You know I didn’t mean to do a Blog again today folks; even us ‘witches’ get get tired sometimes!
But I’ve just noticed The Lone Stranger is back with Net Curtain Lurkers and some of it is highly entertaining. Its a good job I’ve retained a sense of humour in this sad old world, or I probably wouldn’t think so! But it is neverthelrss witty and funny, so just thought I’d let people know here.
Here is the link although it probably won’t come out in blue as I wanted.
Gareth didn’t get around to doing his Borley write up on Friday.We had three other people in transit, and quite apart from that there was to much to do.But he says he’ll do it next week.He’s already written it out in longhand and I must say its quite enlightening – for people with an interest in ghosts or Borley rectory that is.
Went out earlier.Had to really, running out of cigarettes!It doesn’t worry me smoking on the street.But one drawback is that it attracts people asking for cigarettes.I used to oblige when I was getting them on the cheap (duty free of course) but now I just refuse people telling them they are too expensive now.I think I’ve said this before, but for some reason I always seem to attract people stopping me, apart from cigarettes.Most of them are friendly admittedly but I really don’t know half of them, although they seem to recognise me. It probably wouldn’t happen out of the area, but then, I don’t often go out of the area.
So what’s news really.Well that Cat is still active – or hyper active – but the Lone Stranger seems to have galloped off into the sunset. – for the moment anyway.
Barbara has gone quiet, but that makes a change anyway!
I have been invited to give another Talk shortly (probably November, just waiting for the confirmation date) although I’m not going to allow it to be monopolised by the stupid Highgate ‘vampire’.Yes, ‘stupid’!Stupid in the sense that I know the bloody thing doesn’t even exist – except in very human form, at least.There are plenty of other cases of genuine unexplained phenomena anyway, aside from that ridiculous nonsense.
I might try to put up another pic to finish this off as it saves writing!I think my birthday pic from a couple of years back is a good one now I know this has been re-sized properly.Please no more comments about the whisky bottle though.After all, it was my birthday!
So everyone, hope you all have a good holiday tomorrow.And I’ll post again soon.
Quite a quiet day for a change.Three more book orders yesterday which I meant to send today but just haven’t got around to packaging them yet.Being lazy as usual; no, not being lazy, I really just didn’t feel like it.It does take time you know, packaging them up and writing out invoices, especially when you’ve got other things to do.
Gareth is coming over tomorrow and he wants to put up a couple of more things about Borley.I’ll give him a main Blog for it, as he does put quite a bit of serious time into his research.Speedqueen and a couple of other people will be here as well, so I’ll just put him on the computer and let him get on with it.That reminds me actually, must get another bottle of whisky tomorrow as she does like the odd sip.So do I if it comes to that (any excuse!).I’ll email her later tonight though and remind her to bring some Cola.Trying to avoid as much weight as possible because of my (still) fairly bad foot and liquids are heavy to carry especially as I have to get some more beer as well.
Oh, here’s a laugh for you everyone: did you all know that Speedqueen was just a product of my imagination – at least according to some nutter who also likes to believe – rather state – that all my girlfriends are fictional!It takes a lot to beat that sort of mentality so I don’t usually bother. Although I didn’t mean that Speedqueen is my girlfriend (no offence sweetheart!) But she is a close companion and a very good friend).
I wandered into Highgate Wood early this afternoon for a bit.I had my note book with me as usual but didn’t write anything, just preferring to think about other things. I am not a conventional writer in that respect.I never plan what I’m going to write, and if I don’t feel like writing anything at all, I just don’t!
Oh, for the lady that requested a ‘younger’ picture of myself, you didn’t say how much younger!If you name a year, maybe I can be more precise!In the meantime, here is one that I had to leave out of my latest book for space reasons.It should fit here I hope.I’ll try.It’s a genuine David Farrant special from the late 1940’s.Not sure of the year but probably 1948 or 1949.Take your pick – its still me!
(And no witty comments from you Cat please!).
Till tomorrow; or rather from Gareth tomorrow on Borley,
Yet if there was any chance my relationship – not to mention our planned marriage – with Rebecca might have survived, this was soon shattered by an incident which occurred a week or two later . . .
