Welcome to The East Anglia Exhibiton   Below are three true accounts of murder, mystery and the supernatural ...   Firstly we encounter the Borley Rectory: The most haunted house in England   Then is a tale of murder in Norfolk   ...and finally a hellhound in Suffolk?

 

The Borley Rectory, Essex - The Most haunted house in England?

`Not a mite o' use - that's only an owd ruin since the fire. better to stay in Long
Melford. That's where sensible people live.'

Did the fire that gutted the rectory in 1939 get rid of the ghosties, I wondered. They
had certainly had a high old time for most of 80 years since the house was built.

In 1863 the Reverend Henry Bull was captivated by Borley's rural situation and
proceeded to erect there the most extensive establishment, even by the usual
standards of vast Victorian rectories. Luckily, Henry Bull possessed both the wealth to
aspire to activities as a squire and an enormous family to support him. The red brick
house was rambling, cold and inconvenient and a few years later an effort was made
to enclose and simplify the design by further enlargements.

Eventually satisfied with the 35 rooms ranged about a courtyard, the rector accepted
the comfort and prestige of the house for a period that took him into old age,
relinquishing rectory only at his death to his son Harry, another rector in his father's
mould. Between them, Henry Bull and Harry Bull occupied the rectory for 65 years.

Was the rectory haunted all that time? If so, it says much for the stalwart character of
the two rectors, when subsequent tenants found life unendurable through the almost
continuous activities of poltergeists.

Little is known of the Bulls' reaction to their supernatural experiences. Certainly, they
seemed to complete their joint 65 years in the rectory in a completely equable mood.
Perhaps it was peopled so heavily at that time with children and servants that a
ghostly visitation would be scarcely noticed and an episode of unexplained
stone-throwing just part of the fun. In the later tenancies of Rev Smith and Rev
Foyster, by contrast. many of the rooms were empty and corridors deserted and the
occupants alert to hear and record the most trivial of happenings.

The equanimity of the younger Bull is evidenced by his habit of waiting at the rectory
gate for the regular passing of the ghostly coach. The sound of the rumbling wheels
and the unmistakable clatter of the hooves of four horses would approach along the
road, reach a crescendo at the gate, and gradually fade into the distance. Back in the
house, he would hear the back door opening and closing over and over again.

The phantom coach was not only heard but seen by an ex-groom of the rector who
described the carriage as blazing with lights as it careered through the grounds of the
rectory.

A more significant manifestation out of doors was that of a nun, confirmed by many
witnesses and already giving the name of Nun's Walk to part of the terrace. The
presence of the nun added to the belief that the rectory had been built on the site of a
religious house.

After Harry Bull died, the house was empty for a few months, during which time it
became accepted by local people that there were strange and unnatural goings-on
there, with stories spread by frightened servants. At last, another clergyman, Rev Eric
Smith, braved these daily encounters with the unknown, but was more than ready to
leave after six months. However, it was he who invited the famous psychic
investigator, Mr Harry Price, to go to Borley to observe the chaos caused by the
`ghosts'.

The day of the visit of Harry Price to the rectory began quietly enough - it did not end
that way. With his usual commitment to professional integrity, Price and an assistant
searched the house from attic to cellar, including a close examination of the set of
domestic bells, the locks on doors and windows, and every other conceivable place
which might provide a rational explanation for the disturbances. Satisfied, he then
joined Rev Smith in the garden, hoping they might catch a glimpse of the legendary
nun, known to promenade occasionally along the pathway already called Nun's Walk.

As it happened, their vigil was in vain. When it began to grow cold, the two men went
towards the house to enter by the French windows. At that very moment, a half brick
hurtled through the air, crashed through the glass and showered them with shards of
glass. It was a rude introduction to the violence that lurked within the house and
which Harry Price was due to experience before the evening was over. His first
reaction was to make another thorough search. He had been to the upper rooms
without finding anything untoward but on descending the stairs a heavy candlestick
was thrown from the landing, narrowly missing the searchers and smashing into
pieces against an iron stove below. There was nothing and no one to be seen but in
the wake of the candlestick a number of pebbles landed at the men's feet. There was
more to come. During supper the bells in the kitchen began ringing frantically though
there was no one else in the house to ring them. Then keys that were in the door
locks, in sight of everyone, were suddenly thrown out and dropped to the floor.

