The clergy are my friends. I have received much support—both practical and moral—from such men as Dr. W. J. Phythian-Adams, Canon of Carlisle; the Rev. J. J. Fynes-Clinton; Canon Harold Anson; the late Father Herbert Thurston, S. J.; the Very Rev. F. A. Iremonger, D.D., Dean of Lichfield (formerly Director of Religious Broadcasts, B.B.C.); and many others. These gentlemen have reported cases to me, they have elucidated problems connected with my work, and have assisted me in many ways. I will remark in parentheses that the clergy, as a whole, take a profound interest in psychical research. Many of them are good ‘percipients’ or are themselves ‘psychic’, and some are the fortunate possessors of ‘haunted rectories’.
Nearly all my clerical friendships were formed through the medium of my books, especially the Borley report, and many scores of parsons have been made known to me in that way. A few of my correspondents desire to remain anonymous, though at the same time wishing to put interesting information into my hands. This was the case with a certain clergyman who wrote to me after having read my Search for Truth.1 He was particularly interested in my chapter on Poltergeists and informed me that he was in possession of the records—or rather copies of them—of one of the strangest Poltergeist cases he had ever heard of. He sent me a brief outline of the case and, on his next visit to London, called on me at the Savage Club, where he told me the whole story in detail.
My new friend informed me that, as a young man, he was a curate at one of the Manchester churches and, during his summer vacations, used to tour the Lake District, Westmorland, Cumberland and those central highlands south of the Tyne that are the joy of the pedestrian and the lover of the picturesque. All his tours were made on foot.
My friend was particularly fond of the Eden, that beautiful river that rises on the east border of Westmorland, and flows north-west past Kirkby Stephen, Appleby, Kirkoswald, and Carlisle to Solway Firth at Rockcliffe Marshes—a distance of some sixty-five miles.
The curate usually made his headquarters at Appleby, that little capital of Westmorland, and explored the river up and down for many miles. Into the Eden, near Appleby, several small rivers and becks empty themselves, and on one of these tributaries stood—or rather stands, for the mill house is still there—a small flour mill, the power for which was supplied by the tumbling stream which, turning a large wooden water-wheel, ground the corn, etc.
But this was some years before the occurrence of the incidents I am about to relate. Growing foreign competition in the shape of ‘port wheat’ killed the little industry, the wheel fell to pieces, the mill house itself was vacated, and looked like sharing the same fate as the wheel. This was in 1884.
At the time when my friend got to know the place, it was a sort of farm-house, where milk and eggs, and the lightest of refreshments, were sold to the very few tourists whose walks happened to take them in that direction. The curate visited the house during three consecutive summers and became friendly with the owner and his wife, from whom he learnt the previous history of the mill, and the story of the strange occurrences that at one time threatened to drive the family to distraction. My friend’s visits were during the summers of 1904, 1905 and 1906.
As I have stated, the mill wheel and house fell into disuse in 1884. The place remained empty for three years, and in the spring of 1887 was bought by a Mr. Fowler, whose family then consisted of his wife and two daughters, ‘Teddie’ and Jessica, aged twelve and fourteen years respectively. Mr. Fowler spent some £200 in doing the place up, in removing the remains of the old wheel, and in making the place habitable. And now a word must be said about the wheel itself.
The wheel was an old-fashioned one, made partly of wood, of which there are still a few left in this country. One end of the axle was extended into a large room in the house, known as the ‘wheel-room’, which contained the mill-stones, the cog-work grinding mechanism, and several grinding machines, such as a chaff-cutter, turnip-cutter, grindstone and a churn. These implements could be connected with the water-wheel outside, and were continually in use during the mill’s prosperous days. A part of the wheel-room overhung the stream.
The wheel-room was also partly furnished as a living room, with a truckle bed, chairs, a table, etc. and was occupied night and day by the man whose duty it was to grind the corn, oil the machinery, adjust the paddles of the wheel according to the head of water or a spate, and generally look after the place. His name was Tom Watkins. He was assisted in the daytime by a youth, who appears to have no bearing on the story.
When Mr. Fowler bought the place, his first job was to get rid of such machinery and shafting as remained in the wheel-room. In the room were a door, from which stone steps led to the stream, and a large window, protected by iron bars, which also looked on to the stream. Having removed the remains of the wheel, he did away with the steps, bricked up the door aperture, but retained the window—the only source of light. In order to increase the accommodation of his home, he added a large portion of the wheel-room to his kitchen. This was accomplished by removing the brick wall that divided them, and putting up a match-board wall or partition across the wheel-room with a communicating door between. This arrangement doubled the size of Mr. Fowler’s kitchen, at the same time reducing the cubic area of the wheel-room by two-thirds. When the alterations to the wheel-room were completed, there was no access to the wheel-room except through the kitchen. The room could not be entered on the stream side via the window owing to the bars; and, in any case, as I have remarked, the room itself jutted out over the stream—the projection extending to some four feet. All this must be emphasised.