Late one evening when I hadn’t arranged to see her, Rebecca turned up at the flat unexpectedly and discovered myself and a girl called Anne (at least who I call Anne) getting ready for bed.I had first met Anne with Rebecca at a bar in Highgate and we all got on well together, often going back to Anne’s flat for coffee or a drink; although at this stage my attitude towards Anne was purely platonic.
One evening shortly afterwards, however, I’d been out on my own and walking Anne home and found myself in her bedroom listening to records and tentatively sipping wine.Going into her bedroom had not been intentional but one of her flat mates was entertaining her new boyfriend in the communal living roomWe weren’t talking about anything especially but suddenly I began to be aware of Anne’s figure and couldn’t help noticing her legs. She was wearing a cotton dress which had pulled up slightly where she’d positioned herself on the bed and, try as I might, it was impossible not to notice the patches of stocking-covered flesh.
I knew she was watching me and this made it worse though, at the same time, she expressed no visible sign of embarrassment and even seemed to be enjoying my uncertainty.She carried on talking quite normally but somehow her expression became ‘knowing’ and she shifted her legs with deliberate abandon as if to offer further encouragement.This may have ben no more than innocent amusement on her part but I strongly sensed it was a ‘come on’ and I moved closer on the pretext of changing a record to test her reaction.She lent over to look at the disc resting her hand on my arm for support.Our faces were no more than two or three inches apartWithout really thinking, I kissed her gently and almost at once, felt her lips pressing back against mine.The next minute we were lying on the bed, our bodies pushed together, and I felt her hand inside my shirt slowly dragging it up over my body.Hardly aware of what was happening, or at least, far beyond the point of caring, I pulled her dress up around her waist and gently caressed her exposed thighs.She offered no resistance but sighed expectantly and clutched me tightly.She began to move deliberately and in a few minutes the powerful pent up energy exploded between us.
We laid in silence for a long time after that and her breathing gradually became steady as she fell into a light sleep.
I gazed at the ceiling feeling an unexpected feeling of guilt; not so much because of the act itself, but because it had been done knowingly- behind Rebecca’s back.Once again it seemed I had deliberately set out to hurt her; or had least,but I had still ‘gone through the motions’ in reality even though she knew nothing about it.And what a time I had chosen to give way to weakness and jeopardise our relationship.We were preparing to get married and any hint of further deceit would surely break us up completely.After all, she’d already left on suspicion of virtually the same thing and returned only in the obvious hope that I’d change and grow to love her independently.Now any ounce of trust Rebecca might have had, had been abused and I’d dismissed her feelings with as much care as a spoilt child might disregard a favourite toy.I somehow felt ‘unclean’ – although this was not Anne’s fault but entirely my own.And it was too late to make amends or even try and put the pieces back together.I was possessed by a powerful magical force that ensnared its victims through lust and sexual desire then left them to bear the fruits of their own iniquity.
And now she’d turned up unexpectedly and it seemed only a miracle could stop her leaving forever.
Strangely, she didn’t say much but remained calm and asked for a cup of coffee and spoke to Anne as if nothing had happened.Anne was acutely embarrassed and, like myself, struggled vainly to give an impression that we’d just come back for a short chat after meeting by chance in the pub.It was a losing battle but ironically, acting out such a charade in preference to telling her the real truth, seemed to be the lesser of two evils.
Suddenly, just as unexpectedly as she’d arrived,Rebecca said she had to go, and before it was possible to stop her, she uttered a polite ‘goodbye’ and disappeared from my flat.I felt like running after her, but something kept me rooted to the spot.It seemed that although relevant words had been spoken, everything had already been spoken.
So it was, she finally left.Yet much as I loved her, I knew deep inside that our parting had always been inevitable, and much as I’d struggled to maintain our love amidst the torment of Alison, – indeed even to the extent of planning to get married – Fate, as usual, had interceded to ensure a final and irrevocable decision. Although almost succeeding, I had never really stood a chance.Even though not intended to hurt her, my actions had ultimately driven her away and I’d been left to adjust to the cruel reality of my material surroundings.
It was a cold reality that almost demanded a fresh outlook to my conceptions of love, and the consequences of mingling true relationships with my magical involvements and obligations.
But I did not regret the fact that we’d shared a temporal love together.For Rebecca had taught me a lot and her love and patience had done more than simply captivate a relationship that I had thought lay beyond the bounds of feasibility.She had drawn me back to a world that I had almost forgotten – a world filled with the need for material love and stability, where such things as tangible relationships and laughing children can become an external reality.
