by Colin Wilson
What Lois Bourne has said about suspending the rational intellect seems to apply to most forms of ‘extra-sensory perception’ and paranormal abilities. Most people have had the experience of reaching out to pick up the telephone and knowing who is on the other end. Everyone has had the experience of thinking about someone they haven’t heard from in years, and receiving a letter from them the same day. ‘Extra-sensory perception’ (ESP) seems to operate when we are relaxed, and thinking about something else.
All this, then, seems to offer a basis for an explanation of the poltergeist. It is true that human powers of psychokinesis seem rather feeble—it would be far more convincing if we could point to some medium or psychic who could cause objects to fly around the room at will. But then, perhaps the explanation is that the ‘door-keeper’ inhibits the natural powers of the right brain. Even good ‘mediums’ cannot put themselves into a ‘sensitive’ state at will; some of them need to go into a trance; others need to be in the right frame of mind. Trance mediums who try to ‘work normally’ (i.e. when wide-awake) often find it exhausting and frustrating, because the ‘censor’ keeps getting in the way. So if the poltergeist is some peculiar power or force residing in the right brain, perhaps this explains why it cannot be called upon at will, even by gifted psychics such as Uri Geller.
Dowsing also provides us with a possible explanation of the origin of that force. In some dowsers, the presence of underground water produces such a powerful effect that they go into violent convulsions. One of the most famous of French dowsers, Barthelemy Bléton, discovered his powers accidentally at the age of 7; he was taking his father’s meal out to the fields when he sat down on a certain spot, and felt sick and faint. Digging at this spot revealed a powerful underground stream. Again, an old lady who is a member of the British Society of Dowsers described at a conference a few years ago how she could pick up a large branch from the ground, and it would swing around in her hand like a pointer until it indicated water.
If the dowsing rod is responding to some magnetic force, either in water or standing stones, it seems possible that this same force, channelled through the right brain, could provide the energy for poltergeist effects.
It looks, then, as if the modern psychical investigator is in a far better position than his predecessor of a century ago when it comes to constructing theories about the paranormal. The recognition of the ‘two people’ inside our heads may be the most important step ever taken in this direction.
Having said this, it is necessary to admit that most of the mystery remains unexplained. Lodge’s ‘psychometric hypothesis’ and Lethbridge’s theory of ‘ghouls’ may provide an explanation for the majority of ghosts—but what about all those cases in which the witnesses insist that the ghost behaved as if it saw them? Again, it would certainly be convenient if we could explain the poltergeist in terms of ‘unconscious psychokinesis’. But why has no psychic been able to duplicate poltergeist effects? It is not really an answer to say that they have not learned to switch the power on and off. Many psychics can switch other powers on and off—telepathy, psychokinesis, second sight. So why not poltergeist effects?
These awkward questions remind us that there are others we have failed to answer. In the case of Lombroso’s bottle-smashing poltergeist in the Via Bava, why did it stop smashing bottles when the wife went away for the first time? If Lombroso is correct, and the poltergeist was a ‘spirit’ that drew its energy from people, then we have our explanation. The spirit needed energy from both the wife and the young waiter to smash bottles and crockery. When the wife went away for the first time, it lost half its energy supply and decided to take a rest. But the second time she went away, she cursed it, and it made a special effort to be disagreeable. In order to do this, it had to make use of the ‘vestigial energy’ she had left on dishes and other objects she had touched. When the young waiter was eventually dismissed, the wife alone could not provide sufficient energy for its needs and it went elsewhere . . .
Modern psychical research has a way of ignoring such questions. It prefers straightforward distinctions. If there is a ‘medium’ present (or, as we now say, a ‘focus’), then it is a poltergeist; if not, then it is a ghost.
But even this pleasantly simple distinction proves to be less useful than it looks. The ‘spirits’ themselves seem to dislike being type-cast, and often decline to stick to their proper role. A case that starts as an ordinary haunting may develop into a poltergeist haunting, and vice versa. And then, just to confuse the issue, the spirits occasionally identify themselves as devils and demons, and manifest themselves in the highly disturbing form known as ‘possession’. This subject is so complex that it deserves a chapter to itself.
