be honest, the invention of google and Wikipedia has not helped this obsession in any way shape or form, but it does mean I can relax a lot quicker as the information is right there at my fingertips.

So, who was the victim of my furious tapping at a keyboard this time? It was in deed Helena. I actually googled her name as I wondered if she was in fact old enough to play the mother of both Mycroft and Sherlock (spoiler, she is….just) and whilst I was reading her biography, a fact about her maternal grandfather positively jumped out at me and shouted “write about me!”

His name was Eduardo Propper de Callejon, and he was a Spanish Diplomat, but what was amazing is what he did during the Second World War.

Whether you are aware or not, but during World War Two, Spain’s official position was that of neutrality, although it was quite obvious that Franco’s allegiance lay more with the Axis forces than the Allies. He had not forgotten the backing that both Germany and Italy had given him during the Spanish Civil War a few years earlier. Even though Franco never formally joined the war on either side, his leaning towards Hitler was quite plain and there is much debate as to why it never became an official alliance, one being that his demands on the Nazi leader were too high. Whether Hitler did not like him or not, did not stop his acceptance of Spanish volunteers into the Wehrmacht, on Franco’s proviso that they were only to fight the Soviets and not the Western forces.

Spain as a county, was very divided between British and German sympathisers and this had been reflected quite equally in Spanish Government, that was until Franco was appearing to show his Axis leanings and removed the Foreign Minister for a Germanophile, his brother in law Ramon Serrano Suner…more of him in a second.

So, back to Helena’s Grandfather, he was based in Paris at the outbreak of war, working as the 1st Secretary in the Spanish embassy when he started to see the rampant march of the Nazi party and the attacks on the Jewish community. He and his family ended up moving to Bordeaux in an attempt to escape the invasion, when he turned up at the shuttered Consulate in the City he found queues of desperate evacuees trying to get the all important stamp or pass to enable them to cross the border into Spain and then ultimately into Portugal to escape to safety.

Some bureaucrats may have just turned a blind eye, but not Eduardo, he opened the embassy and spent the next ninety six hours working night and day to complete as many as possible, whilst nobody knows for sure the exact number as the records in Bordeaux were destroyed, it is estimated to be over thirty thousand people.

Word got back to his boss however, the Germanophile Ramon Serrano Suner who had Eduardo moved to a much lowlier position in Spanish Morocco, and it is believed that his support of Jewish and others trying to escape damaged his future career and meant he would never achieve the title of Ambassador.

One can only wonder the people that his actions saved, we know that one was Ludwik Witold Rajchman who was to found UNICEF, but it goes to prove that one person can make a difference and impact lives by not walking away.

A British Valkyrie

Fri, 18 Sep 2020 10:27:34 GMT

History fascinates me, as you are probably aware, but it is not just the more “sanitised” aspects of the past that I want to learn more about, without setting too high a bar for myself, I am interested in anything and everything.

Which is probably what led me to read a book called “Nazi Wives” by James Wyllie, a little light bedtime reading…

I had heard of the Mitford sisters before reading this, but did not know much about Unity and Diana, especially their exploits in Nazi Germany.

There were seven children in the family, one boy and six girls, whether it was trying to determine their own identity to set them apart from their siblings I do not know, but it certainly seems that the girls never lacked in following through on their ambitions.

Jessica, the sixth child, believed in Communism and ended up joining the American Communist Party, Diana (the fourth child) believed in Fascism – as did her brother Tom – and had an affair with Oswald Mosley, which led to marriage to the leader of British Fascism. The other sisters also made their mark on society, but it is Unity - the fifth child – that we are going to focus on in this article.

Born Unity Valkyrie in August 1914, she is reported to have been quite a livewire, turning up at Mosley’s fascist meetings in a black shirt uniform and haranguing the speakers at locally held communist meetings on his “behalf”. It is perhaps unsurprising that her quest for a cause led her across to Germany, and that of the Nazi party. In 1933, her and sister Diana went over to watch Hitler speak at the Nuremberg rally, rumour has it that Unity was instantly infatuated and said she had to meet this man. In the summer of 1934, Unity moved to Munich to study art and also as a side-line, stalk the Nazi leader until he noticed her, which he is believed to have done around ten months into her stay when he was sipping hot chocolate at a fashionable eatery in the city. Whether the two of them were romantically involved is still the subject of much debate by historians, but we do know that Hitler was incredibly enamoured with his perfect German speaking English confidante.

With a middle name like Valkyrie, it was not surprising that he was taken by her, after all, Wagner was one of his idols and Unity’s Grandfather had been a close friend of the composer. When you also realise that Unity is believed to have been conceived in a town called “Swastika” in Canada, it certainly seems some kind of pre -ordained destiny that brought her to Nazism and to be known as Hitler’s “British Girl”.

When war with Britain was imminent, Hitler suggested she should go home, distraught at the prospect of her two favourite countries tearing each other apart, Unity escaped the guards that the Fuhrer had allotted to protect her and on 3rd September 1939, held a gun to her head and shot herself.

She did not end her life by this action, she survived and Hitler had her placed in a top hospital and covered all of her medical bills, he also arranged for to begin the repatriation process back to the UK. Unity Mitford survived for a further nine years or so after her shooting, and although she managed to regain the ability to walk and is believed to have conducted a passionate relationship with a married RAF test pilot, she succumbed to her injuries in May 1948 after a bought of Meningitis caused by cerebral swelling around the site of the bullet finally took her life.

The rumours still abound about Unity Valkyrie Mitford, that she had actually returned to the UK in 1940 to give birth to Hitler’s love child and that the shooting had been faked in order to get her out of Germany.

Whatever the truth, it may never be known, but this Mitford sister has a very definite place in history as one of the women closest to Adolf Hitler, and someone who would always be known as his British Valkyrie.

An Appointment with History

Fri, 11 Sep 2020 09:14:22 GMT

One of my favourite “war” films is one called Appointment in London (1953), starring Dinah Sheridan and the absolutely fabulous Dirk Bogarde. I remember watching it for the first time when I was stuck at home due to being poorly from work, and hearing the sounds of the Lancaster engines and suddenly deciding to pay attention.

This blog is not about the film itself – although it is actually based on a real person, John Wooldridge, that is a subject for another day – but an observation on the actors of that generation and the things that many of them had seen only a few years previously. Going through the cast lists for so many of these World War Two based films released five to ten years after 1945, you find that the majority of the adult cast would have worn a uniform and seen action, and not the kind yelled by a Director. It makes me wonder about things like Post Traumatic Stress, and whether being part of some of these re-enactments (albeit make believe) would have been painful for them or cathartic? A way of accepting what they saw and did.

Take Dirk for example, he had joined the Royal Corps of Signals originally at the beginning of the war, before moving to the Queens Royal Regiment (West Surrey) after receiving a commission at the age of 22. He worked mainly in intelligence and one of his roles was to select sites for the bombers to target after interpreting aerial reconnaissance in places like France, Germany and The Netherlands. He also mentioned in an interview in the 1980s how he liked to paint as a hobby, and would visit villages he had “chosen” to target and quite frequently reproduce what he saw on canvas. Without going into too much detail, he talked about seeing what he thought were footballs littered around in the detritus of the bombing, and it was only when looking closer, he realised they were in fact heads, and more specifically, that of children. It transpired that an explosion had hit a convent school, and the whole area had collapsed on the students.

This seems like something that would cause most of us I wager to be rendered totally mute, but not Dirk because he went on to comment that –

“I can talk about it now at 65 because it's sort of, dispassionate about it, and I've seen worse things since,”

What did he experience that was worse than that? On the 15th April 1945, Allied soldiers began the liberation of the infamous Bergen Belsen Concentration camp, and on the 20th April 1945, Dirk was part of the next wave in. He would have seen (and smelled) the disease, the starvation, the some thirteen thousand dead laying rotting in the open air, quite frequently intermingled with those still barely alive. He would have been warned not to give the poor wretches any of his food rations as the richness of the food would have killed them almost instantly, he would have heard names like Irma Grese and Fritz Klein mentioned, he had walked through the gates of Dante’s Inferno and would never be able to blank out what he had seen. Even if you can stomach watching the films shot by Richard Dimbleby at the time, you are missing out on the one sense that every soldier there has commented on, the stench, the gut churning indescribable smell that hit them as they approached the gates.

I think we forget about what these matinee idols went through in the 1940s, so many of them were in similar positions to this, either Navy, Army or Air force and would have had to deal with situations that would give us nightmares nowadays. Bogarde himself became very anti German (his own generation anyway) but also very pro voluntary Euthanasia, partly from seeing his Manager and long term partner die a protracted death from Parkinson’s and liver cancer, but also seeing critically injured soldiers in the war being “taken care of” after they would beg for it to end.

I do not know what or how Dirk felt about taking on roles where he had to wear a uniform, added irony being that the part he played in Appointment in London was that of a bomber pilot, the very people he had sent to drop explosives during part of his war work. Whether he had been able to compartmentalise his emotions and memories of the horrors he had experienced I cannot assume, but he did say this -

“After the war I always knew that nothing, nothing, could ever be as bad ... but nothing could frighten me anymore, I mean, no man could frighten me anymore, no Director ... nothing could be as bad as the war, or the things I saw in the war”

I want to add that there is some debate amongst Bogarde’s biographers whether he really did set foot in Belsen, no one has to date proved it one way or the other, but I ask this, why would he lie?

The flying countess

Fri, 04 Sep 2020 16:13:24 GMT

It is not uncommon as a historian to find details of people that have been largely forgotten by the majority or may have never been formerly acknowledged for the work they did because they were on the wrong “side”. This is a conversation my husband and I have frequently, especially when it comes to the two World Wars and the lack of historical information regarding those who are deemed to have lost.

Take the case of Melitta Von Stauffenberg (or Countess Melitta Grafin Schenk Von Stauffenberg to give her full name). The surname may ring a bell with the more historically astute of you (or those who are Tom Cruise fans, I’ll explain shortly), but Melitta was a trailblazer in her field even though general knowledge of her work may be sketchy for most.

Born in Prussia (now Poland) in 1903, she was an intelligent woman, entering university in 1922 to study Engineering, maths, and physics. She ended up specialising in aeronautical engineering and from there the area she was to become known for began. Learning to fly in 1928, and working at a flight development centre you would have thought her knowledge would have been invaluable to the Nazi government, but due to her paternal grandfather having been Jewish – despite her father having converted to Christianity many years previously – she was forced from her job as an engineer.

Shortly after this she married her husband Alexander and at the beginning of the war, was ordered to become a test pilot. She is reported to flown over two and a half thousand times in dive bombers Junkers JU 87, combining her ability to fly and her analytical brain by working out gradients of dives, formulating engineering tweaks to maintain stability and increasing the capacity of the aircraft.

Contrast her somewhat discreet nature with that of her nemesis, blonde haired Aryan Hanna Reitsch. Both women were talented pilots it must be said, and both flew test flights that many male pilots would have baulked at, in fact both women also received the Iron Cross for their work. But there were noticeable differences, Melitta was dark, of former Jewish heritage and although a proud German, was not a fanatical Nazi. Hanna on the other hand was seen to almost idolise Hitler and would do anything for the party, including it seems turning her back on atrocities committed at their hands.

Fast forward to 20th July, and the plot to kill Hitler, perpetuated by her brother in law Claus – yes, the character played by Tom Cruise in Valkyrie. Here Melitta is arrested, but unlike the fate which befell her two brother in laws (Claus and Berthold) who were executed, and unlike the many adult members of the Von Stauffenberg family who were placed into concentration camps, she was released in the September to continue her “vital” war work.

Due to her position within the whole war machine – even though the powers that be dropped the von Stauffenberg from her name and addressed her purely as Grafin Schenk – she was able to visit family members, smuggle in food and blankets to her pregnant sister in law and also fly to see her husband Alexander at Buchenwald. I think it is very interesting that despite the fact that her married surname of von Stauffenberg was in effect a dirty word in the Nazi party, despite the fact she had Jewish heritage which had caused her to lose her job back in 1936, her importance and talent as a test pilot and engineer overrode all of that.

It was on the 8th April 1945, just over seventy-five years ago, that Melitta was following train lines, navigating her way to where she had been advised by the Gestapo that her husband had been moved to. An American fighter plane who was in the area looking for trains to attack misidentified her aircraft as an enemy combatant and shot her down. Amazingly the talented aviatrix managed to crash land the aircraft and managed to escape with what was believed to be relatively minor injuries – witness reports mention a broken leg at worst – but tragically, only a few hours later she was dead.

That is only a whistle stop tour of the life of the amazing Countess von Stauffenberg, if you are interested in learning more, grab a copy of the absolutely brilliant “The Women who flew for Hitler” by Clare Mulley, and let me know what you think.

The history of cremation

Thu, 27 Aug 2020 18:11:15 GMT

I see a question that crops up on many of the paranormal sites quite frequently, and that is, “if a person is cremated, can their spirit still come back to visit?” (or words to that affect) and it got me thinking…

Now personally I believe the answer is a resounding yes, but it made me wonder two things, what is the history of cremation in the UK and why would people think that the empty shell being buried or turned to ash be any different haunting wise? So here is what I found.

