I GREW UP IN A HOUSE OF SILENCE.’ Claire looks straight ahead, her eyes seeing only the past. She grips Naomi’s hand tightly and speaks slowly, laying each word in place. ‘It was an old, sombre building, full of heavy furniture and those stiff-backed wooden chairs. The windows were covered by dark curtains. The walls had once been papered with delicate pink roses, but they’d long ago faded into the plaster. There were some pictures on the walls, sepia prints of stories from the Old Testament. They were strategically positioned as a lesson to anyone who dared to look up. I was taught to keep my eyes lowered as a sign of modesty. The paintwork was the colour of curdled cream and even the porcelain of the handbasin was cracked. Cleanliness was next to godliness—I was taught to scrub my hands and face often, and to keep my clothes spotless. I was also told that it was unseemly to run, so I trod softly in my slippers and tried not to make the floor boards creak.’
‘It sounds awful.’ Sally is the only one to speak. The others hold their breath, waiting for the next words.
‘I didn’t know any different. Children don’t, do they?’ Claire smiles. It doesn’t reach her eyes. ‘I thought everyone lived like that. At least, I did before I started school. That was quite scary, at first, the other children running and shouting and laughing. I would never have dared do that at home. Oh, my parents had warned me about it, of course. How I would have to be with those heathen children full of wickedness. How I would be led into their ways. But they prepared me to resist temptation and prayed with me to be strong and turn away from sin.’
‘Had you never played with other children before?’
‘Oh, yes. Most of the time I was alone, but sometimes we would visit other members of the church, and some of them had young families. Their houses weren’t as quiet as ours, and I would watch the children play. They did things I was never allowed to do at home. Sometimes I would pluck up courage and try to join in. But then I’d become aware that my father was watching. A little line would show between his eyes and I’d know I was doing wrong. Still, I did look forward to those visits. The other children had wonderful toys—shapes made of bright, coloured plastic that you could build into things, or things with batteries that moved and made noises. I wished I could have toys like those, but when I told my mother she said that was coveting and that it was a sin. I knew the word, but I hadn’t realized that it meant toys. But I wanted God to love me, so I tried not to think about it.’
‘Every child needs love,’ says Sally.
‘Oh, I was loved. They were always telling me how much I was loved. God loved me and my father loved me. God was my Father-in-Heaven, of course; then there was Jesus, who was also my father. It was all a bit confusing, these different fathers. I knew when I was being good, because my own father would smile and put his big hand on my head. And even when I was bad, he still said he loved me, only then that line would appear between his eyes and he would talk in a loud voice with words like he was reading out of the big book.
‘With my mother, it was easier. Often there was just her and me. When we were alone, she would sit me on her lap and brush my hair. Sometimes she would sing “All Things Bright and Beautiful”…Her voice was soft, as if she were almost afraid to sing out loud. She was always trying to be good, too, and not make that line appear between my father’s eyes. I wondered if my mother had a Father-in-Heaven, too. I thought he would be my grandfather. Some of the children at the prayer meetings had grandparents. They had grey hair and walked slowly, and they looked more like my own father and mother. The people at the church called my father an elder, and I thought that had something to do with being old.
‘Of course we weren’t like other people. We didn’t follow the ways of Satan and weren’t full of sin. We were saved and walked in the path of righteousness. When we died we would all go straight to heaven and be with God and Jesus. So I thought I was happy. It wasn’t until a long time afterwards that I realized I’d been sad and lonely.’
A moment of silence. Naomi squeezes Claire’s hand, encouraging her to continue.
‘And then the lady started coming. It must have been near my fifth birthday, though I’d been able to see the colours for as long as I could remember. Bright lights shimmering around living things—people and animals, even plants. I thought it was the same for everyone. At first, when I talked about it, my mother took no notice. She was always telling me to hush, she couldn’t keep her mind on what she was doing with me chattering away all the time. But then I started to point to the picture in the hall and say that the halo around the head of John the Baptist was the same colour as that of the man in the greengrocer’s. That’s when she began to get angry. She warned me not to say such things, especially in front of my father. I didn’t understand what it was I’d done wrong. Like any child I just wanted to know. Why did my father’s colours grow dark when he was angry? And why was it that people’s colours changed when they were ill?
‘I suppose it was when I learned to use crayons and started to draw stick people with brightly coloured auras around them that she got really scared. “This is sinful. Don’t let your father see this.” I didn’t need telling twice.