1. Lethbridge’s theories will be further discussed in Chapter 14.
1. Encyclopedia of the Unexplained, p. 197.
1. In Mysteries, p. 116.
8
Ghost Hunters
BY THE TIME Lombroso died, in 1909, psychical research was marking time. Spiritualism continued to flourish; but as scientific investigation, it had come to a halt. The reason can be seen by anyone who reads Owen’s Footfalls on the Boundary of Another World and then turns to Lombroso’s After Death—What? The books were published fifty years apart; yet they might both have been written at exactly the same time. Lombroso offers some ‘scientific evidence’, by way of a few experiments in telepathy; otherwise, he presents just the same kind of evidence that Robert Dale Owen had presented. There was plenty of evidence for ghosts, for poltergeists, for telepathy, for precognition, for ‘out of the body experiences’, and a dozen other varieties of ‘paranormal’ experience. But the evidence seemed to lead nowhere. One remarkable case had even proved life after death, to the satisfaction of most open-minded enquirers. This was the celebrated ‘cross-correspondences’. By 1904, three of the chief founders of the SPR—Henry Sidgwick, Frederick Myers and Edmund Gurney— were dead, and it seemed logical to hope that if they were still alive in another world, they would try to communicate through mediums. In the previous year, a psychic named Mrs Holland, the sister of Rudyard Kipling, began receiving written messages— through automatic writing—that seemed far more intelligent and thoughtful than the majority of such scripts. And in 1904, another psychic, Mrs Verrall—the wife of a Cambridge don—also received some messages, one of which included the words ‘Record the bits, and when fitted they will make the whole’.
And it slowly became clear that the ‘senders’ claimed to be the spirits of Sidgwick, Myers and Gurney, and that what they were attempting was a ‘proof’ of such complexity that there could be no possibility of fraud. In effect, they seemed to be using a large number of mediums—others included Mrs Flemming, Mrs Forbes, and the famous American medium Mrs Piper—to produce a complex jigsaw puzzle or conundrum, giving each woman only part of the puzzle, so that there could be no possible doubt that there was no collusion between them. Unfortunately, the conundrums were so complex that it would take a short book even to give a simple outline. A typical one is as follows:
In 1906, Mrs Flemming produced a script containing the words Dawn, Evening and Morning, a reference to bay leaves, and the name Laurence. Six weeks later, Mrs Verrall wrote out a message mentioning ‘laurel’ and a library. Mrs Piper came out of a trance speaking of laurel, ‘nigger’, and a phrase that sounded like ‘more head’. Mrs Flemming produced more scripts referring to Night and Day, Evening and Morning, and also a reference to Alexander’s tomb with laurel leaves. And eventually, all these clues pointed to the tomb of the Medicis in the Church of San Lorenzo in Florence. It had been designed by Michelangelo, and contained his sculpture of Night and Day, Evening and Morning. Lorenzo de Medici’s emblem was the laurel, and near the tombs is the Laurentian Library. Alexander (or Alessandro) de Medici was half negro; after his murder, his body was hidden in the tomb of Giuliano. ‘More head’ was actually ‘Moor head’—the head of a negro. This conundrum was solved only four years after the first ‘clue’, and there could be
no question of telepathy between the mediums, since they did not understand what it was all about. Altogether, the case of the cross-correspondences is one of the most impressive—perhaps the most impressive—in the history of psychical research. It is true that the various ‘clues’ are so complicated that few people have ever taken the trouble to study the case. Yet the sheer complexity of the code at least indicates that it originated on a far higher level of intelligence than most spirit messages. In addition to which, it effectively disposes of the objection that spirits never have anything interesting to say.
If the ‘spirits’ of Myers, Gurney and Sidgwick failed to convince the world of the reality of the afterlife, a far more skilful and flamboyant publicist was now preparing to launch himself into the project.