The alterations were completed early in May, 1887, and the Fowler family moved in. In the general disposition of their belongings, it was decided to use what remained of the old wheel-room as a lumber room, where boxes and packing cases could be stored. The enlarged kitchen was used as a principal living room and nearly all the meals were taken there.
The first untoward incident occurred about a fortnight after the family moved in. They were having their evening meal, time about 6.30. Teddie had been put to bed owing to a feverish cold, and only the elder daughter and her parents were at table.
Half way through the meal, there was a sound of breaking glass: obviously the noise came from the wheel-room, the door of which was always kept closed. Jumping up, Mr. Fowler opened the door in the partition and at once saw that one of the panes of glass in the window overlooking the stream had been smashed. His first thought was that a big bird had flown into it, but upon a closer examination he concluded something had been thrown at the window and he peered through the glass to the trees that fringed the opposite bank of the stream, but he could see no one. Then he went out of the house, along his garden path that ran parallel with the stream, where he could get a good view up and down the river. But no one was in sight; in fact it was rather difficult for a stranger to reach that portion of the bank that lay under the wheel-room window without traversing his property or using a boat.
Mr. Fowler returned to the wheel-room and began to hunt for the missile. He soon found it, between two packing cases. It was a large, roundish pebble from the bed of the stream and was still wet. So no doubt remained as to where the stone came from. But who threw it?
About ten days later, when Mr. Fowler and his family were finishing their evening meal, an incident occurred that almost paralysed them with fear. Mr. Fowler had actually finished his supper and was lighting his pipe, when a series of terrific blows rained on the partition from the far side—blows that were transferred to the communicating door after the first onslaught. Fowler, almost petrified, was sitting opposite this door and plainly saw it shake with each bang. The children were terrified. After the first shock of surprise was over, Fowler ran to the door and opened it, thinking that someone had managed to secrete himself in the wheel-room amongst the boxes, etc. and was playing a practical joke on them. But no one was there. Every box and case was removed, but nothing was discovered that could account for the disturbance.
More puzzled than frightened, when the element of surprise had more or less disappeared, the family made another search of the wheel-room, with negative results. One thing was quite certain: not a living thing, not even a rat, could enter the wheel-room without first passing through the kitchen. The Fowlers stayed up till past midnight, apprehensive that something else might happen. But nothing did happen, so they went to bed and to an undisturbed, if sleepless rest.
Three days later, as Mrs. Fowler and Jessica were tidying up the kitchen after breakfast, they thought they heard voices. Mr. Fowler was on the small-holding he had purchased near his house and Teddie was at school. The voices sounded clear, yet indistinct, but it was obvious that they came from the wheel-room. For a moment Mrs. Fowler thought that her husband had returned with a friend, and was conversing with him in the wheel-room. Then a chill ran down her spine as she recollected that neither she nor her daughter had left the kitchen since her husband departed after breakfast, and therefore it could not be he. Though terrified, she still had the courage to place her ear hard up against the partition, and she afterwards declared that the voices sounded louder, though not more distinct. Fearing that either she or Jessica might be attacked, and afraid to enter the wheel-room to investigate, mother and daughter ran out of the house and remained standing in the road until a man from a neighbouring cottage passed by and assisted them to investigate. The voices had ceased, and of course there was no one visible in the wheel-room. When Fowler returned home to lunch he pooh-poohed the whole thing, believing that the incidents experienced a few days previously had upset their nerves.
But that same night, just as they were beginning their meal, the voices were heard again. This time they were louder, and sounded like an altercation between a man and a woman. Fowler placed his ear to the partition and could hear the voices more plainly. Suddenly, they all heard a sound as if a saucer had been dropped and broken. Fowler instantly opened the communication door, and the voices ceased abruptly. No one was in the room, and nothing appeared to be broken. But a flaming piece of paper was found in a corner. Were the Poltergeists trying to burn the house down?
By this time Fowler was becoming disturbed. He knew nothing of these things or of paranormal happenings, and was afraid to make inquiries in the village as he did not want crowds of curiosity-mongers besieging his home. His children were becoming nervous wrecks, afraid to go to bed or to be left by themselves. His wife bore the incidents bravely, but he could see that even her health was being undermined.
What perturbed him, too, was the fact that his business took him often to Manchester, and he did not like leaving his family alone during his absence. However, as some measure of security, he screwed two iron bars right across the communicating door, so that it could be opened neither from the inside of the wheel-room nor from the kitchen. While he was actually doing this job, another stone was hurled through the wheel-room window from the river, smashing another pane of glass. So, procuring a long ladder, he nailed some half-inch mesh wire netting over the outside of the window, thus protecting it from the river side.