‘So when the lady started coming at night and my mother said I’d been dreaming, I knew this was something else to be careful about. At first she came on her own. She wore a blue dress made of velvet. It had a white frill at the neck and a big full skirt that came right down to the floor. She always had a little lace cap pinned on top of her head. Her hair must have been long, as it was plaited and coiled into a bun, with little ringlets around her forehead. I’d seen pictures of Queen Victoria, so I thought at first she must be a queen. She wasn’t a young woman, but she was always smiling. The first time she stayed with me only a few moments. Then she bent over and stroked my cheek and kissed me goodnight. She came again, and after a while she began to speak. Her voice was soft and she didn’t seem to move her mouth, but the words came right inside my head. I was never afraid of her—in fact I began to look forward to her coming. Especially on those nights when I was sent to bed early.’
‘Why was that?’ asks Sally. ‘Why did they send you to bed early?’
‘It was my father. I knew what would happen because he looked angry, though I was never sure if it was my fault or my mother’s or what we had done wrong. He would take down the big book and put it on the table. Then he’d say, “Send the child to bed,” and turn his back towards us. I could see his colours change: dark greys and blacks swirling all around him like big storm clouds. My mother would clutch her handkerchief and look away so that I couldn’t see her eyes. Then I would be taken upstairs.
‘I could hear his voice in the room below. It would get louder and louder. He would be talking to yet another father, the Almighty, who saw when people got lost off the path. I didn’t understand everything he was saying, but I knew the words “wrath” and “punishment”. Then there would be the noises. Thuds and crashes. Furniture being toppled over. I was terrified to move, even though I didn’t know what was happening. Well, not then, anyway. I’d lie there with the blankets pulled up, trying to make the sounds go away. I’d be shivering even though I wasn’t cold. And then my lady would come. And I knew I was safe. The next morning my mother would move slowly and breathe in sharply if I tried to touch her.
‘Of course, as I grew older I knew only too well what was happening. On those nights I would listen at the bedroom door until it was unbearable. Then I would fly across to my bed and hold the pillow over my ears. By then I had learned to find my way into another world where there were other people. A lot of them were like my lady, but some were children. The next day I’d pretend not to notice the bruises on my mother’s arms and legs. I had no idea what she’d done to deserve such punishment. I thought it must be my fault.’
Sally moves closer. ‘Did he ever…? Were you ever punished like that?’
‘No. No, he never touched me, only when he put his hand on my head. No, what I did to offend the Almighty earned a far worse punishment.’
They all wait while Claire takes a deep breath to steady herself. Then she finds the words to continue.
‘I suppose I was a bright child. I loved school. Provided I was careful, it gave me a freedom I’d never dreamed of. At first I was wary of the other children—they were very rough and noisy—but I soon realized that my behaviour made me seem odd, so I began to loosen up a little. I never made any really close friends, but I learned to join in the games and I did well in the classroom. Besides, my lady was always there and she’d taught me how important it was to keep areas of my life in separate boxes. I made sure my parents had no cause for concern.
‘I still saw the colours, of course, but I’d learned how to turn them on and off. And I could see and hear the people who were still around when they should have gone to that other place. That was because they didn’t even know they’d died. But there were others who came to find them and take them home. Then there were people like my lady. She explained that not everyone could see and hear those things. She said I was special, but that meant a big responsibility. It wasn’t going to be easy, and the first thing I had to learn was how to control it. Above all, she told me, I had to learn to keep everything a secret, because not everyone understood and people would be afraid. And it all worked very well, until the accident.’
‘You had an accident?’
‘No, I was just an innocent bystander. A little boy was run over. I watched the others come and take him away. His mother was screaming and holding his little body in her arms like she was trying to squeeze the life back into him. There was blood on her clothes and a pool of it on the road. I still saw it weeks later in my sleep. I suppose if it happened now they’d call it post-traumatic stress and I’d be sent for counselling. Only, as usual, I never told anyone what I’d seen. The trouble was, I started to cry out loud in the night. I’d wake up drenched with sweat and gasping for breath. And of course my parents realized something was wrong.
