The Wrens of the Curragh

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.