The above precautions were completed on the Saturday, and, as he was due in Manchester the following Monday, he asked his only employee, a man named Dick Carter, and his wife, to sleep in the house while he was away. He had to give some reason for this, and gave the real reason, swearing Carter and his wife to secrecy.
Whether the barring of the door and the window offended the Poltergeists is a matter for conjecture, but on the night of Fowler’s departure pandemonium broke loose in the kitchen. Cups and saucers fell off the dresser; a jug of beer that was being mulled on the range was upset; the fire-irons clattered; coal ‘leapt out of the bucket’; some glass-cloths that were drying on a line were snatched off, and similar occurrences were witnessed. All the above incidents happened immediately after the evening meal and terrified Mrs. Fowler and the children, though Carter and his wife kept calm—fortunately.
Suddenly the commotion ceased, at the same time as a terrific clatter was heard coming from the wheel-room. Apparently, packing cases were being flung about, or dragged along the floor, and a sound, as of hammering, was heard intermittently. After twenty minutes of this pandemonium, the five occupants of the house left the building, crossed the stream by means of a boat, and watched the wheel-room window from the opposite bank. From this view-point they could still hear the clatter in the wheel-room, and could actually see some of the things being moved. Packing cases and boxes passed and re-passed the window, as if being carried on the shoulders of someone—but what it was that was carrying them could not be seen. Stored in the room was an old perambulator and the top portion of it was seen slowly to pass the window five times! The wheels, being hidden by the brickwork, could not be seen. Then came a lull for a few minutes, then a terrific crash was heard (cause unseen) and then all was quiet again. The scared spectators waited for about fifteen minutes, but nothing further happened, so they re-entered the house, fearful that the unwelcome guests had transferred their activities to other rooms in their home. But all was quiet inside.
Nothing further happened that night. Carter remained on guard after the other inmates had retired to their beds, and he, too, got some sleep in the early hours of the morning. But it was a peaceful night for all concerned, including the Poltergeists.
Next morning Carter thought he would remove the bars from the communicating door and examine the wheel-room. Then it occurred to him that he might ‘release’ something if he did this, so refrained. Instead, he procured a long ladder and peered into the room through the window. A curious sight met his eyes: all the boxes, parcels, cases, etc. had been piled up on one side of the room—the side containing the door leading to the kitchen. This door, exactly opposite the window, was completely hidden. The perambulator was perched on top of the pile. If Carter had removed the bars from the door, and had opened it, half the contents of the wheel-room would have tumbled into the kitchen.
Nothing untoward occurred on the Tuesday, or the Wednesday, until Mr. Fowler returned from Manchester on the evening of the latter day. About ten o’clock the commotion in the wheel-room began afresh—the banging and dragging of packing cases; intermittent hammering; the smashing of glass (the window attacked from inside the room); thumps on the door, as if the entities were signalling to be let out; loud voices, as if in altercation, and so on. These manifestations lasted about one hour and then suddenly ceased. Fowler had, of course, heard all the news from Carter, and was not surprised at what had taken place. He remained on guard in the kitchen for a couple of hours, but nothing further happened, so he went to bed.
Mr. Fowler was now rather easier in his mind. He had been to Manchester—home of spiritualism—and on inquiry had heard all about the strange entities that smash and crash and throw things about, and had been assured that the trouble would cease as suddenly as it began. He was also assured that Poltergeists2 never hurt anyone, though this is not literally true.3
He was also informed that these curious cases of haunting were often connected in some way with a child or adolescent, and he was strongly advised to send his children away. This was difficult as, in the first place, he could not afford it; and, secondly, the elder girl was wanted at home in order to assist her mother.
However, the more he thought of the idea, the more he became convinced that at least Teddie, the younger child, should have a long holiday. She was a delicate girl, and the manifestations were not exactly conducive to good health.
Fowler had a married sister in the Isle of Man and he wrote to her, not telling her too much about the ‘ghosts’, but explaining that Teddie was run down and that he proposed visiting her later in the summer with his family in order to discuss with her the possibility of the girl’s staying with her for a few weeks. His sister’s reply was satisfactory and the holiday was duly arranged for the following September.