It may surprise you to know, but cremation as we know it only began in the UK (I am focussing on this country right now as the answers are very different depending upon where in the world you look) in 1885, but what led up to it and why so long?

Funeral pyres, and the cremation of deceased loved ones had been a preferred method of disposing of the dead for hundreds of years but with the advent of Christianity, it became unwelcome due to the belief of resurrection and if there was no physical body, that person could not reappear. There was also the association of fire with hell and Satan that was hard to dissuade. It was in the 17th Century however that a physician from Norwich in Norfolk first proposed it as a viable alternative to burial, but not until a paper submitted by two Italian professors in 1869 was it started to be taken seriously.

During the 19th century, the big cities of Great Britain had been suffering with a multitude of bodies to bury, places like London had space for around one hundred thousand corpses but at points, were needing to inter over fifty thousand a year. So much so, that every spare space was being utilised for this purpose, graves would have multiple occupants (their coffins either being reused or repurposed as firewood). There are accounts of those graveyards that lay on lower ground, having the incredibly unsettling image of decayed remains floating to the surface if the water level rose, not to mention the bodies that were dumped into rivers like the Thames to “free up” space for new burials. They even decided to poor quick lime onto the deceased which turned them into a gooey liquid, which then seeped back into the water table – ready to be drunk and bathed in by unsuspecting individuals.

Add to that the risk of body snatchers taking your loved ones remains, and something needed to be done and fast.

Along came Sir Henry Thompson, surgeon, and personal physician to the Queen herself, he proposed the building of a crematorium in 1874 after having seen the presentation by the Italians five years previously and created The Cremation Society of Great Britain. A site in Woking Surrey was found and construction commenced, the first actual cremation there being on 17th March 1879 of a deceased horse…yes, a horse, having seen it reduced to ashes and therefore much easier to deal with, the observers were impressed, the occupants of Woking not so much so. They lobbied the then Home Secretary Sir Richard Cross, who stepped in to stop any further cremations taking place.

Whilst this was a blow to Sir Henry, it did not stop them, and it was a pivotal case from a slightly eccentric Welshman, Dr William Price that changed everything. Dr Price was arrested in 1884 whilst trying to cremate the body of his sadly dead five month old son (Price had been 83 years old when his son was born), he had claimed he was a high Druid Priest and that it was a ritual he should be allowed to follow. When representing himself in court, he argued that whilst the law did not state that cremation was legal, it did not state it was illegal either. Mr Justice Stephen who was presiding over the case ruled that cremation was legal if it did not cause nuisance to others.

So, you have it, cremation became allowed and in 2017 in the UK, nearly five hundred thousand people were cared for in this way.

Whether your personal viewpoint is that you wish to be buried, or you wish to be cremated, it is not for anyone to judge, but I would be interested to know what your opinion is with regard to what option a spirit prefers.

Pointe Du Hoc

Fri, 21 Aug 2020 10:18:16 GMT

Anyone who knows me is well aware that I have particular fascinations with certain periods of history, and the Second World War is one of them. Whilst I lean more towards to the social impact of the period, the actual battles are also of interest as I try to visualise exactly what would have been going through the minds of the combatants. Unlike some people who may lean towards the experiences of their native land, I find it much more gratifying to learn about all the nationalities and what they experienced.

Visiting Normandy in Northern France had been a goal of mine for many years and I was lucky enough in 2018 to visit on a family summer holiday. We were determined to visit all the main “attractions” in the area to try and educate our young sons as to the sacrifice that all the soldiers made, but a place that really struck me as being almost supernatural in the way it felt, was Pointe du Hoc.

This area, sited on a cliff over a hundred feet up from the beach below, had been used by the Germans as a battery capable of decimating any landing craft aiming to get onto the beaches we now commonly call Utah and Omaha. After a bombing campaign by the Allies in the April of 1944, the Germans had removed the six 155mm guns that they had there and were in the process of constructing new and stronger gun emplacements – nobody believed that the Allies would be foolhardy enough to attempt a landing, they would surely use the Dover to Calais route as this was the shortest and possibly the easiest.

As most of us know from our history lessons (and the copious amount of brilliant documentary on the subject) on the 6th June 1944, the Allied forces made the journey across the Channel to breach the German defences and begin the take back of Europe from the Nazi tyranny it was experiencing.

With me so far? Good.

Walking around Pointe du Hoc is certainly an ankle-breaker; the area is peppered with large craters and bits of concrete, looking more like a green lunar surface than a former powerful part of the Atlantic Wall defence system. Unusually for me, I had not actually delved into the intricate past of the area before visiting it, as you can probably imagine, I was learning so much on that particular holiday that it was not physically possible to research every single element of Operation Overlord - and if truth be told? The glider landings at Pegasus bridge had got my attention as I still, even now, cannot understand how one of those huge Horsa aircraft stay airborne! To cut a potentially very long story short, I was wondering around the former gun turrets with my eldest son when I heard someone shout very loudly “Sheyzer….SHEYZER!” I turned to my eight year old and asked him if he had heard it? All he said was “heard what?” there were lots of other tourists there, but he was standing right next to me and had not heard a thing. As you can imagine, I put it down to my imagination, and carried on exploring the open air memorial.

You may wonder why I call it at a memorial, well, out of the two hundred and twenty five American Rangers who scaled that cliff on flimsy rope ladders, only ninety were left standing, 60% of men either seriously injured or deceased and that doesn’t include the Germans who were trying to protect the area.

Anyway, back in Blighty some weeks later, I was recounting my experience to a friend who spoke German and was also interested in history. They started to fill in some potential blanks for me. He explained that in order to “soften” the target before the Rangers invaded, that a ship (the USS Texas if you’re interested) began to bombard the cliff area (hence the craters) driving many of the German soldiers into the bunkers. It was the second piece of information he gave me that suddenly made two plus two equal four.

The German expletive for sh!t was Scheisse…pronounced? Sheyzer.

Had I heard a replay of a Nazi soldier under attack?

Who can tell, but I know what I heard.

The Tin Man

Fri, 14 Aug 2020 12:51:17 GMT

No, nothing to do with a Wizard or a girl with red shoes who murdered a wicked witch by dropping a house on her, this one definitely had a heart and rode horses for a living, and acquired this nick name due to his attitude towards money (or so they say)

Born in January 1857, Fred Archer was perhaps destined to be involved in the world of racing, not only was his birthplace famous in equine circles – Cheltenham – his father William was a previous steeplechaser who had won the Grand National in 1858 on a horse named Little Charley.

At the age of eleven, he was apprenticed to a race yard trainer in Newmarket and managed to get his first race ride in 1869 and then the wins started. In 1870, at only 13 years old, he rode in fifteen meets, coming first on two occasions and second on an impressive nine. This kind of success was not enough for Fred, he wanted more, at the age of sixteen he had achieved one hundred wins that year, at the age of eighteen his annual tally had doubled to two hundred. What is even more impressive is that from 1873 to 1886 he won the Champion Jockey trophy thirteen years on the trot (if you pardon the pun)

It sounds like all was golden in his life, but sadly not, although his earnings were the equivalent of £1.2million in todays money, his wife who he had married in 1883 died soon after the birth of their second child, and it sent Fred into a deep depression. He and his wife had lost their first child eleven months earlier and the grief was too much for Fred to deal with.

Even though he carried on racing, and had two years previously had his own stables built with the view of looking at becoming a trainer at his own yard “Falmouth Lodge” (now called Pegasus Stables), his permanent dieting and taking of intensive laxatives to keep his 5ft9 physique weighing around eight and a half stone – his daily meal was a sardine, an orange, a small glass of champagne and a tiny cookie – meant inevitably his health suffered. In October 1886 he was bed bound with suspected Typhoid - we will not discuss how that particular illness is contracted, it involves ingesting a diseased persons faeces, let us leave it at that. On the 8th November 1886, his sister went to visit him, and heard him mumble “Are they coming?” at which point she saw him put a pistol in his mouth and as she ran to stop him, pressed the trigger.

Now you may ask, where does this fit in with the paranormal? It is history yes, especially racing history but places like Newmarket are full of this. Tragically, the racing scene is also full of suicides, with one taking place in 2005 at Pegasus Stables, the same place that Fred took his own life. The champion jockey is also blamed for affecting the race results and even causing horses to spook at seemingly nothing or refuse to run – got to be a ghost, right? Cannot just be the horse being a horse. He is also meant to frequent his old yard, now run by James Fanshawe, who says on his website about the slender spectre “they say his ghost is still around though I have not seen it since I gave up drinking!”

But the most common and frequent sighting is of a tall, slender jockey, galloping along Hamilton Stud Lane in Newmarket on his beautiful grey horse that many have identified as the mare Scotch Pearl, one of the favourite hacks of Fred Archer.

So next time you are in Newmarket and you see the yards coming out to take their horses to the gallops – a mesmerising sight on its own! – look closely, and see if a young Victorian jockey is joining them.

Essex and Bloody Mary

Fri, 07 Aug 2020 19:53:56 GMT

Most (if not all!) people have heard of Henry VIII, the infamous Tudor King of England who had six wives, even my 10 year old son knows the rhyme –

Divorced, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded, survived

But I would wager that you did not realise his links to Essex, and more specifically the north east of Chelmsford, an area now known as Boreham.

In 1516, a grand country house called “New Hall” was bought by Henry VIII from Thomas Boleyn – yes, the father of the woman who would become his second wife, Anne – and he proceeded to spend lavishly on the property to turn it into a grand palace worthy of royal residence. In fact, there are records showing that it was here that he began his plan as to how he was going to marry Anne, whilst he was still legally wed to his first wife, Catherine of Aragon. He renamed it Beaulieu Palace and so the saga began.

This was also however, one of the main homes of his daughter Mary Tudor, the woman who was to become queen in July 1553 following the execution of Lady Jane Grey – although it is still argued that Jane never took the throne and Mary succeeded her half brother Edward VI, but that’s up to you and whatever your opinion is on that. Mary was a staunch Roman Catholic and her father actually evicted her from the property in 1533 when he married Anne Boleyn, he had granted it to Anne’s brother George instead.

A little bit of soap opera type drama here – the Tudor dynasty is full of it! – George was in fact executed in 1536, the same time as Anne, because? He was accused of having had sexual relations with his sister, an accusation that both siblings strongly denied.

Mary Tudor returned to Beaulieu in 1536 when her father’s new wife, Jane Seymour, persuaded him to build bridges with his daughter. She divided her time between a few different palaces – not hard to do, Henry owned over sixty royal homes of various size, continuing to spend time in Essex until she took over the monarchy in 1553 and acquired her nick name of “Bloody Mary”. Why was she known as this? Because of her persecution of Protestants, she had over two hundred and eighty religious dissenters burned at the stake. As a devoted Roman Catholic who had been subject to her own dampening of her beliefs, she wanted to turn the country back to the religion of her birth and believed Protestantism was heresy.

The palace went through a few more hands of ownership – Queen Elizabeth I sold it in 1573 to try and bolster the countries coffers that had been depleted so much by her father - before it was bought in 1798 by Nuns from The Order of the Holy Sepulchre and turned into a Roman Catholic school. It has remained as such ever since, and although little truly remains from the Tudor palace, you can still see where it would have been.

Something I am sure that Mary would have approved of.

I have been lucky enough to visit the school when researching for a presentation to my son’s class on Henry VIII and had a strange experience myself. Not having done that much research into the building beforehand as I was there on a fact finding mission, I was shown around by the publicity manager for the school and swore I saw someone who looked like they were a nun walking towards me.

There was no one there.

I asked the member of staff what this part of the building had been as you could tell it was old, her answer?

The nuns living quarters.

Mothers Friend

Wed, 29 Jul 2020 08:14:44 GMT

On the 30th March 1896, a bargeman on the Thames noticed a package floating in the water and attempted to hook and retrieve it. Upon opening it he found it contained the body of a baby girl, who had white tape tied tightly around her throat and she was later to be identified as Helena Fry.

This was to be the catalyst of discovery of possibly the worst ever serial child killer in history, Amelia Dyer.

I wrote about this “woman” (I struggle to use that term) in my first book My Haunted History as I believe she may have talked to me through a device known as a PSB-7 (aka Spiritbox), obviously with a lot of things I will never know for sure, but the conversation certainly did provide details about her killings that I had not known at the time and only verified after.

Dyer was one of the women known as baby farmers, and they were an unfortunate bi-product of the Victorian time in which they evolved. Back in the 19th century, having a child out of wedlock was seen to be as bad a sin as murder by the incredibly upright, moralistic and god fearing hierarchy, couple that with the changes to the poor laws that saw fathers of illegitimate children having no responsibility to provide for their offspring and many new mothers had no option but to get rid of their new babies. Some would find the money to pay for child care during the day when they went to work, some would enter the workhouse and just take the disgust that they were targeted with, but many would pay a baby farmer to take the child. The fees for these services were not cheap; Dyer herself is reported to have charged between £5 and £10 for each youngster, roughly £600 to £1,200 in today’s money.