Harry Price, ghost-hunter extraordinary, claimed that he was born in Shrewsbury, son of a wealthy paper manufacturer. A brilliant critical biography by Trevor Hall, The Search for Harry Price, reveals that he was, in fact, the son of an unsuccessful grocer, and that he was born in London in 1881. From then until he was about 40, he seems to have supported himself by a variety of jobs, including commercial travelling, manufacturing patent medicines, journalism and giving gramophone concerts. What is certain is that his lifelong interest in stage magic began at the age of 8, when he saw an itinerant magician and patent medicine salesman, the Great Sequah, giving a public performance. Price began collecting books on magic, and became an expert magician. It may have been the interest in magic that led him to join the Society for Psychical Research in 1920—the SPR was then, as now, much concerned with trying to detect fraud in mediums. E.J. Dingwall, who was then Research Officer for the Society, asked Price if he would care to come with him to Munich, to attend some seances of a remarkable German medium, Willi Schneider—one of two brothers. The man who arranged the seances was the German investigator, Baron von Schrenk-Notzing, a friend of Lombroso’s, and the author of a sensationally successful book called Materialisation Phenomena, which had aroused wide-spread scepticism in Germany when it appeared in 1914. Schrenk-Notzing himself was something of a flamboyant publicist, and Trevor Hall suggests that Harry Price took his example to heart, and decided that this was the way to achieve the fame he craved. (He admitted frankly that he had always wanted to get his name in Who’s Who.)
The Schneider brothers, Willi and Rudi, the most psychic members of a psychic family, were born at Braunau-am-Inn and, according to one friend of the family, the phenomena began after they had spent an evening playing with a ouija board. Willi had then—in 1916—reached the age of puberty and the family was disturbed by loud knocking noises. Then objects began moving around, and Willi saw a ghost in the sitting room. Neighbours became so alarmed about the racket that the family were on the point of vacating the flat. By means of the ouija board, they tried questioning the ‘spirit’, which identified itself as a girl named Olga Lindtner, who claimed to be a reincarnation of the notorious Lola Montez. In due course, Willi went into a trance, and Olga spoke through him. In spite of doubts later raised by Harry Price—after he had quarrelled with the brothers—there can be no doubt that the phenomena were genuine. The novelist Thomas Mann attended one seance, and has recorded how, as he pressed Willi’s knees tightly between his own, and two other people held his hands, a handkerchief floated into the air, a bell began to ring and then floated into the air, a music box played, and the keys of a typewriter were struck. Mann was convinced that deception was impossible.
Harry Price and E.J. Dingwall witnessed similar occurrences, and also saw a white hand which materialised in front of them; they had no doubt whatever of the genuineness of the phenomena, and said as much at a lecture to the SPR. But by way of keeping his options open, Price helped to edit and publish a book called Revelations of a Spirit Medium, in which a fake medium described the tricks of the trade.
In 1923, Price got into conversation with a young nurse on a train; her name was Stella Cranshawe. He was fascinated to hear that mild poltergeist phenomena occurred around her—a feeling like a breeze, movement of small objects, rapping noises, and flashes of light. By this time, Price knew enough about psychical research to realise that the girl was probably, without knowing it, a medium. He persuaded her to allow herself to be investigated. And at the first seance, a heavy table levitated and moved across the room on two legs, raps sounded, lights flashed, and the temperature in the room dropped considerably. (At later sittings it became very low indeed.) At another seance, the table hit Harry Price under the chin, then three of its legs snapped off, the top broke into two pieces, then the whole table crumbled into matchwood. Stella herself found all these phenomena rather boring and, after she married in 1928, refused to take any part in further experiments. It is possible, in any case, that her powers would have vanished with marriage; many investigators have noted that there is a connection between sexual frustration and ‘poltergeist effects’, and that such effects cease when the ‘focus’ leads a normal sex life. (She may also have felt that seances were bad for her health—they often leave the medium exhausted.)