‘My mother persuaded my father that it must be some childhood illness. She was allowed to take me to the doctor. She was such a nice woman and insisted on talking to me alone. She asked about the dreams and what I thought about before I went to sleep. I can remember trying not to cry. I don’t know what I said, but I must have let something slip. Afterwards she talked to my mother, something about it not being unusual for a child of my age with an active imagination. She prescribed some tablets, but they didn’t help. The dreams were as bad as ever and, what was worse, my lady didn’t come any more.
‘Eventually, that doctor sent us to yet another doctor who talked with my mother for a long time. He wrote lots of words down in a folder, then gave her some different tablets for me. The new pills made me sleep more, but they still didn’t block out the dreams. I must have talked in my sleep, said something about the dead and the spirits who took them away. My father must have stood over my bed and listened.’ Claire falls silent.
‘And he punished you? Is that what happened, Claire? What did he do?’ asks Sally.
‘My memory of the first part of that day isn’t clear. It all happened without warning. I was met from school and walked home as usual, even though it wasn’t far and I was almost ten years old. I remember feeling uneasy. My mother was even quieter than usual, and she held my hand very tightly. When we reached home I was told to go into the front room. I knew something was going to happen. I was afraid, but I had no choice.
‘My father was in the room, and so were the other elders of the church. I knew at once that they’d been waiting for me. I was told to sit in a chair in the centre of the room. They stood around me in a close circle, their faces above me, though no one, not even my father, would look straight at me. They each held a Bible in their hands and began to read out loud and to pray. One of them held a crucifix—it looked like the big one that usually hung in the meeting room. The praying went on and on, like it always did, only I couldn’t remember hearing those prayers before. They were sort of chanting, saying the same thing over and over. I can remember some of it, though it made no sense. “Defend us in our battle against the principalities and powers, against the rulers of the World of Darkness, against the spirits of wickedness in the high places.”
‘Their faces were angry and their voices got louder and louder. I was terrified. It was like fear was growing in my chest, getting bigger and bigger, till I couldn’t breathe. Suddenly the man holding the crucifix jumped towards me. He was shouting: “We drive you from us, all unclean spirits, all satanic powers, all infernal invaders, all wicked legions, assemblies and sects.” He thrust the cross in my face. All I could see was the body of Jesus being crucified, all pain and bleeding. I yelled out and turned my head away, and they said that was a sign. After that, everything I did was taken as a sign. If I cried, if I called out for my mother. I tried pleading with them: I said I’d be good. I bit my lip and it started to bleed, and they said that was a sign. I tried being quiet and not moving. It made no difference. They said I must confess my sin and I did, even though I didn’t understand what I had done. None of it mattered. It was as if they didn’t hear me. They just raged on and on. I think some of them were hysterical, out of control, I thought they were going to kill me. “The sacred Sign of the Cross commands you. The power of the mysteries of the Faith commands you.”
‘I don’t know how long it went on. The light outside the window faded and turned to night. Still they didn’t stop. “The holy apostles Peter and Paul command you. The blood of the Martyrs and the intercession of all the Saints command you…” At one point I tried to run, but they dragged me back and tied my hands to the arms of the chair. My heart was racing so fast I thought it would burst. I could feel my hair sticking to my face, which was wet with tears and sweat. On and on it went. “God the Father commands you, God the Son commands you, God the Holy Ghost commands you…”
‘And then it was like the room started to move away from me. There was a white mist all around. I could hear my lady calling, and I felt as if I were walking towards her voice. I couldn’t hear or see that awful place any more. She took my hand and led me into a field. The mist lifted and the sun was shining. She told me to lie down and put my head on her lap, that it was all right to go to sleep now. And I did. I slept peacefully for the first time for months.
‘When I woke up, it was morning. At first I couldn’t understand why I wasn’t in bed. Then I saw my father and remembered. He was still looking down on me, but now, for the first time, he looked directly into my eyes. “Welcome back, my daughter,” he said, and he knelt down to my level and put his hands on my shoulders. “God has seen fit to return you to us. Praise the Lord.” The other elders were still there and so was my mother. She was standing behind them, her face very white and her eyes red. My wrists were stinging and there were red marks around them, but otherwise I wasn’t physically hurt. After a while, they let my mother take me. She gave me a bath, put me into a clean nightdress. I was given something to eat and put to bed. I must have slept for the rest of the day.