In theory, a mother was able to come back and reclaim her child, but sadly many did not, which left Dyer with a dilemma, to earn more money, she needed more infants but there was a limit as to how many she could care for realistically. It was actually another woman who introduced her to something called “Godfreys Cordial”; this was an elixir for children (also known as Mothers Friend) that contained amongst other things, Opium. It was designed to keep children quiet, after all, the Victorians were the masters of children should be seen and not heard, but the actual Opium in it had another effect, it rid them of an appetite, which meant Dyer could quite feasibly starve a child to death without raising an ounce of suspicion.

When a Doctor did become suspicious, Dyer had a foolproof plan of either moving to a new town using one of her many aliases, Hobley, Thomas and Harding being just three of the names she would use. Her other escape route was to declare insanity and be taken into the local asylum. This is not so strange to believe as during her formative years she was the main carer for her mentally ill mother, and a cursory glance of the newspapers from the 1880s and I found a piece about Amelia Dyer having been pulled from the water after a suicide attempt in the Western Daily Press in Bristol, which makes me wonder if that was following a murder.

As I started this piece, it was in March 1896 that the net began to close on Dyer, even with incredibly rudimentary forensics, the name of Mrs Thomas was discovered on the paper packaging that had wrapped little Helena and the police lay a trap to ensnare her.

When she went to the Old Bailey a few months later, it was actually for a different child she was tried, that of Doris Marmon, as her mother Evelina had reluctantly handed over the care of her newborn daughter. When dredging the river upon discovery of poor Helena, they discovered more bodies with the trademark dressmakers tape still tied in a bow around the infants necks, it was then they discovered little Doris.

It took the jury less than five minutes to find Dyer guilty, she was hanged at Newgate Prison on 10th June 1896, but sadly no one really knows the true extent of her murderous and insidious crimes, upwards of one hundred child disappearances are attributed to her, and some believe many more.

Read about my possible encounter with the Ogress of Reading in my book “My Haunted History” available on Amazon.

It's all a bunch of Crapper

Fri, 17 Jul 2020 12:08:34 GMT

Have you listened to my Haunted Histories podcast with the fabulous Sara and Phil Whyman, half the Are you Haunted team? - well, not strictly half as there are five of them but you know what I mean. I was lucky enough to talk to them recently about the location known as Thorne Workhouse, if you want to have a listen, you can here https://www.podbean.com/eu/pb-e67de-e2fa7f but fret ye not, this blog is not going to be about workhouses, poor laws or anything pertaining to that.

Do I hear a sigh of relief?

No, this is related to one of Thorne’s most well known sons, the toilet impresario Thomas Crapper. He was born in 1836 (two years before our workhouse in question opened, oh sorry, I cannot help myself…) and with a father who was a sailor, he ended up at seventeen years old being apprenticed to his brother in London as a plumber.

What we know Thomas best for however is his work as a sanitary engineer, he was so successful that when Prince Edward purchased his country seat of Sandringham, he commissioned our former plumber to install the entire lavatory and bathing system in the property – which included somewhere in the region of thirty toilets. Knowing the history of Bertie (the future King Edward VII) and his reputation as a bit of a playboy, one can only wonder what kind of shenanigans that Palace saw.

So Thomas had his Royal Warrant and his name is now synonymous with toilets, but many also believe that his name is where the word “crap” came from, but is it?

Possibly not, as with so many words in our vocabulary, it may have had a much more interesting heritage. The word “crap” itself is believed to date back to middle England, I do not mean the middle classes or even the Midlands, but the time period of post 1066 (hello Normans!) to the late 15th century. It is a period of the English language that saw the absorption of many Norman French words into the day to day speech, and also a variation of Latin began being spoken more readily. This is interesting to anyone looking at the etymological origins as there were already three very similar words being used, Krappen, which was Dutch and meant to pluck out or separate, Crappe which was old French meaning waste and also a Latin word “Crappa” which actually meant chaff. So, Thomas’ surname of Crapper is actually derived from Cropper, basically someone who harvested crops.

Another argument to the fact that the word “crap” and its common usage did not originate from the man who held somewhere in the region of nine patents for plumbing was that it first appeared in the Oxford English Dictionary in 1846, when he would have been ten years old and not yet making a career for himself in lavatorial systems. The word (or term) in question was “crapping ken” where ken meant house, so in other words a privy.

So, there you have it, Thomas Crapper invented a lot, but his name was not responsible for the term it is most closely associated with.

Blue Skies My Friend

Sat, 11 Jul 2020 10:35:24 GMT

Recently, the US Air Force tragically lost one of their pilots in a training exercise over the North Sea, off the coast of North Yorkshire in England. At the time of writing this piece, very little is known about what actually happened apart from the fact that 1st Lieutenant Allen was sadly pronounced deceased .

Many people did not seem that phased by this tragedy, in fact some went as far as to say on social media that they should not have been flying when the world was still gripped by the Covid 19 pandemic and also that the Americans should pay back the British for sending out their RAF search and rescue teams and the use of both the lifeboats (RNLI) and Coastguard.

I find this attitude very small minded, infuriating, disrespectful and also incredibly ridiculous. As my husband and I discussed, you have to fly to keep your skills sharp, and they’re not just off for a jolly around the country, but to practice in the case that one of the worlds bullying leaders decides to pick on the wrong person – I do not think a pandemic would stop a megalomaniac dictator stop a declaration of war. Ranting aside, that’s not what prompted me to write this blog, it was a poem that my friend Nick posted on my Facebook profile called “An Irishman foresees his death” by WB Yeats.

I am not going to transcribe the prose here for you, if you want to read it, the piece is readily available on line but being inquisitive, I looked into what had prompted Yeats to write this – all writers are inspired by something – and if there was a story behind it.

There was.

The pilot in question was Major Robert Gregory, who had flown with the Royal Flying Corps (the predecessor of the RAF) from 1916. What was unusual about Major Gregory was that he had joined the war effort at the age of 34 in 1915, and had made the switch to flying in 1916. He had not needed to join up, he was not being forced to, but what makes him unusual is most definitely his age, anyone over the age of 30 in the RFC was considered elderly, Gregory was 35 when he went in as a junior officer.

He is not probably the most famous Irish fighter “ace” – or most prolific, with eight documented “kills” – Edward Mannock, who had a reputation as incredibly cold hearted and focussed had sixty one, James McCudden, fifty seven and George McElroy with forty seven.

But what is the common denominator with all of these men, aside from the fact they were pilots, is that not one of them survived the war. Whilst they all cheated death on a regular basis and all managed more than the average three weeks, they all succumbed in the end.

Gregory’s death though is still shrouded in mystery, it is known that he died on 23rd January 1918 over Padua, Italy, but the why is still up for debate. The official reports were that he was accidentally shot down by friendly fire from an Italian fighter, however eye witness reports say they saw him going into a spin at about two thousand feet and plummeting uncontrollably into the ground.

Interestingly Yeats, who had known Gregory for many years and had even suffered the ignominy of being evicted from his house by him, was incredibly distraught and wrote four pieces of poetry dedicated to the late Major, including An Irish Airman foresees his death. What fascinates me even more, is that if you look into Yeats and his beliefs, he was a strong exponent of the paranormal, was a member of the Hemetic Order of the Golden Dawn (yes, the same one that Aleister Crowley is associated with) and partook in séances, he believed that Gregory had not been shot down, by friend or foe, but had simply become incapacitated whilst in the air and lost control of his aircraft. It leads me to wonder if Yeats had somehow communicated with the late Gregory? Because nearly one hundred years later, a relative of the Major, Mr Geoffrey O’Byrne White, himself a pilot and also a Director of the Irish Aviation Authority said his belief was that Gregory had been affected by the flu inoculation he had received, this mixing with the lower oxygen at high altitude had caused him to lose consciousness and the accident occurred.

The purpose of my writing this is to pay my respects to everyone who goes up into the skies with the goal of protecting those of us below, whether it is in combat, training or any other reason, they are worthy of our admiration and respect.

R.I.P.

For Whom the Bell Saves

Sun, 05 Jul 2020 19:18:43 GMT

“wisely they leave graves open for the dead, ‘cos some too early are brought to bed…” (origin unknown)

Imagine something more terrifying than the prospect of dying for an individual, actually, for many, death is not scary at all, especially those who believe in some form of after life, but what if you suffered from Taphophobia?

For many in the 18th and 19th century, this was a genuine worry, the fear of being buried alive. You may or may not have read cases of people supposedly being declared dead, being interred six foot under and then being exhumed for whatever reason and scratch marks had been found inside the coffin, leading many to assume that the person was still very much alive when placed inside the earth.

You would think that knowing whether someone was actually deceased or not would be relatively simple, but the checks performed in bygone times were rudimentary to say the least. If the person was cold to the touch, and seemingly unresponsive, they could be declared dead and the burial process would begin.

Although a cursory search of the internet does not find any statistics relating to deaths from this actual experience I guess those would be hard to verify? Scarily, there are quite a few easily found near death experiences, the most well known probably being 22 year old Eleanor Markham from New York. In the summer of 1894 she was pronounced dead by the family physician, Dr Howard. As it was warm and the storage of bodies was not easy, she was to be buried speedily. On the way to her grave, those transporting her coffin heard a noise from inside, opening it up they found Eleanor very much alive. Remonstrating with the Doctor that he had buried her alive, he replied “Hush child, you are all right, it is a mistake easily rectified”

A mistake…can you imagine the lawsuit that would result now?

This mistake was such a real concern for so many that in 1791 one Robert Robinson of Manchester had a glass panel inserted into this coffin front with the instruction that he be placed in a mausoleum and that the night watchman (the man working the Graveyard shift) would observe him at regular intervals and if he saw condensation appearing on the clear screen, he was to pump air into the structure and go to get help.

A few years later, PG Pessler, a German priest came up with an idea to string a chord to a coffin that was connected to the church bells, if the corpse actually awoke, they could alert people to their predicament.

It was in 1829 however that the stereotypical bell alert system that most of us are aware of and from where the term “saved by the bell” may have originated – some researchers believe it comes from the bell in boxing, but who truly knows?. Dr Johann Gottfried Taberger connected a bell to a recently deceased person with a system of strings on various parts of the body, but in such a way that there would be no peal from weather or animal interference. Try and picture the panic they had when the bell started ringing? They had a lot of false positives as they had not accounted for natural movement of limbs as a body decomposed with the very natural and not in anyway supernatural swelling and shifting of a torso.

It may be something that we laugh about now, as the process of embalming a body would quite quickly show up whether the person was truly finished with this world or not, but it meant enough to the Victorians that in 1896, William Tebb and Walter Hadwen set up “The London Association for the prevention of Premature Burial” to address the somewhat lackadaisical attitude towards declaring someone dead and also make safety coffins more widely used.

So there you have it, a brief history of safety coffins, I have not touched on the nations that actually buried people alive deliberately as punishment, that’s a whole different article!

Disaster on the Thames

Thu, 25 Jun 2020 16:11:39 GMT

Back in the August of 1989, I remember going into London for the day, travelling via coach from my home town of Norwich and full of the excitement about seeing the “big city” without my parents that all teens of a certain age experience. As my friend and I were approaching the bus station, we looked at the Thames river and saw what appeared to be lots of giant black bags littering the banks and wondered what it was.

It wasn’t until a few days later that we realised we had seen the awful aftermath of the tragic Marchioness disaster where a group of people out for a birthday party had been sunk by a dredger who had hit her twice in the early hours of the morning. Fifty One lives were lost that day, and whilst no fault has ever been legally apportioned – both vessels were to blame apparently, even though the dredger had run into the back of the Cruiser – it would have been a terrifying thing to experience.

But this is not the worst maritime disaster that the Thames has seen, that dubious honour goes to the SS Princess Alice in 1878.

The passenger steamer was employed on the Thames to carry people between certain points, starting at London Bridge and ending at Sheerness in Kent, stopping at various stations along the way; ticketholders could disembark and then re-join the boat whenever they wished. I suppose a bit like a day pass on the Underground that we would use now.

She was making the journey back into London on the 3rd September 1878 when her course changed slightly and she was hit by the Collier, Bywell Castle. The Strike caused the Alice to split in two and it took less than four minutes for her to sink and disappear beneath the water.

One of the worst things about the area that she sank in, Gallions Reach, was that it was where all the London pumping stations were sited and had released somewhere in the region of seventy five million imperial gallons of pure sewage into the water less than an hour prior.

Those individuals onboard the paddle steamer who did not drown in the fetid water, were just as likely to die after from swallowing the toxic mixture and many did. The ship did not have a passenger manifesto so no one was ever quite sure as to how many people it was carrying, but the death estimates were in the region of six to seven hundred.

Putrefaction of the corpses being retrieved from the Thames was another issue, they discovered that due to the sewage and the other chemicals being dumped in the river, bodies were decaying a lot faster than normal making identification very difficult. Even an individuals clothing was being damaged beyond recognition so things like that could not be used by the police either. If you ever visit Woolwich Cemetery, you will find a mass grave where those poor unknown victims of the sinking are buried, forever anonymous.