In 1926, Price came upon one of the most remarkable poltergeist cases of all time. In February 1925, a 13-year-old Rumanian peasant girl called Eleonora Zugun went to visit her grandmother at the village of Buhai, and on the way found some money by the roadside, which she spent on sweets. Her grandmother, who was 105 years old, and had a reputation as a witch, told Eleonora that the money had been left by the devil, and that she would now be possessed by the devil. The next day, stones rained down on the house, smashing windows, and small objects near Eleonora rose up in the air. Eleonora was quickly sent home to Talpa, and the phenomena continued there. A jug full of water rose slowly in the air and floated several feet. A trunk rocked up and down, A porridge bowl hit a visitor on the head and made a nasty wound. Eleonora was sent to a nearby monastery, then shut in a lunatic asylum. A psychical researcher managed to get her removed and taken back to the monastery. There he witnessed all kinds of things flying through the air. The ‘spirit’ also began slapping the girl. Then a countess with an interest in psychical research—Zoë Wassilko-Serecki—heard about Eleonora, went to see her, and brought her back with her to Vienna. Eleonora was delighted with her new life in the countess’s flat, and began training as a hairdresser. And the poltergeist phenomena continued—indicating, perhaps, that a poltergeist does not need a psychologically ‘disturbed’ teenager for its manifestations. The countess observed what most other researchers into poltergeist activity have noted: that the poltergeist seems to dislike anyone actually seeing it move objects; the countess noted that various small items would fall from the air without being seen to move from their original place. The poltergeist—or dracu (demon), as Eleonora called it—communicated by automatic writing, and even spoke a few sentences in a ‘breathy and toneless voice’. But what it had to say indicated that its level of intelligence was extremely low.
The dracu also punched and slapped Eleonora, threw her out of bed, pulled her hair, filled her shoes with water (the poltergeist seems to be able to create water, as we shall see), and stole her favourite possessions. In March 1926, it began scratching and biting her, as well as sticking needles into her. The bite marks were often damp with saliva.
Price came to Vienna at the end of April 1926, and was soon convinced that this was a genuine poltergeist. He took her back to London, where she was subjected to laboratory tests. The movement of objects was less violent than in Vienna, but the bites and scratches continued to appear. One day, when she was tying up a parcel in front of several witnesses, she gave a gasp, and teeth marks appeared on her wrist, then scratches appeared on her forearm, cheeks and forehead.
Back in Vienna, the movement of objects-ceased, but the scratches and bites continued, now often accompanied by quantities of an unpleasant spittle. Subjected to chemical analysis, this was found to be swarming with micro-organisms (whereas Eleonora’s own saliva was relatively free from them). When she went to Berlin to be studied by Schrenk-
Notzing, a researcher named Hans Rosenbusch accused her of cheating—with the cooperation of the countess; but this seems to be typical of the extreme scepticism of certain investigators. Finally, in 1927, the ‘spirit’ got tired of tormenting her, and went away. She moved to Czernowitz, in Rumania, and ran a successful hairdressing business.
The countess was convinced that Eleonora herself—or rather, her unconscious mind—was responsible for the attacks: she believed that Eleonora had powerfully developed sexual urges, and that these were fixated on her father (it sounds as if she had been impressed by Freud); so the ‘attacks’ were a form of self-punishment. Harry Price was inclined to agree, likening the bites to the ‘stigmata’ that appear on the hands of saints and religious fanatics. Yet as we read the account of Eleanor’s sufferings at the hands of the dracu (there is an excellent account in Alan Gauld’s Poltergeists), these explanations seem more and more preposterous. A girl does not go on scratching and biting herself for two years because she feels guilty about her sexual desires, particularly if she finds herself transformed, like Cinderella, into the protégée of a wealthy countess. Then what exactly happened?
Clearly, the grandmother was in some way responsible for ‘triggering’ the attacks. Eleonora had reached the age—13—at which such things happen; she was not particularly happy in her present surroundings in Talpa, so there was an underlying sense of frustration. Peasants are superstitious, and when her grandmother told her that from now on she would belong to the devil and never get rid of him, the effect must have been traumatic. Eleanora’s energies began to ‘leak’. And some delinquent entity saw its chance, and made use of them. It may or may not be relevant that her grandmother had a reputation as a witch. If magic—and presumably witchcraft—makes use of ‘spirits’, as Guy Playfair suggests, then her grandmother’s house may have been the worst possible place for a frustrated adolescent like Eleonora. (This matter of witchcraft is a subject to which we shall return in Chapter 10.)