It would be tedious to relate all that happened in the wheel-room and kitchen, and nowhere else, during the summer of 1887. There is a sameness about the phenomena, and the Poltergeists were neither very intelligent nor very imaginative. They stuck to the well-tried tricks, time-honoured through the centuries, and appeared to invent few new horrors to frighten Fowler and his family. But what is interesting is the fact that Fowler, being a very methodical man, kept a sort of journal or diary, in which he recorded daily all his business deals and household expenses and, incidentally, the doings of his unwelcome visitors. Phenomena and potato prices were mentioned on the same page, together with how many piglets his sows produced. I have seen copies of many pages of this interesting diary, extracts from which were made by my clerical informant, such extracts forming the basis of this story. I will reproduce a few of Fowler’s notes, with dates:
1887.
Sat. Aug. 13. Four jugs broken in kitchen, several knocks on door. Scraping on wheel-room window.
Mon. Aug. 15. Cat frightened at something in kitchen, and has run away.
Thurs. Aug. 18. Five spoons found on floor of kitchen this morning. On dresser over night. Jess had a plate thrown at her. Noises in room [wheel-room].
Sun. Aug. 21. Quiet, except for jug of water upset, and knives found in sink.
Fri. Aug. 26. A noisy night last night [in wheel-room]. On guard outside room. They kept it up for nearly two hours. Ink bottles thrown to floor [in kitchen].
Mon. Sept. 5. No sleep last night. On guard all night. Hell’s in the room [wheel-room]. Wife stayed up part of time.
I have quoted only a very few extracts from Fowler’s common-place book, as the entries that concern us all record similar happenings: displacement of objects, knocks, bangs, and smashing of the wheel-room window, every pane of which was destroyed. In the light of present-day prices,4 the value of commodities in 1887 is interesting. For example, a bottle of claret cost a shilling; six chickens cost 6/6d. the lot; a pint of gin cost from 1/8d. to 2/-; cider 3d. a pint; pork sausages 4d. a pound, and so on.
Mr. Fowler and his family left for the Isle of Man on Saturday, September 24, and remained a week. It was arranged that Teddie should live with her aunt for a month or so—actually she stayed three years. During his week’s holiday Fowler, his wife, and Jessica, boarded out near his sister’s house in Peel, and their board and lodging cost them 5/6d. a day each. For tea on their first day, as Fowler records in his diary, they had cold lamb, ham, lobster salad, cake, preserve, etc. One wonders what the principal meals were like. The entire week’s holiday, for four people, including fares, board and lodging, amusements, presents, and all incidental expenses, cost Fowler £11 14s. 6d. Halcyon days!
Mr. Fowler had locked up the mill house before leaving, and when he returned he made a thorough examination of every room—including the wheel-room. Nothing had been disturbed. His man had kept an eye on the place, and had noticed nothing amiss.
Well, that was the end of the haunting—or nearly the end. Certain strange noises were heard periodically, but it was never certain that they were—as we should now term it—of paranormal origin. Nothing was ever again displaced, and the new panes in the wheel-room window ceased to be an attractive target for the Poltergeists.
The fact that the disturbances ceased when little ailing Teddie quitted the premises seems to support the theory that, at least, certain Poltergeist manifestations are induced in some obscure way by a child or adolescent. Anyway, Fowler, at least, was convinced that there was actually a nexus between Teddie and the ghosts and, as I say, she never visited her home for three years. And there is no record of disturbances having been experienced in her aunt’s house at Peel. However, Teddie did return home eventually, but apparently the Poltergeists had lost interest in her—or were plaguing someone else. There was no further trouble.
With the exception of Teddie, all the chief actors in the mill house drama are dead. Teddie, now aged nearly seventy, married a smart young farmer and, in due course, came into the property—including the Poltergeists, if they still exist. Jessica also married and went to Canada, where she did not survive the birth of her first baby.
All this information was given to me by my clerical friend who has more or less kept in touch with the family since his first visit in 1904, when Fowler—then in the early fifties—told him the whole story and showed him the old diaries, from which my friend made extracts. Jessica was not alive in 1904, but Teddie was married and living in the district, and my informant saw her once only.
As a postscript, I ought to give some account of Tom Watkins, the factotum who looked after the diminutive mill in its palmy days. He was a swarthy Welshman, morose, taciturn, and with a fiery temper. As has been stated, he lived in the wheel-room by himself, and had no friends except a middle-aged Irishwoman who periodically visited him. This woman was the widow of a man whom Watkins had killed in a street brawl many years previously. I suspect that the quarrel concerned the woman. Anyway, after a short term of imprisonment, Watkins and the woman remained friendly.
Did Watkins convey an ‘evil influence’ to the wheel-room? Did the defunct Irishman—or his ethereal remains—follow him thither? Had the Poltergeist disturbances any connection whatsoever with the slayer or the slain? These are matters for speculation, and the reader can amuse himself in attempting to supply the answers. I will only remark in closing that there is no record whatever of any manifestations having occurred before the Fowler family took up their abode in that very exciting mill on the Eden.