But what of the Bywell Castle? This makes the story even sadder, although the Board of Trade found the collier and its crew to not be at fault, this was not a view shared by all. The captain of the Alice who could have given a witness statement had died in the accident, so the pieces of the puzzle had to be put together from other eye witness accounts which as everyone knows, are notoriously sketchy and unreliable. Maybe to keep the peace between different types of sailor, the Admiralty division of the High Court of Justice said it was fifty fifty, and that each ship was to blame.

So why did I say it got even more tragic? A mere five years later, the Bywell sank off the Bay of Biscay with the total loss of all forty crew.

I guess you can never escape destiny.

Release the Lions

Sun, 14 Jun 2020 11:12:12 GMT

I was asked recently if I could write something that had more of a paranormal feel to it rather than just history, but not only that, was also a personal experience of mine. I tend to leave those accounts to my books because I figure if you want to know them, you will go to the trouble of acquiring a copy.

Yet this person’s wish is my command, so here you go.

I was wracking my brain for something a little bit different for you and I hit upon a place that you will guarantee to know about, but may be interested to hear what happened to me.

For my 10th wedding anniversary, my husband surprised me with a trip to a place I had always wanted to visit, Rome. Even though my fetish for all things past is more the 19th century onwards, the opportunity to explore the city known as a layer cake of history was not something I would pass up.

We went on a guided tour of the amazing Colosseum of Rome, with a working archaeologist who had an encylopedic knowledge of the ancient history of her beautiful city.

So, the colosseum, without going into thousands of words of explanation of the history of the Roman Empire and the various “names” that most people have heard of, here is a quick reminder of the facts. The Flavian Amphitheatre – its correct name as it was built during the Flavian dynasty – is sited to the east of Palatine Hill (the place where in Roman mythology the cave that Romulus and Remus were discovered by the she wolf Lupa, but that’s a tale for another day/blog) perhaps more importantly, on the very grounds of what was the infamous Emperor Nero’s palace, well, I say palace, actually only his artificial lake, his dwelling was huge.

So basically Nero had a property that was so expansive and grandiose, his garden pond was a lake big enough to be turned into an amphitheatre capable of holding between fifty to seventy thousand people.

How the other half live eh?

This structure was magnificent, whilst half of it has collapsed due to earth quakes and such, and the marble seating and outside decoration has been looted over the thousands of years post heyday – it was pretty much the Romans own marble quarry for a long time – walking around it you can envisage what it “could” have been.

So what happened to me then? Did I experience the sounds of an animal? That would not be surprising considering that they believe over one million wild animals were slaughtered there in the three hundred and ninety years that it was in operation.

No I didn’t.

Did I feel the pain or the hear the cries of someone in their death throes? Again, that would not be an unusual occurrence, over four hundred thousand people took their last breath at the venue whether they were gladiator or some poor person sentenced to execution by wild animal.

No, what happened to me was strange and even unnerved my husband slightly.

Whilst the brilliant guide was telling us all about the various gates of entry and where you would sit depending upon social class, gender etc, I felt someone brush past me and all I could hear in my head was weeping, a female quietly sobbing her heart out, in fact, it affected me to the point where I had tears rolling down my cheeks. I quickly covered my eyes with my sunglasses and hid behind my husband so that no one could see me crying. It made no sense to me, I was incredibly happy, I was in Rome! The accounts that we were being given were not sad so why was I shedding uncontrolled tears?

As soon as I walked away from the area, it stopped, just like that, as though someone had flicked a weird switch in my eyes. I took the guide to one side when the tour had finished and asked her if there were any ghost stories attributed to the place. She told me there were loads, and although she had never experienced it, quite a few of her colleagues who were there after dark had told her of the sounds of a crying woman walking around the seating area…

Wonder Woman

Mon, 08 Jun 2020 10:50:50 GMT

I sat down to finally watch the 2017 version of Wonder Woman staring Gal Gadot recently, my life is not all about historical documentaries and ploughing through census records you know! For those who have not seen it I won’t give too many spoilers away but basically Diana is after Ares the God of War and finds herself embroiled in the World at each others throats during the period we know as the First World War.

Now, first things first, I have to say I enjoyed it, having grown up watching Diana Prince spinning her way into the outfit that always looked like she was wearing a giant nappy but still having her as a female figure to aspire to be like, I wanted it to be convincing.

I found Gal to be a very credible superhero, but enough of that, this is a blog on a history site so needs to be educational right?

Well, one of the main “baddies” in the film is a character by the name of Dr Isabel Maru, a chemist (monikered Dr Death) who is devising the worst type of mustard gas that could be released and one that will turn the tide of the war – which by this point is heading towards an armistice as the Germans realise they cannot win.

When you are a historian who has a reasonable interest in lots of different periods of the past, you can watch something described as fiction and see the ironies of history within them, this “baddie” was one such occasion. I found the idea of a woman in such an evil role as ironic, and somewhat uncomfortable due to the story of Clara Immerwahr.

In World War I, we are pretty aware of the development of chemical warfare, and the subsequent necessity to develop gas masks of a better standard than a urine soaked rag to protect troops against the horrific effects of the poisonous gases on them – many did not die immediately and would suffer long, painful and protracted deaths gradually suffocating. The chlorine gas would react with the water in a persons airways, transforming into hydrochloric acid which would then effectively cause the swelling of the lung tissue ultimately blocking them.

As with all things, this was developed by a scientist, in this case, Fritz Haber, but more of him shortly. He was married to another scientist, Dr Clara Immerwahr, the first German female Chemist PhD, she unable to work in her own right due to the bygone views of working married mothers, would help to write up and analyse her husbands notes at the end of each day. However her views on war were diametrically opposed to Habers and she did not agree with chemistry being used to kill. She felt that it was “ a sign of barbarity, corrupting the very discipline which ought to bring new insights into life.” ( Dick, Jutta. "Clara Immerwahr". Jewish Women: A Comprehensive Historical Encyclopedia. Jewish Women's Archive. Retrieved 8 June 2018.)

Whether it was her disgust at her husbands perversion of chemistry or whether she suffered from an undiagnosed mental health condition we do not know, but shortly after Haber first displayed the ferocity of his weapons – he had performed research that determined you could release a low concentration of poison over a long time and produce exactly the same result as a high concentration over a short time, the resulting mathematical calculation known as Habers Rule – at the 2nd Battle of Ypres, Clara took her own life with her husbands pistol. Whether her death was due to her disgust at the path her husbands research had taken or if it was as simple as that she had mental health problems and her seemingly unhappy marriage and her inability to use her brain as a scientist we do not really know.

Not that her husband seemed to mourn her for long, within two years of her death he was remarried again (he had not been the most faithful of spouses according to reports) and in 1918, was even awarded a Nobel prize in Chemistry for his creation of the Haber-Bosch Process.

Although he has never been known as Dr Death (or Dr Poison like Maru in Wonder Woman), and may also have defended his weapons research with quite a flippant comment “death is death”, I would wager he never read the accounts of those affected by these gases and for them, death came as a pleasant release.

But rather than remember Haber as the Nobel Prize winning scientist, let’s remember Clara, the chemist with principles who was robbed of her ability to put her Doctorate to good use and someone who may very well have surpassed her husband in research and processes that we still use today.

The art of cats

Sun, 31 May 2020 09:22:31 GMT

When you picture Russia, what do you see? The cold barren of Siberia? The concrete jungles of the communist period? Vodka?

Would you be surprised to know that before the Russian Revolution of 1917, the country had opulence that rivalled many of its European neighbours, none more so than the winter palace of St Petersburg.

Whilst a building had been on the site since 1704 in some way shape or form, the grandest redesign of the royal abode was in 1754 when the Empress Elizabeth started to finish the changes to the palace to make it into the beautiful fairytale building you see now. As a place, St Petersburg has seen many changes, it has been known as Petrograd and Leningrad (as well as the traditional name), in fact, it goes back even further to 1611 when it was known as Nyenskans after the Swedish colonists who had built a small encampment there.

The Winter Palace has had just as many personalities, from a royal palace, to a royal museum during the reign of Catherine the Great, to a hospital in the Great War and then a public museum after the 20th century revolution.

But it is not its various faces that we are interested in, it is cats.

Yes, you heard me correctly, cats.

Elizabeth had decided that to combat the rat and mice problem, that she wanted felines from the area of Kazan to be brought to the palace as their reputation as excellent ratters was well known. These initial inhabitants of the site were male and had to be “treated” and it started a relationship with the animal and the palace for hundreds of years. When Catherine the Great began to collect her art and other precious artifacts, she is reported to have preferred the Russian blue to be seen above stairs, but your average rat catching moggy was kept to roam the underground labyrinth of the grand home to keep the vermin under control.

Perhaps due to its proximity to the sea, and the fact that as the second largest city in Russia, there would be a lot of food sources, inhabitants noticed that as soon as the cat population reduced, the rat population increased. So even during the somewhat austere years post 1917 as a country gets used to a different kind of rule, cats were maintained at the Winter Palace to ostensibly protect the priceless displays from indiscriminate destructive vermin.

The only time in the history of the palace that they saw a reduction in cats and an almost overnight influx of rats was during the nine hundred days of the siege of Leningrad from 1941 to 1944, for fear of causing offence to cat lovers all I will say is that the decimation of the population was down to the fact that the city’s inhabitants were starving. People were murdering for ration cards and the death rate was reported at 100,000 a month at times, So bad was the situation at that time that there are even reports of cannibalism, where a mother killed her youngest child so that the rest of the family could eat.

Shortly after the city was restored back to its original workings and the cats were reintroduced, the museum now has in the region of seventy four animals and even has its own dedicated veterinary clinic. Whilst the feline population are kept away from the exhibits, they are said to sometimes sing to visitors through the ventilation systems.

If you are a cat lover, then St Petersburg is definitely the place for you, not only does the Hermitage have a very long history with the animal, the city also holds its connection close to its heart with cat cafes, a place where you can pay homage to two cats known as Elisey and Vasilisa who are meant to make wishes come true and its cat museum.

After all these years, the cats of Kazan are still watching over their beautiful city.

The Bride of Dracula?

Fri, 22 May 2020 12:17:59 GMT

Ok, before anyone jumps on the title, look at the punctuation at the end of it, and then read the article.

I am getting very grumpy in lockdown and home schooling I must admit, the lack of ability to suffer fools is getting much harder and I am developing an intimate relationship with the block and mute buttons on social media.

That said, there is still history and weird stuff to write about so here is another little blog for you to ponder. For those of you who listened to my recent podcast with the totally lovely (and slightly incomprehensible for those not acquainted with the black country accents, it’s a standing joke, no need to accost me with pitchforks and flame, I love my midlander brethren) Russ and John at Wednesbury Paranormal where we discussed the beautiful and incredibly fascinating Highgate Cemetery, we mentioned the name of Elizabeth Siddall (Siddal) so I thought I would elaborate on her story.

If you have not yet listened to my most recent broadcast, fret ye not, you still can and what is more, it will not cost you a single penny (sorry for that!)

One of the areas we discussed was where did the assumption that it was a vampire residing at the cemetery and not just your common run of the mill ghost. John mentioned that in Bram Stokers Dracula, he mentions the first “Bride of Dracula” having been interred there, and the general assumption was that this was Elizabeth Siddall.

Who was she and why did people think she was related to the un-dead?

Born to what could be viewed as working class London based beginnings in July 1829, Elizabeth discovered a love of poetry at a relatively young age and during her time with her future husband, Dante Rossetti, she began to write. It seems that she suffered from illness during her adult life (some historian believe it to be tuberculosis, others an intestinal complaint) and was regularly prescribed laudanum for the pain. According to reports, on her wedding day to Dante, she had to be carried into the church as she was too weak to walk. After a still birth in 1861, she fell into a deep depression and her usage of the drug laudanum (basically opium) became more addiction based than pure pain relief.

On the 11th February 1862, her husband found her unresponsive and after much effort on the part of Doctors, she was pronounced dead. There has always been a question as to whether she had deliberately overdosed, but if there had been some kind of suicide note, Dante would have destroyed it to prevent both the “shame” of someone committing “self murder” and also the ability to have her interred in consecrated ground.

But why did people think she had some form of supernatural powers? A few years after she was buried at Highgate Cemetery, Rossetti, still overcome with grief, wanted her body exhumed so that he could retrieve the poems he had placed in her coffin. When this was done, the spectators were shocked to see that she had hardly decomposed at all and what was even more strange, her hair and fingernails had grown. Had she actually been alive? Or more importantly, was she one of the un-dead?

Well, science has marched on since the 1860s and with places like The Body Farm in Tennessee conducting various experiments on the dead and decomposition, we are more aware of the factors which aid in the decay of a human carcass.