No.I had not rejected her – but just been unable to adjust to those thingsthat demanded satisfaction to a code of conformity and respectability.Any regrets I might have had, were really irrelevant.For as usual, I had no way of recognizing such regrets until it was too late to bring about their correction.
I did promise to post a picture of Jane’s interview with myself about the release of my new autobiography last April, but somehow, have only just got around to it.This has been more by necessity than design as I had to wait to get a ‘still’ taken from the video. But at long last, here it is, and you can see a very beautiful Jane! (And a fairly handsome ‘me’, of course!).
The Talk took place on a lovely spring evening towards the end of last April.The doors opened at 7 but the Talk itself was scheduled to begin at 7.30.It was well received, and filmed by two independent video crews, and I have been promised a copy of the other film and given permission to use selected extracts from this on the Internet.In fact, the content of the two films will be identical, although I suspect the sound quality of the other one will be even clearer, as we were both ‘miked up’ with microphones leading straight into the camera.
Jane began by briefly summarizing the book but she gave more empathasis to my early days and how these had led to my having an influence to my later involvements in mysticism, the occult and Wicca.On my school days, she politely pointed out that I had never properly finished my education by chosen instead to leave at 15 and go traveling across the continent.Well, I knew that some people had read the book – and others were about to do so – so I quickly pointed out that was because I’d been expelled from two schools and run away from another!That wasn’t meant to shock anyone, but just to avoid any later potential accusations (and it was being filmed remember) that I had avoided detailing any points that I had already made public in my book.
I will not summarise the whole of Jane’s interview again here, as I already did so in an earlier Blog that briefly summarised our Talk – albeit no picture was then available.
My main purpose now, is just to post up the ‘missing’ photograph, so it ‘fills in the gap’ in my earlier Blog post.
Speaking personally, I enjoyed Jane’s profound interview.Many people present remarked that there was a ‘certain chemistry’ between us.Well, I certainly felt very relaxed and uncompromised, so I could certainly agree with that!
I just wish more interviewers were like that nowadays, instead of merely trying to exploit ridiculous nonsense about the ‘real existence’ of ‘vampires’!
Thanks again Jane.We’ll have to do it again sometime!
So what really happened?Well the story (the true story) is that in April 2005 a group of us gathered at Barbara Green’s home in Brighouse, West Yorkshire to investigate ghost cases in the area and reputedly haunted Robin Hood’s grave. The group consisted of Gareth, Drew, the Yorkshire Pudding, Barbara and myself.We conducted a ‘blessing ceremony’ at Robin Hood’s grave one night, although I’ll skip that here as that’s not the point of this story.
But high above the secluded grave-site lay Hartstead Church where stories of a ghostly phenomenon also abounded.I believe ‘it’ had been reported in the churchyard where, interestingly, and ancient Yew tree had been split in two by lightening
The area was deserted, but on the other side of the road was a ‘working’ medivael stocks – presumably for people who might have misbehaved in church for there was no other outward sign of human habitation or older settlememts.
Anyway, Gareth’s heart leapt for joy and he insisted in ‘trying them out’ to ‘get the feel of them’.Well, we all helped secure him and then . . . disaster!The stocks somehow locked shut and we couldn’t get him free.Not that Gareth minded.“Just take your time”,he said patiently. So we did, and got some photographs!
We eventually got him out but as we walked back to the car, Gareth kept looking back longingly.It was almost as if he couldn’t bear to leave them!
In retrospect, it did seem rather a shame to leave them.I’ve often regretted not having put the Yorkshire Pudding in them . . . and left her there!
I came across some more old diary writings yesterday that had been ‘buried’ in an old box, and I nearly inadvertently threw the sheets away.Well, I nearly deliberately threw them away after I had re-read them as it was personal accounts from my life I had written back in 1973, and which were no longer really applicable to events of 36 years later.I donot know what happened to this the original diary, but I obviously still had it in 1977 as I had re-typed many of the hand-written pages on any available pieces of A4 paper.It was ‘funny’ finding these again and re-reading them suddenly ‘brought back to life’ events I had long since forgotten.Itwas like unexpectedly finding a part of your life in the present when you had forgotten that this had even existed.I was aware, of course, that I had recorded such sequences; probably because they involved highly emotive circumstances – both good and bad – and I thought these important enough to commit these to paper – at the time, at least.