‘My mother said nothing. In fact there was never any explanation. No one ever told me what I’d done wrong or what had happened to make it right. Only, the strange thing was, from then on my father seemed more aware of me. When we went to the meeting room, I was paraded in front of the congregation. It was as if the Claire who he believed had supped with the Devil and returned to tell the tale was more valued than the one who had tried to be a good daughter. Now I was a credit to him, proof of his piety. Thank God, or someone, that it was a good nine months before he succumbed to his overworked heart. At least no one could say it was caused by the fight for my soul and blame me for his death.
‘My mother survived surprisingly well on her own. She smiled more often, and walked without stooping her shoulders. We seemed to be better-off financially. I imagine, after years of self-imposed poverty, there was quite a little nest egg. She bought new curtains. We even went on holiday to the seaside. She sat in a deckchair, watching me run along the beach and splash through the waves.
‘But that was an exception. Normally she rarely went out. But she did buy a television set, and we’d watch it together in the evenings. It was as if it gave her a window on a life that was denied to her for so long that she couldn’t manage to live it in person. After a while we stopped going to the prayer meetings. My father’s name was rarely mentioned.’
‘So, what happened about the psychic stuff? Did you still see the lady?’
Claire shook her head. ‘From then on it just stopped. I think I must have hidden it, along with everything else that happened in that dreadful room. I pushed it into some corner of my mind and pulled a curtain over it. I concentrated on fitting into the world and being like everyone else. I’d learned computer skills at school and managed to find a job in an office. Nothing remarkable. But I was happy working alongside other girls who were also unremarkable. We devoted all of our energy to looking for the right man. In the lunch break we’d look through magazines and pick out wedding dresses. Just in case.’
‘But you did remember,’ Sally points out. ‘Something must happened.’
‘One of the girls said there was a psychic fair on. She was nervous about going on her own, so she asked if I’d go with her. It was held in the function room of a hotel, somewhere quite fancy, so I thought I’d go along for a laugh. There were rows of trestle tables set up for card readers and crystal gazers and those do-it-yourself salvation books. The whole place reeked of incense. My friend sat in front of a tarot card reader and paid her money. She was hoping to find out if her boyfriend’s intentions were serious. They went on talking for what seemed like ages. I got a bit bored waiting and, well, I did feel sort of unsettled. So I wandered about, just looking at the different stalls. One of the women beckoned me over to her table. She had nothing on show, no cards or runes or coloured oils, just a strip of white paper with the words Clairvoyant Medium scrawled in felt-tip. She said, “I’m sorry, love. I’m not plying for business, honest. But I have an urgent message for you. She’s really very insistent.” Of course I thought she was just, you know…But then she said, “It’s a woman in a long, blue dress. She’s got little ringlets around her forehead and a lace cap on her head. She says you know her.” And that’s when it all came tumbling back to me.’ Claire looks around her, refocusing on the room and the circle of women. ‘That’s it really. That’s all I can tell you.’
‘You poor wee lamb.’ Fran wraps her arms around Claire and rocks her gently. ‘We’d no idea it was like that. No wonder…’
‘Oh, why didn’t you tell us? You’ve been holding on to all this.’ Naomi is sitting at Claire’s feet, still holding her hand. She rubs her cheek on Claire’s knee. ‘Why didn’t you let us help you?’
‘Your father was a very sick man,’ says Sally. ‘There was probably nothing your mother could have done.’
‘I know that.’ There’s a sharp edge to Claire’s voice. ‘Of course I know that. Anyway, after that there was very little left between us, nothing worth salvaging. I moved out as soon as I could. We hardly saw each other for years.’
Fran brushes Claire’s hair out of her eyes. ‘So what’s this about her and Ayden? How did you get mixed up with him anyway?’
‘You’ve all met him. You know what he’s like. Mr Charming himself. I was vulnerable, I suppose. I’d never had much in the way of affection, especially from a man. And he behaved as if I were the sun and the moon. He wanted to own me, possess me, worship me. At least that’s what he said. I just got swept along with it.’
‘All the usual danger signals,’ says Fran. ‘I expect he stopped you seeing your friends, moved you away from what little family you had? Fits the pattern.’
‘Yes, that’s how it was. At first I thought it was because he loved me. How dumb can you get? It was like I’d escaped from one tyrant only to run straight into another one.’
‘I suppose we all end up marrying our own fathers,’ says Abbie, ‘no matter what we set out to do.’