Firstly, I would wager that if every coffin was taken back out of the ground after five or six years, you would find quite a lot of bodies still looked relatively fresh, but why? There are quite a few factors but two of the main ones are the embalming fluid used and the lack of air and therefore bugs to help with the breaking down of the bodily tissue. A website I found stated that it takes at least four times as long for a body to decompose underground as it does in the air and at least eight to twelve years for it to be reduced to skeletal remains.

The hair and nails bit? That’s quite simple too, they do not keep growing after death, but with the skin at the base of them retracting and shrinking due to lack of oxygen permeating its cells and dehydration, it gives the appearance of growth.

So, do you think the late Elizabeth Siddall (Siddal) was the bride of Dracula or just someone who was buried and then disturbed?

What's a girl to do?

Thu, 14 May 2020 16:07:52 GMT

Imagine that you are a young woman born into less than salubrious circumstances, and after a rocky start to your life, you decide that you want to become a journalist.

If we were discussing someone perhaps born in the last fifty years or so, it would not seem an insurmountable task, a combination of education, reinvention and sheer determination would be sufficient to achieve your goal. But we are not looking at someone born in the 1970s, 1980s or even the 1990s here, we are looking at a woman who was born in the Victorian age of 1896 and her goal was to be a war correspondent in the bloodiest conflict that the world had seen up to that point, World War One.

Dorothy Lawrence was born to difficult beginnings in Hendon, her mother is meant to have deserted her (although some reports do say she died when Dorothy was a teenager) and our future writer was to be taken in by a Guardian of the Church of England and raised as her foster child. What is absolutely fascinating about Dorothy is that no two stories are the same, some say she was orphaned at the age of five, some at fourteen or fifteen. How much of this is misread information – of which there is scant paperwork – or whether these stories came from Dorothy herself, who knows? But more of that later.

In 1915, at the tender age of nineteen, she began to lobby the Fleet Street newspapers to allow her to travel to the front and be an on the scene war reporter, unsurprisingly none met her request. It was hard enough for them to justify sending hardened male reporters into the melee, let alone a young teenage woman. Showing the kind of ingenuity that would have made her probably a top investigative journalist in the latter part of the 20th century, Dorothy came up with a plan. She is reported to have said -

"I'll see what an ordinary English girl, without credentials or money can accomplish. If war correspondents cannot get out there, I'll go one better."

That ordinary English girl certainly did go one better, making it to Paris she persuaded some British soldiers to help her by smuggling out a uniform piece by piece with their washing. Eventually she was able to put together a full outfit which was finished by her cutting her hair short, using strapping to disguise her chest, bulking out her shoulders with padding and using shoe polish to colour her pale skin.

The new Private Dennis Smith of the 1st Battalion Leicestershire Regiment was born and off “he” went to the front lines. It was shortly after this that Lawrence’s recollection of events in her eventual book “The Only English Woman Soldier” was slightly different to the official records. She wrote that she obtained work as a Sapper with the a tunnelling company of the 51st Division Royal Engineers, however evidence (and hindsight) would argue that the use of an unskilled person doing what was a technical role would not have been the case and she was working in the trenches instead.

Regardless of what she did, she was at the front, and when she realised she was unwell, she gave herself up. One can only imagine the panic that would have permeated through the Officers and military bigwigs at discovering a woman had infiltrated their ranks. They immediately arrested her as a Prisoner of War and tried to determine if she was actually a spy, either that or a “camp follower” - a term that Lawrence was not aware at the time actually could mean prostitute. She was returned back to Blighty and looked to write about her experiences and what she had seen on the battlefields of Europe, but quite quickly the Government sort to silence her by invoking the 1914 Defence of the Realm Act.

She did manage to document that period in 1915 in the end, a year after the war, but her work was heavily censored (unsurprisingly) and was not the critical or financial success to which she had hoped. By 1925, her behaviour had become increasingly unpredictable and she was assessed to have mental health problems, institutionalised by the authorities eventually into a place then known as Colney Hatch Lunatic Asylum (latterly Friern Hospital) she admitted to having been raped by one of her Church Guardians. Whether this was one of the factors into her somewhat erratic and impulsive behaviour, we will never know as Dorothy stayed in this hospital until she died in 1964. With no family and no money to support her, she was buried in a pauper’s grave in New Southgate Cemetery and much of her Great War exploits were forgotten.

Until around 2003 that is, when her work was re-discovered and she became part of the Imperial War Museums exhibit on Women in war. Whether you think Dorothy was a stupid girl, someone with undiagnosed mental health problems or a pioneer, it is up to you, but it does make you wonder what she could have achieved if she had been born one hundred years later…

What am I?

Sat, 09 May 2020 18:51:30 GMT

I know that most of the blogs you are used to from me are giving you insight into some element of history that has made me sit up and think “hmmm”, but I thought that with this one I would raise a question and get your feedback on it.

I recently got embroiled in a war of words on social media about a subject that I feel I am pretty au fait with and when I did not automatically condemn it as being inhumane and abhorrent, had insults thrown at me by the same person. It is also interesting to note that another person on the same subject and I ended up having a very in depth conversation on it and agreed we both made some very valid points but just came to different conclusions.

They also questioned my “Historian” moniker, which made me think, what makes someone a Historian?

That authority of all things internet, Wikipedia states a historian to be –

A historian is a person who studies and writes about the past, and is regarded as an authority on it. Historians are concerned with the continuous, methodical narrative and research of past events as relating to the human race; as well as the study of all history in time.

The Collins dictionary explains it -

Someone who writes about or studies history

Pretty ambiguous really, it then brings us onto the question of qualifications, do you have to be university educated to class yourself as a Historian or is basically an interest in it enough?

The University of Norwich online states that there are three skills that a good historian must have, the ability to think chronologically, be able to interpret the historical events and lastly, the capacity to actually comprehend them.

Let’s take the Victorian Workhouse for example, I would say that understanding the actual timeline is critical, and even though we tend to focus on events post the 1834 Poor Law Amendment Act, there were many dates that gave rise to the eventual formation of Unions and the large Workhouse buildings we see now. It is much easier when looking at time scales that we can understand, imagine trying to fathom out Roman order?

Secondly, interpreting events, how do you deal with differing accounts? Using the workhouse again (as it is an area I am familiar with), you have a former inmate who says they were starved and that the children were beaten, yet you have the Master (or Governors) completing a log of food given and abiding by the Poor Law rules – who is telling the truth? In honesty, we will never know, and yes there were bad workhouses (like any institution) but maybe we should look at the evidence for each case before making a judgement. I would be looking for more documented proof on either side, and not just that, I would be searching for independent reports. For example, there were visiting societies to the Workhouses who made recommendations for change (Louisa Twining being one such person), medical officers such as Dr Joseph Rogers who highlighted areas for improvement. What these people did was not only document what was good, but also what needed revision to make it more suitable.

Lastly, comprehension, and this is a big one. You cannot rely on one source and one source alone for a rounded view. With regard to the workhouse movement, I read everything I can and I have given you some examples, whether that be fiction (Charles Dickens perhaps), reports from the time (Dr Joseph Rogers, Reminiscences of a Workhouse Medical Officer), more modern accounts of scandals such as Andover (Ian Anstruther), the actual acts themselves and even Government meetings available on Hansard.

But, and this is a big but, the crux of the universities piece is that you need to have at least a Masters degree to count yourself a historian. On a website called www.somegreymatter.com/historian.htm, J Stephens Edwards Ph.D writes that

Those who have full training and accreditation, who write critical analyses that elicit cause-and-effect relationships, who write for a specialist audience, and who publish primarily through academic presses should be called ‘historians.’

Is this just a form of elitism by those who have been able to go to University or is going through the higher education process of degree to masters to potentially Ph.D the only way to class oneself as a historian.

What do you think?

The Unwilling Nazi

Thu, 30 Apr 2020 13:15:42 GMT

The Cries...The Screams...The Silence

As those of you who have followed both my podcast (which returned on Monday 6th April by the way) and my blogs over the last three years will know I like to make people aware of figures in history that you are unlikely to have heard of before. I especially enjoy finding out about those who buck the trends that they are perhaps stereotyped with.

The man that I am going to tell you about in this article is one such person, and I would suspect you would not have heard of him.

His name was Karl Plagge, and he was responsible for saving in the region of two hundred and fifty Lithuanian Jews during World War Two. You are likely to be aware of the story of Oskar Schindler, but if you know about him, you should also make yourself familiar with Plagge.

Karl was born in Germany in 1897, a proud countryman he fought in the Great War and had ambitions to become a Medical Doctor, family members mention that all he wanted to do was to help people but unfortunately he could not afford the tuition fees and trained as an Engineer instead. Many people question how anyone could have followed the future Fuhrer, Adolf Hitler, when his Nazi party began to rise, but Plagge joined in 1931 as he was impressed with Hitler’s rhetoric on strengthening the country’s economy and eradicating unemployment. This belief in the cause was relatively short-lived as Karl was most definitely not an anti-Semite, he had a half Jewish godson and was horrified by the treatment being metered out to his fellow countrymen.

When war broke out in 1939, Plagge was called up to the Wermacht and with his experience in engineering; he was placed in charge of HKP 562 in Vilnius, Lithuania, a centre for repairing of damaged Third Reich vehicles. He made sure that as the German in control of the camp, he surrounded himself with likeminded subordinates and created work permits for hundreds of the men who would otherwise have been shipped to the death site nearby, a place called Ponary. When he realised that the SS were going to round up the women and children from the ghetto and murder them, he created jobs for them too as seamstresses. He also encouraged them to create hiding places known as “malinas”, these were to save the lives of many of the children when the SS descended on the camp during something known as “Kinderaktion” when they removed as many youngsters as possible to take them to their deaths, the date of 27th March 1944 is probably imprinted on the memory of any of the survivors.

Just three or so months later, Plagge found out he was to be sent away and the labour camp put in the control of the SS, it was an open secret that the Red Army was marching on Vilnius and many of the Jews knew that whenever the Russians arrived at one of these places, they found the majority of the inmates dead. The Major was so brave that he gave an encoded message to the inhabitants, telling them when the SS would be arriving and to go into hiding. Historians have subsequently concluded that his actions were fundamental in the saving of around two hundred and fifty of the workers, but for Plagge, this was not enough.

It is understandable in my eyes though that he had felt like this, one survivor of the camp liquidation had said in a recent interview that you could hear the executions taking place in the courtyard, and yet you had to stay very still in your hiding place. It’s hard to picture the sounds the cries of the prisoners, the screams as the weapons are turned on them, the spitting of machine gun fire and then total silence.

When he was arrested in 1947 for war crimes under the denazification process, amazingly many of the camp survivors came forward to give testimony in his favour. Despite this the court chose not to exonerate him and listed him as a Nazi sympathiser and/or follower, but strangely Plagge was not unhappy with this, he did not want to be absolved of the guilt he felt by being part of a machine that condoned and positively encouraged mass murder of innocent people.

He made a life for himself in a quiet part of Germany and passed away in June 1957, similar to many of those who stood up to the Nazi brutality in any way they could, it took many years for his endeavours to be made public, and in 2005 he was awarded the title of “Righteous among the peoples” posthumously by Yad Vashem.

Whilst his surviving relatives make the point of saying that he never wanted to be seen as a hero, hopefully by reading this blog you will have learned a little about how much difference to a vile regime that one man can make.

Remembering the Anzacs

Fri, 24 Apr 2020 09:24:35 GMT

I am lucky enough to have become friends with some amazing Australians since I entered into the mad world of the paranormal, Beth Darlington, Sarah Chumacero, Amanda Wright and Bill Tabone to name but a few. The last two are actually husband and wife, and a quite formidable but brilliant team they make. I have had the pleasure of interviewing Bill on many an occasion and it is not unusual for us to end up talking for three or four hours such is the extent of his encyclopaedic knowledge. One of the things I always aim to do when chatting to someone from a new area is to learn more “local” or national knowledge, and when I get the opportunity to talk to someone from the southern hemisphere, this is no different.

One of the earliest lessons I recall Bill teaching me was about Anzac day, held on the 25th April every year. I do not know why, but I always thought that the Australians and New Zealanders celebrated the 11th November as their remembrance, but this is not the case. With the date fast approaching for 2020 I thought I would write a little bit about it and show why maybe, you should spare a thought or say a prayer – whatever your chosen belief is – on that date.

On the 25th April 1915, troops from the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps landed in Gallipoli, their aim (alongside other allied soldiers) to release the Ottoman control of the Dardenelles strait and open up access to the Black Sea and ultimately Russia – one third of the triple entente coalition. The Ottomans, whilst having no issue with either Britain or France, had a long standing feud with Russia and this meant that the beef extended to the other members of the coalition.

The Navy had been trying to force their way through from February 1915 and reach Constantinople (Istanbul), by defeating the Ottoman empire, it would release some of the strain on the Russian forces and also potentially weaken the German stronghold. This failed, quite spectacularly, for example on the 18th March 1915 alone, a mission with a total of eighteen ships came under attack, and three were sunk and another three severely damaged.