Finding these crumpled pages again, gave you an almost eerie feeling.Why, I wondered, had I only just re-discovered this sequence of events after I had just published my autobiography, as if I was being somehow ‘taunted’ for leaving them out.‘Taunted’ by Fate, that is, if indeed it is the case.Yet perhaps it is the opposite, for if I had been meant to re-discover these pages (40 pages or so) it would have been before, and I would have almost certainly put these pages in.
But ‘no’, that book has already been published now – all 275 pages of it – and I have no intention of revising that Volume.I’m working on Volume 2 at the moment, which deals with other matters after the occurrence of this ‘lost cycle’ of events.No doubt I will be ‘nagged’ by some to include the full story later; but I’m not going to as it would be far too much work.
But I can summarise the story here and maybe give one or two passages.
I have changed the names of the people concerned: not out of any sense of ‘conscience’; but because I am dealing only with the effects of events upon myself (my attitudes and feelings to life) and do not intend to ‘re-vitalise’ their consequences to affect other people.
To summarise the ‘missing sequence’ (albeit briefly); in 1971 – in the course of my turbulent life – I met a girl (whom I shall call) called ‘Rebecca’.Stunningly beautiful with glistening shoulder length black hair and brown eyes that spoke their own distinct silent language, we began dating regularly and she regularly spent long weekends at my flat in Highgate.
Here is how I described it . . .
“Initially, I used to see her frequently in a North London pub and something immediately attracted me to her.She was a girl of outstanding beauty with shoulder-length black hair and proud features which matched an almost ‘haughty’ expression.Superficially, this almost made her appear ‘cold’ but her eyes were soft and deep and suggested some underlying sensitivity that was not outwardly apparent.After a few weeks I had written a clumsy letter of introduction and before long we were dating regularly and spending weekends together.”
In fact, she had a good job and would come on Friday evenings straight from work, then leave early again the following Monday.Often too, we would meet in the week and go to a French restaurant in Muswell Hill which I remember was candle-lit and played soft folk songs from concealed speakers.The food was good and it was never ‘packed’ – which is certainly why we both liked it.
I went on to write . . .
“At first I had no qualms about this new-found friendship but viewed it as a refreshing change from the complex relationships that seemed to plague my life.For Rebecca was different and unlike most of my other friends and associates had no connection with magic or the occult.This provided an unexpected ‘sense of freedom’ and when we were together it was possible to temporarily forget the pressures and obligations of my ‘occult life-style’. She had some sort of ’soothing effect’ – like a drug – and I began to rely more and more on her presence.I needed he to help me forget; but the more I tried, the more old fears and memories came flooding back until I was torn between a compulsion of rejecting her, or of giving myself to her completely.This was only a gradual process, but an increasing infatuation eventually overcame any desire I might have had to reject her.Rebecca was slowly becoming my life, although due to events in the past, I was incapable of understanding what was happening, or how my love for Alison was being over-shadowed by her significance.It wasn’t that the pain of Alison’s memory became any less acute; rather that it was ‘being lost’ amidst powerful urges that had taken precedence over everything else.
The trouble was, that although she empathiased her love was real, it seemed impossible to show my real feelings and because of this I knew she doubted my intentions and thought I didn’t care.
In away, she was right.But I was in the grip of memories far too powerful to have even attempted to explain this in normal everyday terms.”
It is a long story, but basically, we fell in love and things became even more complicated when she expressed a wish to get married.Yes, it was her suggestion.She said it didn’t matter who asked, because this would ‘seal’ our love together.
As I wrote . . .
“One day when arriving for her customary weekend visit, Rebecca was in a state of high excitement.She’d just seen a beautiful antique ring and wanted it as an engagement ring.I said I would get it for her, but some reason kept putting this off – almost as if I was scared to give such a concrete assurance.Why this was I didn’t know because by this time I’d already made up my mind to get married, but this time something was wrong, and because it wasn’t outwardly apparent, it was making me uneasy.Maybe some strange force was warning me to confess before sealing our fate together, or a culmination of doubt and uncertainty was confusing my previous determination; whatever, I found myself seriously risking the possibility of prematurely destroying everything by telling her that I had children and that I was already married..”