‘Ayden’s very like mine, I can see that now. He even has that little line between his eyes, like a warning signal. By the time I realized, it was too late. We’d married and moved to Hallowfield.’ She clings to Naomi’s hands. ‘Thank heaven we did. He wanted one of the new houses. Four-bedroom detached, en suite, double garage. He’s very into status symbols. Guess I was one of them.’
‘And your psychic thing?’
‘Oh, no. That’s not permitted.’
‘But he uses it to keep you under control?’
‘Yes, that and the…It’s not that it happens often. It’s the threat, you see. It’s always there—at any moment he could turn. And if I tell anyone or if I try to leave him, he’ll say I’m mad.’
‘And your mother would back him up? After all that happened to her? He’s obviously met her?’
‘Oh yes, they’ve met. At the wedding and a few times since. She’s not what you’d call clued into men, just as vulnerable as I was. He charmed his way around her. And then he started asking questions about my “nerves,” and had I always imagined things? What was she supposed to do? Admit her husband was a wife-beater? Say her child was mentally abused and tortured while she stood by and did nothing to stop it? It’s like she’s locked it all away in some dark cupboard so she doesn’t have to look at it any more. No, much easier to remember what the doctors said and how they gave me pills to make it better. She’ll back him up all right.’ Claire smiles and shakes her head. ‘I have to keep reminding myself that she’s a victim, too.’
‘And if we turn him over to the police…?’
‘He’ll try to have me committed. Apart from pure vindictiveness, it would now be his best line of defence.’
‘Yes, I think you’re right there.’ Abbie stands up, folding her arms and pacing the room in thought. ‘It wouldn’t save him, of course, not in the long run. But a good lawyer could use it to stall the police for a while. It might just be enough to get Claire sectioned. But then, even if her mother went along with it, it would never stand up medically.’
‘No. But they’d put Claire in a hospital.’ Naomi scrambles to her feet. ‘There’d be doctors and psychiatrists…They’d keep asking her questions.’
‘That’s right,’ says Sally. ‘They could hold her for three days on just a doctor’s say-so. There’d be an appeal of course, a medical panel—’
Naomi moves in front of Claire as if to shield her. ‘And it would be just like before. Like those church men. An inquisition. No, we can’t put her through that.’
‘You’re right,’ says Abbie. ‘We can’t ask that of her. It’s too much.’
‘Out of the question.’ Fran is also defiant. ‘Don’t worry, my pet. You don’t have to say anything to the police or anyone else. But you’re not going back to him. Is that understood?’
‘Do you think he’ll let her go that easily?’ asks Sally.
‘Damn right he will. Essentially he’s a coward. Besides, now he’s got more to worry about than his wife running away.’
‘But we can’t just let him get away with it. What about Ruth?’ Abbie demands.
Naomi tosses her head, her hair swirling and her eyes flashing with cold anger. ‘Who said anything about him getting away with it?’
Philip Hunter-Gordon
5 February 2007
This is absolutely amazing. A coincidence? Well, it certainly puts a different light on this term’s work.
No problem getting access to local church documents. Local vicar, Cunningham, was more than obliging. Apparently a particular interest of his.
(At the present time other lines of local research are a bit difficult. Ruth Clifton’s death is still very much on everyone’s mind, so talking about multiple hangings is really not a good idea.)
However, this is what I found out from the parish records:
Abigail Marchant—wife of Oliver Marchant, lived at Wheatcroft House, died 1648, aged 47. Lived in this very house! That could make her an ancestor of mine. Dad’s great-great-whatever—grandmother?
(I wonder if Mum knows anything about her? Not a good time to ask, though.)
Sarah Norton—spinster, lived alone at Stonewater Cottage in Wicker Lane. (That’s next door—Sally’s place.) Died 1648, aged 35.
Rev. Cunningham helped me search through the lists of births and deaths, and we were able to confirm what I had already discovered about their arrests. They were ‘taken up’, as he put it, but subsequently discharged. Strange that they both died the following year. No cause of death recorded and no known graves.
Adam Sewell—landowner, died 1668, aged 60. He was the chief witness against them. Apparently quite wealthy, he owned most of the fields where the new housing estate is now built.
The Reverend John Payton left the parish in 1649. No explanation. Apparently went up north somewhere.
This changes everything. Suddenly I feel directly involved with these people (well, I suppose I am), and the need to find out what happened is becoming a personal mission. Wish there was someone else I could talk to about this. Everybody around here is walking on eggshells and Mum’s as tight as a piano wire.