It was decided that an amphibious landing was the only way forward. To facilitate these landings, ANZACs were pulled in from their training exercises in Egypt – they were expecting to be deployed to the Western Front – and placed with other Allied troops to overturn the Ottoman control. What I think the allies had not counted on was intelligent opposition, Lieutenant Colonel Mustafa Kemal Ataturk (the eventual leader of Turkey), having knowledge of the area and predicting that troops would land at Gaba Tepe and Cape Helles – exactly where they did. Was this ignorance on the part of the commanders or an inflated sense of ego that mean they thought the Ottomans would not have the ability to fight back? Definitely things we have seen before in military history.

There is a plethora of information on line should you wish to find out more of the finer details of a campaign that lasted nearly eleven months, far too much for me to cover in one short blog.

But why is this date so entwined in Antipodean history? Whilst all the countries suffered huge losses, out of around sixty seven thousand ANZAC troops, fifty percent either died or were seriously injured. Death did not just come from battle injuries, the hygiene was none existent and many contracted dysentery, trench fever and typhoid. There is also the sense of pride, this was the first major engagement for both countries on the world stage, added to that, Australia had only become a federation fourteen years earlier.

This year, in 2020, with the awful Covid-19 pandemic still affecting everyone, there is a probability that some of the normal commemorations will not be allowed to take place, but hopefully upon reading this, you will understand why the 25th April is so important to our friends in the south.

When the earth moves

Wed, 15 Apr 2020 12:58:28 GMT

It is 5.12am on the 18th April 1906, you are perhaps lying in bed before getting up for a days work and you feel things shake, little knowing that this is the precursor to one of the biggest earthquakes ever to hit the San Francisco bay area in documented history.

Whilst the quake only lasted for around forty five seconds, it was huge, and even three decades before the use of the Richter scale that we will all have heard of, it is believed to have measured between 7.9 and 8.8 – to give you an idea, the quake that Japan suffered in 2011 that created a tsunami that destroyed their nuclear power plant was around the 9 mark.

The city of San Francisco was still relatively young, having only become part of the United States of America some forty eight years previously, the population having grown exponentially with the influx of treasure seekers due to the infamous gold rush.

The majority of destruction of the area was not just down to the actual quake itself, the reported 80% of the city that had to be rebuilt was actually due to the secondary damage attributed to the fires that raged throughout for over three days. Early estimates at the time believed there were around seven hundred deaths, sadly it was many more, in fact probably nearer four times that amount.

The city, at the time, had a very strong military presence which had existed since its Spanish colonial era, with a huge base at an area known as “The Presidio”. Despite the various soldiers and their commanders leaping into action to help save the city, of the four hundred thousand residents, at least half were left homeless. The House and senate Appropriations Committees in Washington were quick to advance funding to provide the necessary supplies to mitigate the illness and subsequent deaths (or more loss of life). Items such as tents, blankets, medical supplies, food and clean water were quickly distributed and refugee camps were set up around the city in the various parks, including the Presidio.

Three eye witness reports of the destruction said;

"Of a sudden we had found ourselves staggering and reeling. It was as if the earth was slipping gently from under our feet. Then came the sickening swaying of the earth that threw us flat upon our faces. We struggled in the street. We could not get on our feet. Then it seemed as though my head were split with the roar that crashed into my ears. Big buildings were crumbling as one might crush a biscuit in one's hand. Ahead of me a great cornice crushed a man as if he were a maggot - a laborer in overalls on his way to the Union Iron Works with a dinner pail on his arm." (P. Barrett).

"When the fire caught the Windsor Hotel at Fifth and Market Streets there were three men on the roof, and it was impossible to get them down. Rather than see the crazed men fall in with the roof and be roasted alive the military officer directed his men to shoot them, which they did in the presence of 5,000 people." (Max Fast).

"The most terrible thing I saw was the futile struggle of a policeman and others to rescue a man who was pinned down in burning wreckage. The helpless man watched it in silence till the fire began burning his feet. Then he screamed and begged to be killed. The policeman took his name and address and shot him through the head." (Adolphus Busch).

But why was San Francisco so badly hit and why is California so pre-dispositioned to earthquakes? Probably something to do with the fact that there are seven different fault lines of differing size in the area. The biggest and most significant is the San Andreas (which incidentally I have stood by, it’s a surreal feeling), then in no particular order Hayward, Calaveras, Concord-Green Valley, Greenville, Rodgers and San Gregorio.

I am not a seismologist so will not even to attempt to explain the science behind a quake and why some are relatively minor, yet others wreak havoc. But I do think we should remember what has been recorded as the worst natural disaster in American history and those poor souls who had to choose whether someone lived or died.

Accidents Happen

Mon, 13 Apr 2020 13:47:19 GMT

Writing history blogs that are just a snapshot of an event in the past may seem easy to some, and it can be, but all historians have specific time periods that they lean towards and I am no different. One of the things I have learned as I have aged (watch it! I am not that old yet…) is to not be embarrassed chatting to people about my love of history and by doing this, you can enter into some absolutely intriguing conversations and learn new information.

This is one such example.

My day job (yes, I have a “normal” job too) is as a financial adviser helping people who have to pay for care fees, and one of the homes that I look after is on a street named Ypres Road. Well, I was chatting to a client and had mentioned the fact that I remember this home because the roads nearby are all World war one related. He then started telling me about a submarine disaster that took place in nearby Harwich in 1916 which had me fascinated and I decided to look into it.

It transpired that many of his ancestors had moved to the UK from Germany in the 1800’s, and one of them had fought for Britain in the First World War but had died in a training accident.

His name was Charles Klemp, and he was born in the West Ham area of London on 29th December 1890.

Despite the fact that there were internment camps for those that the British Government deemed as being a threat to national security, Charles joined the Royal Navy Reserves and rose from Sub Lieutenant to acting Lieutenant on 5th February 1915.

As happens now, the military have to practice manoeuvres and on the 15th August 1916, two submarines, E41 (where Charles was one of the 3 officers on board) and E4 were running through a hunting drill. RMS E41 was on the surface and running at around 12 knots, her chaser, RMS E4 was submerged but the watch on E41 noticed the periscope of E4, perilously close, appearing only fifty yards from their starboard bow and immediately ordered the engines to halt.

It was too late; the two vessels collided and sank to the bottom of the North Sea. A support ship that was observing the exercise arrived within minutes and miraculously, fifteen of the thirty one man crew from the E41 managed to escape - including Stoker Petty Officer William Brown who was submerged for nearly ninety minutes before using the torpedo loading hatch to make his bid for freedom. There were no survivors from E4, all thirty one hands died. Acting Lieutenant Klemp was one of the unfortunate ones aboard his sub and was unable to escape.

What I find quite shocking however, is that in 1917, the two submarines were raised and re-commissioned, although according to reports neither sailed again and were sold for scrap in 1922. I guess at the end of the day money is always the more important factor, the £101,000 that each sub cost to make in 1912 would have been the equivalent of around £11million now.

Whether it was during this recovery that Charles body was found I do not know, but his naval records state that “owing to decomposition, he has been buried at sea”.

I know that the incredibly young ages of those who perished during the Great War is nothing new to anyone, but he was only 25 years old and the son of Charles Snr and Cordelia Klemp, the brother to six siblings and obviously someone who valued his country and wanted to do his part.

Next time you visit Harwich, or go on a ghost hunt at the Redoubt, look out into the sea and say thank you to Charles and his colleagues.

La Petite Anglaise

Tue, 07 Apr 2020 07:38:48 GMT

Cast your mind back to being 21 years old, not just a young person but an individual who had just given birth to her first child. Not only that, but had just been informed that on the 24th October 1942, their husband of two years had been killed whilst in action in North Africa.

Would you have decided to disappear into a state of grief and sorrow, or sign up to undertake one of the most dangerous roles available for women in the Second World War?

The amazing Violette Szabo chose the latter, not that she had exactly been shirking her responsibilities beforehand, almost as soon as war broke out she signed up for the Land Army, then moving back to London to work in an armaments factory, followed by operating the switchboard at the General Post Office (staying in her job throughout the blitz) again in the country’s capitol, before moving to the Auxiliary Territorial Services (ATS) and being trained to operate anti aircraft batteries.

During this period she had met, fallen in love and after a whirlwind forty two day courtship, had married Etienne Szabo, a French Foreign Legion soldier who had been in London for the Bastille Day celebration but was part of the Free French forces.

Fast forward to October 1942, and Violette leaves her four month old daughter Tania with carers and she begins her training to be a part of Section F of the Special Operations Executive. She was already a fluent French speaker, her mother being from Pont Remy in the Somme and her father being British (her parents had met during the First World War). With her ability to speak both languages easily (and with local accents), her knowledge of weaponry already gained from her training with the ATS and her inherent bravery, the only thing she appeared to struggle with was mastering parachute jumping – having broken her ankle on her first attempt.

It was during her second operation for the secretive organisation that things were to go very wrong, dropped into France on the 7th June 1944 - immediately after D-Day – with the objective of helping local resistance groups sabotage the German communication lines that were co-ordinating attacks to stem the landings by the Allies. Both Violette – known as “La Petite Anglaise due to her diminutive 5ft3 height – and her SOE commander, Phillipe Liewer found that the maquis – the local resistance fighters – to be very poorly organised, needing guidance and a more efficient control. The other area the maquis had made a mistake on was intelligence gathering, and had not realised that the SS Panzer division were a lot closer than believed.

Szabo also chose to travel by car, rather than the more inconspicuous bicycle, this was also a poor decision as following D-Day, the German forces had banned all automobile travel and by flouting this rule, she had a target on her back.

Stopped at a road block, the classic story is that a gun battle ensued, but there is some doubt as to whether this really happened, opinions differ almost on a fifty/fifty basis, but regardless of whether our heroine did shoot at German solders for over half an hour, the fact that she was arrested and removed to the incredibly foreboding Fresnes Prison in Paris are without question.

She was interrogated by the Gestapo; they knew by this point that she was SOE and wanted names. We know that they would have used torture, whether that was by sexually assaulting her, beating her, pretending to drown her in a bath tub and many other methods we cannot say, but she did not break.

This both beautiful and brave young woman was sent to Ravensbruck, chained to another female SOE operative. Even in shackles her courage did not leave her, when their train was strafed by Allied aircraft, she managed to get water to some of the male prisoners in another carriage who had been left by the German soldiers who had run for cover.

After months of hard labour, a method employed by the Nazis to kill off as many prisoners as possible, a week after the liberation of Auschwitz by the Russians and the German fear of the forthcoming arrival of the Red Army in Berlin, orders were given to murder certain prisoners. Violette and two of her colleagues- Denise Bloch and Lilian Rolfe – were lined up, forced to their knees and shot in the back of their heads.

Of the forty two female Section F SOE agents, just under two thirds survived the war, with twelve being executed, one drowning when her ship was torpedoed, two dying from disease whilst imprisoned and one from natural causes.

Whilst Violette is probably one of the best known female SOE operatives, she is not the only one, and we should remember all those women who sacrificed their easy life to do their part against the Nazi war machine.

If you want to learn more about Mrs Szabo, check out www.violette.Szabo.museum.co.uk and learn more about her.

Foundlings

Wed, 01 Apr 2020 17:14:31 GMT

In the true sense of the word, a foundling is a child who has been abandoned and is “found” by someone else to be cared for. In 18th century London, philanthropist Thomas Coram had returned from eleven years in America to discover that the city was not just a bustling centre of trade and industry, but also a den of poverty and the destitute. He was shocked by the level of babies and young children who were being discarded, either due in the main to the family not being able to afford to look after them or the social stigma of their being illegitimate.

Despite the fact that in the Poor Law 1733, if a woman was carrying an illegitimate child she was entitled to pursue the father for money and if he refused to pay, he could face gaol time, many women could not face the judgement they would undoubtedly receive and it was easier just to give the child up.

In 1739 Coram established the Foundlings hospital, a place where parents (predominantly women) could leave their child, knowing that they would be provided with food, shelter and spiritual guidance – although perhaps not the element that children need the most, love.

It should be stressed however that not all of the inhabitants of the hospital were born to unmarried mothers; some were from decidedly more tragic circumstances. Take the story of Margaret Larney.

According to the records at Newgate prison – this gives you an idea as to what happened – Margaret and her husband of some ten years or so, Terence, came to London from Dublin around 1748. Due to poverty and trying to keep food on her families table, Margaret resorted to filing coins - a practice where tiny amounts of the coin was clipped away to be then sold to a goldsmith or used to make counterfeit coins. This was highly illegal and carried the death penalty due to its being viewed as high treason.

At the time of her trial in January 1758, Margaret was pregnant with her fifth child and as was the norm for that time, her death sentence was postponed until after she had given birth; her new baby would be taken into the care of the Foundlings Hospital. Her two other young children, 5year old James and 3year old Elizabeth were both placed in St Martins workhouse, tragically Elizabeth died in the May of 1758 and James six weeks later. Child mortality was not unusual, but the accounts say that Margaret was never told of the loss of her two children, she had believed they would be going to Coram’s Foundlings hospital instead of the workhouse.