On re-reading this after all this time, (and reading ahead to the parts I have not yet written here), it has occurred to me that perhaps it was fated, after all, that this sequence of events was not included in my book.Whilst I have nothing to hide, and all this happened a long time ago, I think my story (or the first part of it) has already been told in its entirety and perhaps did not require irrelevant details being added to its text. (Quite apart from which such events might not portray myself in a very ‘good light’!).
But as I’ve started this, I will nevertheless finish it to prevent any accusations that I have ‘anything to hide’.But it is too long here.So I will just title it “Untold Secrets – Part 1” and you will just have to wait a little for Part 2!
For the moment though,
(From an unpublished manuscript by David Farrant).
Well as I promised everyone here is Gareth’s account of our Borley trip on August 1st (hopefully with a couple of pics. – although I haven’t tried those yet!).
Finding Borley was perhaps another story, and I’ll let Gareth tell that as it was partly his fault!!
When we finally got there we found the Church locked, but that was no surprise! There was a friendly gardener cutting the grass between the graves and he said they had to add the outer bars (or ‘grill’) in front of the Church door to deter people trying to get in at night. But he did oblige with taking a couple of pictures of us outside the main entrance so that sort of made up for it!
Anyway, over to Gareth . . .
We set off almost according to schedule, David, Patsy Langley, her significant other Ricky, and myself, at about 11 am, going up the A1 to the M1 and then onto the M25. This route is about twenty miles longer than going by the North Circular, and whilst a longer route might be quicker under some circumstances, this was a Saturday in the school holidays, when every other family decides to take a day out, so we got stuck in a massive jam, taking an hour to go the last ten miles to the M11. After that things were quicker, but at Junction 8 we all agreed that we needed to stop at the services. This also proved nightmarish, as this place is badly designed, with a very long circuitous singe file entrance route, which owing to the popularity of the place was moving at two miles an hour. When we did finally get in and park, David asked Patsy to buy him a sandwich, “anything except cheese”. She said, “I’ll be back in a minute”, but in fact it took her quarter of an hour of queuing to be able to make the purchase. There was a further crawl to escape from the place.
We stopped briefly in Sudbury to enable Rick to buy a bottle of fruit juice (or something), but then had difficulty finding the way. Though Patsy had not asked me for directions, and back seat drivers are generally irritating, I tried to navigate. Though I pride myself on my ability at map reading, this day I got it seriously wrong. As we left Sudbury, the road did not agree with the map, because, as I realized later, we were a mile away from where I thought we were. A further problem that would recur throughout the day was that, even when I gave her the correct direction she often turned another way; and, modern road layouts are designed on the assumption that no-one ever takes a wrong turning, so that an error, even if spotted instantly, can add miles to one’s journey.
After one or two more hiccups we arrived at Borley, and parked outside the church. As soon as we got out of the car it started raining. Since the local residents are fed up with ghost hunters, we carefully examined the outside of the church, as if we were interested in mediaeval architecture. As a matter of interest, according to Pevsner’s Architectural Guide the nave is probably eleventh century, whilst the tower is Late Perpendicular. The porch door is locked, being opened only for the occasional service, though David says when he visited thirty years ago it was always open.
In a slightly peculiar article that he wrote for ‘The Unexplained’, Frank Smyth suggested that the haunting of Borley Rectory was all a hoax by Harry Price, but there was a genuine ghost in the church. Be that as it may, the spectral nun was often reported as being seen outside the rectory gate, and the phantom coach and horses of course drove along the road, although apparently they went through the hedge where there may have once been a track but was not by the twentieth century. So it might have been possible to see one of these things, but we did not, in fact I did not even get the impression, which I often have done at reputedly haunted places, of anything out of the ordinary. Perhaps, like so many other people, the ghosts had decided to go away that weekend. Apparently, in 1993, someone saw a figure like a Victorian clergyman coming out of the church and walking to the wall of the graveyard. At that spot there is in fact a gate, now disused and with a hedge growing behind it, which leads to the garden of the adjoining house, which was where the rector lived before the rectory was built in 1863.
We then drove to Liston church, the parish of which was combined with that of Borley in the 1930s, so that no-one would have to live in Borley Rectory again. We managed, by comparison with the photograph published in ‘The End of Borley Rectory’, to locate the burial spot of the ‘nun’, that is, a jawbone and part of a skull that were excavated in the cellar of the rectory in 1943, and presumed to be the remains of the ghostly nun.
We then drove to Long Melford, as we entered the town I assumed from her confident manner that Patsy knew where she was going, but when she drove us onto a cricket pitch, where a cricket match was in progress, I realized that she did not. One of the fielders crossed his arms and glared at us. After we had found the main street we parked outside The Bull, an inn that dates from about 1450, where Harry Price used to stay during his Borley investigations, and whose own ghost has been reported there. We went in and asked about food, but they could not serve us until 7 pm, so we just had a drink. Oddly enough, a group of people at a neighbouring table were talking about a poltergeist in someone’s home.
Our next destination was Sible Hedingham, where there is an another haunted pub, The Bell. We drove up and down the main street, but could not see it. Call me an idiot here – after returning home I noticed on the map, a hundred yards off the main street, the very clear letters ‘PH’.
Our next stop was Braintree, where we followed the signs to ‘Town Centre’, but were unable to discover any such centre – we eventually speculated that it doesn’t have one. On the road out again we stopped at The Kings Head, which has a large car park, but they said they did not serve food. Another, The Eagle, had a sign ‘Good Food’ – someone pointed out that no pub advertises that it sells ‘Bad Food’, though if they were to be honest several of them ought to – but it proved impossible to park anywhere near it, so we set off south again.
I recalled that, a couple of days before, a disabled Spiritualist friend of mine named Rosemary had told me how, having to go on a journey across London when it was raining and she was not feeling well, she had ‘had a little word with the angels’, and, at the bottom of her road, she had encountered a ‘Computacab’ (which you can hire at a discount if you are disabled), as it were waiting for her. So I said, mentally, ‘Rosemary, have a word with the angels for me.’ I did manage to persuade Patsy to turn off the dual carriageway onto the B1008 before Chelmsford, as there was more likely to be a pub there, and we soon came across a fine old inn with a large car park, which served food which proved to be good. It was called The Angel. It was built in 1707 and we wondered whether to ask the bar staff if it was haunted, but since it was eight o’clock on a Saturday evening, they were obviously too busy. Patsy insisted upon paying for everyone’s food and drink. Later, when writing about this event, David said that I only ate garlic bread because I am a vegan, in fact I am a vegetarian but not a vegan, he failed to notice that I also had a cheese platter.
We came back to London, and at David’s flat I showed everyone a DVD made by Carrie Kirkpatrick, which will be shown on ‘Edge Media’ (Satellite Channel 200) in a month or so, about the ‘City of Secrets’, Gerona in north-eastern Spain, the town where the Kabbalah originated in the Middle Ages, and which includes a ‘historical reconstruction’ of a Kabbalistic ritual conducted by myself.
Patsy drove me home, even then we had problems, I directed her down Great Portland Street, forgetting that you cannot turn right into Oxford Street from it, thus adding yet another mile to our day’s journeyings. She remarked that I am normally calm and collected but not when we have traffic problems, to which I responded that no-one is immune from road rage. Despite everything, it was a great day out, and I am very grateful to David, Patsy and Rick.
Gareth J. Medway
N.B. Thanks Gareth, you have explained the Borley trip better than I could have done!
I should add, that with your reference to Frank Smyth, he was an author an researcher for ‘Man, Myth and Magic’ when I first met him in 1976. He was introduced to me by Graham Chapman, and I learned at the time he was trying to uncover vital public mystery as to the identity of the Yorkshire Ripper. As well as this, he was also interested in my own involvement in the Highgate Cemetery case, and we had many hours of serious discussion together. I liked him as a person (and he liked myself too, come to that), but I was unable to take some of his conclusions into the paranormal strictly seriously, as for example when he wrote that Gerald Gardner’s father used to take all his clothes off and sit on them when it rained to keep them dry! This was due to his misreading of Gardner’s biography, where this anecdote was told about a man in Madeira, and had nothing to do with Gardner’s own family!
Yes, we had a good day at Borley, as Gareth has pointed out. It made a pleasant and relaxing end to the day to watch Carrie’s video on the Kabbalah, in remote parts of Spain, and everybody remarked how professionally made this was. I, for one, look forward to seeing it when it is transmitted on Satellite TV in the near future.