You may wonder why their father Terence was not taking responsibility for his children as I am sure he benefitted from his wife’s attempts to make money, but he had absconded shortly after her arrest and was never seen again.

Almost immediately after she gave birth – prison records say it was a son named John – she was executed on the 2nd October 1758, we would assume she was partially hanged and then burned as was the punishment for High Treason, this is what the newspapers of the time state when describing her journey from Newgate to Tyburn.

We do not know anymore of John, we know as a small baby he would have been moved out of London to a wet nurse until he was around 4 years old, but whether he returned to the hospital or whether he died, we have no record. The chances are his name would have been changed as neither of his parents was there to take him back.

What Thomas Coram had created in 1739, to care for the unwanted children of London, closed in 1954 when attitudes to children began to change, although the charity still manages an adoption agency to place children with new families. The concept of foundlings is still evident all over the world, with many childrens homes setting up anonymous drop baskets for a parent to place their baby in with no repercussions or questions.

If you want to visit the museum, check out www.foundlingmuseum.org.uk and take a trip into London sometime.

Orphans of the sea

Sun, 29 Mar 2020 10:36:56 GMT

There is a property in the North West of England which most paranormal enthusiasts list as being in their top ten locations to visit, or even their top five – me included. It has been shut for sometime but we recently received the news that it was being reopened and would be managed for investigations by two of the biggest event companies in the UK – Haunted Happenings and Dusk til Dawn Events.

Early on in my podcasting “career” I did do a show on the venue, but that was years ago so I thought I would look into it again via a blog.

We’re talking about Newsham Park hospital, in Liverpool.

Most people focus on the buildings incarnation as an asylum and hospital, but for seventy five years before that (it opened as a medical facility in the 1950s) it was an orphanage, run by the Seaman’s Orphan Institution.

Some of the leading ship owners and business men of the area decided that they had to provide something to the children of their sailors, after all, it was a dangerous job and death was not unheard of. Lead by James Beazley, he promised £500 if nine other donors would guarantee the same amount. It did not take long for the required funds (and more) to come in and in 1874 the orphanage opened its doors. You may wonder what the risks to seafarers were? In 1866 it was reported that four thousand eight hundred and sixty six British merchant seaman had died – just under 50% of that amount from drowning alone. That did not include those men who had lost their wives and had no other childcare, anyone associated with the Port of Liverpool – which was huge, in 1875 it had something in the region 10,080 ships moving in and out carrying 8,385,240 tonnage of goods – was entitled to help.

But what of the children who lived there? The few first hand accounts do show it was not a pleasant life, but it was not out of its time, by that I mean it was comparable with how children (and the poor) would have been treated anywhere. I am not saying this makes it right, but it was also a benevolent institution as in 1899 not only did it look after over three hundred children, it also provided out relief to over five hundred who were still living on the streets.

It was researching for this piece though that I found an incredibly sad story, that of Frederick Fleet. The name may ring a bell to some historians, but poor Fred was born in Liverpool in 1887, he never knew his father and his mother abandoned him as a baby to run away with a new boyfriend to America. He was raised by a succession of distant family but ended up in the orphanage at Newsham Park. Unsurprisingly with its connection to the sea – Disraeli had called Liverpool the “second city of the Empire” due to its stature as a port – he ended up on a ship in 1903 and worked his way up from deck boy to Able Seaman. His most famous role however was to be look out on the ill fated Titanic, he was one of the lads who spotted the iceberg and called out the alert.

Incidentally, he does say that if they had been supplied with binoculars they would have seen it sooner, but hindsight is a wonderful thing.

He survived the sinking and ended up serving in both World Wars; he married, had a daughter and tried to live a normal life. It was the death of his wife in 1964, and his brother in law asking him to leave the home he was sharing with them – apparently an agreement they had reached - at the age of 77 that was to prove too much, he fell into a deep depression and hanged himself.

So here was a man who had not been given the best of starts in life, who had been part of one of the most notorious maritime related tragedies ever, had been part of both World Wars but whose mental health destroyed him.

If you are interested in visiting the place that Frederick spent part of his childhood, and which also has a plethora of stories to tell, check out Haunted Happenings or Dusk til Dawn Events and sign yourself up for a visit.

A leopard and its spots

Wed, 25 Mar 2020 20:19:36 GMT

Driving around the town of Burslem, the first thing that struck me was how wealthy it must have been at one time. You have the former Wedgewood Institute with its amazing carvings and echoes of a flamboyant Venetian style, the school of art opposite with a grand turreted entrance and then the early 20th century former Queens Theatre, now standing empty and unloved.

It is a metaphor for the area in my eyes, once grand and coveted but now run down and unloved. However there are jewels to find everywhere, and there is certainly one in Burslem (I would wager there are more, but this is the first I found), and that is the Leopard Inn on Market Place.

Ever since I interviewed Chris Chell about this venue, I have wanted to visit and in February I got that chance. You turn up outside to what looks like a tiny little oldie worldy pub (technical term that!) and you go inside and are greeted with what you would expect from a very traditional and comfortable inn. The smell of beer, laughter, comfy looking chairs and lots of wood…wood which looks like it has seen a lot of hands touching it and has been polished lovingly for years.

But the friendly hostelry is not what paranormal investigators visit the Leopard for, it’s the former hotel that was built out back by its 1872 owner James Norris. I struggled to believe that there could be 57 former Victorian bedrooms hidden away from sight, just waiting for us to walk the corridors like the residents did up until 1956 before it was shut up forever.

I was literally dying to explore, and could not for the life of me work out where these elusive bedrooms were...until Chris showed me the “secret” door, and once I opened it, saw the staircase that lead to the first floor. I say the first floor because there are three in total, and it is virtually derelict (albeit safe!).

Chris had told me about one of these corridors where women are made to feel uncomfortable, but did not tell me give me any more specific information regarding the exact location. As I was exploring on my own, I found an area that I had walked past three or four times and not ventured down, immediately I walked onto the floor I felt a sense of threat. I cannot explain exactly what that threat was, but my fight or flight instincts kicked in quite hard. What was interesting was that later that night when the members of the public were with us – without having breathed a word about what I had experienced earlier – the women who were with me said they needed to leave, that they did not feel safe, that they felt they were being watched and not in a good way. This not so pleasant character is always assumed to be James Norris, but I am not so sure, later on when we were conducting a Ouija board he told us that he was not James but worked for him – that was right before the table was flipped over, and not by an angry guest!. I am definitely planning on some more research to find out potential employees at the Leopard back in the 1800s to see if any names prompt a response.

There were so many experiences that people had, nearly all of which we could not explain, the tell tale candle flicker in a room, the sound of a marble being thrown along the floor, a woman coughing at the end of the corridor when no one was there and knocks on command.

Would I go back? Definitely, there are some unanswered questions and I want to find out who this bully boy is, if nothing else, to clear James Norris’ name.

My weirdest experience though was when I got home, and was chatting away to my Dad about the night and how I’d never been to Stoke on Trent and was surprised at how run down it was, he told me that I should not be nasty about the area, I asked why.

“Your great great great grandmother came from Stoke on Trent, Burslem it was”

Murdered by the Nazis

Sun, 22 Mar 2020 10:35:25 GMT

You may recall that recently I posted an article about the late Eva Braun, wife of Adolf Hitler and questioned whether she was the villain that some portray her as or was she merely a young girl looking for love, who was groomed by an older more powerful man.

Whilst I understand people’s need to see her as some callous evil co conspirator with her monstrous husband, there are other events in Hitler’s life which I would say paint the picture of a man obsessed with younger women, and more specifically, those he can control.

Interestingly, a comment he is reputed to have made fits with this assumption

“A highly intelligent man should always choose a primitive and stupid woman,”

This blog is not about Ms Braun, it is about a woman who came before her, although there was some crossover in their place in Hitler’s circle as he is documented as having met Braun in 1929 when she was 17 years old, at the time he was sharing his Munich apartment with his 19yr old half niece, Angela (Geli) Raubal.

Geli was an integral part of Hitler’s life from the age of 17 when she, her mother and her sister moved into his Berghof Villa, her mother Angela taking on the role as her half brother’s housekeeper. It was a mere two years later that Geli moved to Munich, ostensibly to study medicine and was given a room in her Uncles grand property. There is much speculation as to the nature of their relationship, were they lovers? Did he wish they were lovers? Or was she merely a femme fatale capable of playing men to whichever tune she wished.

She is described as being tall, and beguiling, causing people to stop in the street to look at her. Having seen photos of her I would not describe her as beautiful, but there was something about her that caused Hitler to be incredibly jealous and possessive, and is reported to have flown into an almighty rage when he discovered she was in a physical relationship with his chauffeur. The lover was dismissed from his service – although by all accounts, not killed – and Geli had a chaperone with her every time she left the apartment.

There were many rumours at the time that Hitler and his niece were in a relationship, she is meant to have confided in his political rival, Otto Strausser, and shown him naked pictures of her drawn by Hitler that she was forced to pose for. There were also mutterings that she was pregnant and that Hitler had approached the Pope for dispensation to marry (not that unions between relatives were anything unusual for the family, he after all was the result of a marriage of two cousins, a strange one at that, his mother Klara was quite a bit younger than his father Alois and weirdly called him “Uncle”)

Whether Geli was Hitler’s plaything or whether he was just being an overprotective Uncle we will never know, but in September 1931, when he had left Munich to go on some political rally, Geli shot herself with Hitler’s personal pistol. What was strange about this suicide – and yes, after an investigation it was classed as such – was that the shot was not through her head like most gunshot suicides, but through her chest, as though she had tried to shoot her heart.

All seems cut and dried yes? She was uncomfortable with her life and killed herself, well, maybe not. The Nazi party was starting to feel a little bit uneasy with the amount of power this young woman had over their leader, after all, she is reported to have been capable of pulling him away from an important meeting if she wanted to do something as trivial as go swimming.

Upon hearing of her death, her uncle/lover was bereft, going so far as to hold a pistol to his own head and have it wrestled away by his deputy, Rudolf Hess.

Are these the actions of a murderer or a man overcome by grief? Or was someone else responsible for her death.

A local journalist, Fritz Gerlich, who had a vehement hatred of Hitler and his actions made it his mission to investigate and try and prove that if not Hitler personally, one of his minions was responsible for Geli’s death. Gerlich was arrested and executed in Dachau in July 1934, shortly after the Night of the long Knives (where Hitler and his cronies murdered anyone they deemed a threat) Was Gerlich murdered because he was getting too close to the truth? We will never know. The person that Geli had confided in, Otto Strasser, he was kicked out of the Nazi party in 1930 and after his brother was killed in the Night of the long Knives, fled into exile. You could argue that he was only spreading these “rumours” about the fuhrer’s depravity due to dislike and bitterness, again, we have no proof either way.

What is my conclusion, I am no Psychologist, but I find it interesting that his mother was much younger than his father and had an almost patriarchal relationship with her husband. I also believe that Hitler felt less powerful around women who were his “equal” and therefore tended to steer towards the younger “stupid” ladies (his words, not mine). I cannot decide as to whether Geli was murdered or if she simply realised, she was in far beyond her capabilities and knew Uncle Alfie would not let her go. I do think Geli was a naïve girl who saw the opportunity to be something special and did not fully realise (as most young adults don’t!) that if you make a deal with the devil, there are always consequences.

Tell me your thoughts…

Let them eat...pistachios

Thu, 19 Mar 2020 08:53:33 GMT

Or maybe not, read on to find out what on earth I’m waffling on about this time.

Recently I was set a challenge, could I write a blog that talked about that most delicious of nut (although technically a seed) the pistachio. I remember doing something similar when I was in higher education, my writing then used to take the form of song lyrics and I said I could put together a full set of words about any subject…cue the topic given being the environment.

Easy peasy.

Anyway, back to our nut/seed or whatever you know it as, the pistachio, how am I going to write a reasonably eloquent piece of prose on a food stuff. So, I started with Google and found a really interesting link to the pistachio that made me smile. It involves history, a few biblical tales and a powerful woman – what more could you ask for?

You will notice I parodied the phrase “let them eat cake” supposedly spoken by the ill fated French Queen, Marie Antoinette (although historians have argued ever since as to whether she did say it). This leads me to another queen, although this one has been the subject of much speculation as to whether she really existed or if she was more of a fable told around the fire, The Queen of Sheba.

Now the Queen of Sheba came to prominence in the Bible, and the Hebrew translation of her name means “Saba”, this is the area that we would identify now as modern day Yemen – although the Ethiopian version of the story has her as being from a part of northern Ethiopia called Aksum.

Quick question to find out the mentality of my readers, can anyone hear the word “Yemen” and immediately think of the Friends episode where Chandler buys a ticket there to escape from Janice and tells her to write to him at “15 Yemen Rd, Yemen” or is it just me?

Anyway, back to Sheba, whilst her character is pretty fascinating, she was meant to have travelled to see the wise King Solomon to test his knowledge by giving him a series of riddles to solve. The Ethiopian version of the tale has her name as “Makeda” and Solomon tricks her into bed and they produce a son called Menilek. There are many different stories from multitudes of cultures naming her, Islamic, Jewish, Ethiopian and some other ancient African civilizations.

Sheba is meant to have loved the tasty pistachio so much that not only did she hijack Assyrian deliveries of it to her court; she banned the commoners from eating it and decreed it was exclusively a royal food. Whether this is true or not, the pistachio tree is believed to have originated from places like Persia (Iran) and Western Asia (Pakistan and India) so could quite easily have ended up shipped to places like Yemen (“I’m going to Yemen…”). Imagine having the kind of power that means you could ban people from eating your favourite food so that you would never run out? That’s what the Queen is supposed to have done with the tasty little pistachio.

No one knows for certain if that is true, but I know when I buy some I do not share, maybe there’s a bit of the Queen in me?

One other thing I did find though which I think is a lovely way to end this blog is this “myth”

Legend has it that lovers used to meet under pistachio trees and listened to the cracking of their nuts below moonlit nights, which was a sign that they would be happy.

Try saying that and not being happy…see you soon!

The Fastest Woman...with two wings

Mon, 16 Mar 2020 15:56:09 GMT

She felt the need...the need for speed

I do not hide the fact that I love aviation, and even when I was younger harboured an ambition to fly fast jets for the air force (something which sadly never manifested itself, but que sera sera). When I started to discover the tales of female pilots such as Melitta von Stauffenberg, Amelia Earhart, and Amy Johnson, I wanted to find out more.

This led me to the Air Transport Auxiliary (ATA) of World War Two and the many amazing women who flew within it. Whilst the ATA was certainly not made up of exclusively women (the men certainly outnumbered them nearly seven to one) but it was a first to allow the “fairer sex” to fly for the air force. The women, led by Pauline Gower, who originally only allowed to fly Tiger Moth biplanes but it was not long until they realised that using the pilots of the ATA (including our Attagirls) to ferry aircraft from both factories and also for repair, that they freed up the RAF pilots to go into battle.

Along comes Diana Barnato, born in 1918 to a motor racing father, it is perhaps unsurprising that she had a love of speed and an infatuation with flying, achieving her solo license at the tender age of 20. She did not jump straight into the ATA at outset as she worked as a Red Cross nurse initially during the war, but in 1941 she made the move and started what was to be her task for the next four years, delivering over eighty different types of aircraft, and some two hundred and sixty iconic Spitfires. That’s not to say she had it easy – it must be a dream job getting to fly around in Spitfires, Hurricanes, Mosquitoes, Mustangs and the like – her fiancée Squadron Leader Humphrey Trench Gilbert died a month after they were engaged in May 1942, she then married Wing Commander Derek walker in May of 1944, eighteen months later he had been killed in a flying accident.

Unsurprisingly she vowed never to marry again, and didn’t.

Perhaps it’s the fact that these women would be flying aircraft that had no weapons (and dealing with enemies in the skies at the same time), had not been taught how to fly on equipment (many accidents were due to bad weather coming in) and in some cases, the aircraft were so badly damaged critical pieces of equipment like rudders and ailerons were not working properly, that made them so resilient.

After the war had finished, Diana did not want to stop flying and became a volunteer pilot with the Women’s Junior Air Corps (WJAC), a body formed in 1942 to encourage girls and young women into aviation. In fact, so dedicated to this was she, that when an aircraft she was flying back to base in the July of 1948 burst into flames, rather than bail out and destroy the valuable plane, Diana merely turned the engines off and glided it back to safety.

Was this her only accolades? Certainly not, on 26th August 1963 she convinced the Air Ministry to allow her to fly an English Electric Lightning T4 at Mach 1.6 (1,262mph in normal speak) making her the first British woman to break the speed barrier – the first woman ever to achieve this feat ten years earlier had been her former stable mate at the ATA, American Jackie Cochran who went on to form the US equivalent “Women Airforce Service Pilots. What this also gave Diana was the record at that time of an air speed record for women, this was broken some twelve months later by guess who? Jackie.

Diana lived until she was 90 years old, passing away at her home in Surrey, an amazing woman with an amazing legacy and surely worthy of the accolade

“The fastest woman with two wings”

The Bilderberg Bogeymen

Sun, 15 Mar 2020 11:05:03 GMT

Kosher or Cabal?

In 1954, some nine years after the end of World War Two, a group was formed by a small number of elite and rising political figures with the aim of promoting a theory known as “Atlanticism” – in a nutshell, an aim to present a better understanding of the cultural differences between northern America and Western Europe and to encourage more co-operation on issues such as economy, defence and politics.

The main instigator was a Polish diplomat Jozef Retinger – himself in exile from his native country of Poland due to perceived meddling in the whole Austria/Hungary issue and the emerging Soviet Union – but members included former Prime Ministers, Royalty, powerful company C.E.O.s and even senior management of covert secret service groups. The idea being that each country was to send two representatives, one being of a conservative outlook and the other more liberal to hopefully cover all possible opinions.

The United States had eleven delegates…I won’t comment on that.

Whilst this may seem to have been a very logical idea, the western worlds most powerful personnel, able to discuss without fear of recourse (and media intrusion) the issues of the world in the hope of averting another possible World War.

But conspiracy theories were almost obliged to abound, especially when the outcomes of these annual meetings remain shrouded in mystery and the world seems to want to find this mysterious uber cabal that controls everything – Perhaps the TV show The Blacklist was based on this?

The location of these meetings changes every single year, original participant (the actually brilliant Retinger) was believed to have been a CIA and MI6 stooge so was obviously there to influence conversation along the route wanted, another member was David Rockefeller, a name synonymous with conspiracy and dodgy dealings (rightly or wrongly, I have no opinion on that one).

Whilst the official line was that not only were these meetings not covert, they were private to maintain safety, they were a facility for the western worlds influencers to meet and discuss pertinent issues enabling good policy decision. The other side of the coin is that they were (and still are) somewhere for powerful people to sit down and organise the world structure in a way that can benefit them and not society as a whole. Take these facts as something potentially suspect, virtually every American president and British Prime Minster has attended a Bilderberg meeting in the sixty five years they have been running, the belief is that in was in one of these get togethers that the war on Serbia was agreed and I even found links to the “assassination” of Princess Diana and the group (although that one is pretty tenuous and every secret group including the New World Order and the Illuminati have been cited for that one)

Should we be paranoid about these uber rich and incredibly powerful people meeting? – I would say men as most seem to be, but the odd woman has been listed, although not nearly representative of the percentage of females in the world – let’s face it, money talks and having both money and power does seem to be able to achieve anything you want. These are not elected officials in the main, although many are both current and former politicians, yet they are believed to be making unfettered decisions about our world.

Are the Bilderberg meetings purely a way for powerful people to network and discuss ideas or is it a incredibly powerful committee orchestrating policy and war?

Only you can decide.

More to the eye than just tea

PH911197 — Tue, 10 Mar 2020 12:13:13 GMT

The woman who wanted to visit her nurse

Anyone who attended my recent presentation on workhouses at the Supernatural Fayre in Evesham will know that I believe that as a solution, they were a good idea but were heavily mismanaged and not correctly supervised.

There were certainly people though who disagreed with them and did their level best to highlight the travesties of poor welfare and looked to improve the lot of the poor, Louisa Twining was one such person.

Born into the famous Twinings tea family in November 1820, she lived a comfortable lifestyle in a pleasant part of London and as a well educated women, worked as both an artist and art historian, publishing her first book in 1852. But it was the visit to the Strand Workhouse on Cleveland Street in London which was to start her on the path for which she was to become most well known. Reports differ on Louisa’s connection to the elderly inmate who had asked her to call by, she was either a former acquaintance or a retired family nurse, but even getting permission to speak with her contact was difficult with a very obnoxious and obstructive Workhouse Master in George Catch refusing permission until Louisa managed to get the Board of Governors to agree. She was so upset by the lack of socialisation and just general human compassion shown to many of the elderly and infirm residents, that she arranged for her friends to visit and show kindness. In 1857 – the visits had continued for nearly four years – the Poor Law Board withdrew permission, once again leaving the poor fenced off from the rest of society, one can only guess at the logic. My personal viewpoint? They did not want people to know of some of the true goings on in these places, it was only ten years after the scandal of Andover which had caused the Poor Laws to be reviewed.

But Twining was not the only person who was despairing of Catch’s lack of humanity in regard to his charges, the number of which never went below five hundred, not uncommon for large inner city workhouses but a lot of lives for just two people to be responsible for. Most workhouses had a resident medical officer, and The Strand was lucky enough to have a Doctor called Joseph Rogers who spent his time trying to improve the care and treatment of those within the Grubber (a slang word for the house) and went so far to form “The Association for the improvement of Workhouse Infirmaries” in 1866. The management structure of the Workhouse began with the Master (and Matron), then to the Governors and ultimately the Poor Law Board. Dr Rogers made quite a few changes to the house at the Strand, including changing the chains that were used for fastening violent “lunatics” to their beds to softer leather straps.

Whilst this may have seemed something that was better suited to an Asylum, Rogers surmised that the Workhouse at Cleveland Street was more akin to a large London Hospital with around 90% of the residents being either sick, elderly, pregnant, nursing mothers or children – very little able bodied adults to undertake the work expected in a Workhouse.

Back to Louisa, after being forbidden to visit the inmates at The Strand, she formed the Workhouse Visiting Society in 1858 and also lobbied heavily for a woman to be a Poorhouse inspector, succeeding with the inimitable Mrs Jane Nassau Senior being appointed in 1872. Louisa was also a good candidate for a Poor Law Guardian herself, being one of the first women to be given the role in 1884 at the age of 64, a position she held for six years.

Whilst I still genuinely believe many of the failures of the poor laws were due to a combination of lack of care, misappropriation of resources and a sense of “boys club” collusion, these places have a strong part in our history and should be better known, what questions about the Workhouse would you like answered?

So who put Bella in the Wych Elm?

Mon, 09 Mar 2020 13:36:03 GMT

a tale of murder and intrigue

So who did put Bella in the Wych Elm?

I am probably known as being quite argumentative – I prefer to say I have an enquiring mind, but potato/potahto) - especially on social media sites like Twitter, but there was something Zak Bagans said recently that I actually agreed with.

It was not to do with anything paranormal I hasten to add, it was alluding to the fact that most films being recognised by big awards groups like the Oscars always seemed to be produced by the big budget outfits and why did the more independent ventures not get any spotlight. This got me thinking, and I figured it applied to documentaries as well; I have friends who have made some absolutely fascinating investigative pieces which will only ever be accessible for a small audience due to them not being seen by the big national networks and getting syndicated.

“Who put Bella in the Wych Elm” by Jayne Harris is one such piece. I am lucky enough to count Jayne as a friend, so when she gave me a copy of her film to watch, I jumped at the chance.

In a nutshell (and without any spoilers!) the case of Bella is an interesting one, picture an England heavily entrenched in the Second World War, many with German, Austrian or Italian heritage already having been sent to internment camps, and downed Polish RAF Pilots being threatened with pitchforks – paranoia was rife. Four young boys in April 1943 decide to go trespassing in Hagley Woods near Stourbridge on the search for birds eggs, when one climbs the tree known as the Wych Elm and peers inside its hollow trunk he discovers a partially decomposed skull staring back at him.

This was the trigger for a plethora of beliefs as to who this skull (and subsequently discovered skeleton) belonged to and why was she – for it was discovered she was female – in this tree. I would wager that there are few true stories which can incorporate theories ranging from witchcraft to Nazi Espionage - was she the girlfriend of a Gestapo agent who already had the ability to speak with the local vernacular? – To being a spy herself to being a gypsy who was murdered there. The plot thickens even more when you find out that not only were the local police involved – a suspected murder case, not surprising – but also MI5, yes, you read that correctly, the Security Service had reports on this particular event, those of you with a suspicious mind may be questioning why.

We do know some definite facts about “Bella”; she was aged around 35, had very crooked teeth and would have stood around 5 ft tall. The Coroner, one Professor James Webster surmised at the time that she had been put in the trunk whilst still warm (rigor mortis would have made it impossible to fit her in there if it had been after), had a piece of taffeta in her mouth which could had led to suffocation and had given birth at some point. Whilst watching Jayne’s documentary I was shocked that nobody had come forward for “Bella” and reported her missing, but this was World War Two, and people were going missing on a daily basis. The National Archives records estimate that nearly 70,000 civilians were missing or presumed dead during the period of 1939 – to 1945, so the lack of acknowledgment by a family member as to who “Bella” could have been is not surprising, they may have been dead themselves.

Some documentaries I watch, in my opinion, do not explore all possible options and settle on one hypothesis, which they then try to prove unequivocally. This film by Jayne does not do that – and I can see why it took so long to complete! – she examines everything in depth and leaves no stone unturned, just as soon as you think she has exhausted all ideas, there is another one.

If you enjoy a mystery, coupled with a bit of history, this is the film for you.

Head on over to hdparanormal.com and treat yourself to a copy, and then drop me a message and let me know your theory…