There is a theory widely held by observers of the paranormal that in nearly all cases of
persistent disturbance the basic cause can be traced to a young female. From a mass
of evidence of poltergeist activity, it seems that a young girl may be affected not only
physically by the onset of puberty but also psychically, by attracting and energising
forces beyond the normal. Certainly there was some support for the theory at Borley,
not only from the ghostly nun but also from a more substantial young woman who
worked as a housemaid.

The house in question was not the rectory but the home nearby of a brother of Harry
Bull named Felix. It seems that Felix had had his quiet existence interrupted by a
sudden demonstration of poltergeist activity similar to that at the rectory and it could
not help being noted that the disturbances coincided with the arrival of a new
housemaid. When Rev Smith with the famous investigator Harry Price, came to the
house to confront the girl she was busy making the beds. Apparently she made no
answer to their questions but a toothglass suddenly came hurtling across the room
from the vicinity of the girl to smash against the door over Eric Smith's shoulder.
Then a set of fire irons moved out from the fender into the room. The two men did
not delay to ask any more questions. Soon after, the girl left her post and set up as a
medium in London.
 

Occupants of old houses are often serenaded by a variety of noises which generally
have a very real and natural explanation. Mice in the wainscot are noisy, rats under
the floorboards even noisier, while a swarm of bees in the loft and a bird investigating
the chimney can all add to the usual charm of creaking boards and clattering shutters.
However, the events at Borley were a league away from such trivialities. Mr and Mrs
Foyster needed nerves of steel to endure the puzzling and violent efforts of the
poltergeist for a long period. Being of an enquiring mind, the rector set down in detail
the almost ceaseless activity. In fact, he gave up the diary after several months simply
because there was too much - often repetitive material to record. As it was, the diary
comprised a huge sheaf of papers over the 15 months.

There seemed to be four main classes of manifestations and many smaller ones, from
the most disturbing one of materialisation to the more persistent noises, writings (on
the wall or on pieces of paper), odours, including a prevalent smell of lavender,
changes in temperature and the often alarming reactions of dogs and cats.

Of the materialisation’s, a figure often seen was that of Henry Bull or his son Harry
Bull, both having similar characteristics. Henry perhaps, as the first occupant of the
rectory, had the right to be part of the other-world scene. His life had been expansive
enough as a would-be squire, with his 17 children, untold numbers of servants and
outdoor workers from the humblest stable lad to the over-weening butler in the big
house, that it can only be appropriate to visualise him as continuing to occupy a
familiar environment after his death.

The theory that a young girl could cause mayhem in poltergeist activity was raised
again when the Rev Foyster employed a maid named Katie. Was Katie the cause of
further mischief by the unknown? Probably she was just a loyal and trusted servant
who stayed when all about her things were very hectic indeed. Too little is known of
the subjective responses of the human occupants during the Foysters' stay, since the
rector was a scientific investigator and detailed only the psychic interruptions in his
diary. In effect, it is a catalogue of minor though sometimes disturbing events - apart
from a very few truly vicious incidents - and the reactions generally of the family
have very little expression. For instance, on one occasion the rector declared that at
least a dozen missiles had been thrown at him in the course of one evening. The bare
fact of the observation calls for a human corollary. We are curious to know - did the
missiles actually strike his body? Where? Were the missiles heavy? Where did they
arrive from? Did he pick them up and throw them back? Could he not have
photographed some of these flying objects?

Throughout the Foyster occupancy, the poltergeist activity continued unabated. The
noises themselves could be tolerated though disturbing - the whisperings, scratching,
the knocking at doors and crashing of crockery, the heavy bumps and dragging sounds
- but there were other times when the ingenuity of the invisible forces could only
cause amazement.

There was a situation when the adult Foysters were locked out of their room and the
child locked inside hers; there was a window smashed from the inside of a locked
room; a saucepan of newly peeled potatoes emptied when Marianne turned her back;
the endless game of scattering all kinds of possessions over the floor. Keys and locks
were a specially tiresome practice but so was the tendency of utensils and property to
disappear and later reappear possibly in some new and quite unlikely location.

Of the incidents of aggressive violence, most seemed to be directed towards
Marianne. Once, when carrying a lighted candle along an apparently deserted
corridor, she was struck and sustained a slight cut on the face, and had a black eye
when she arose next day. At a time when she was ill in bed she was forced to get up
because of the pandemonium in the next room where a complete shambles occurred,
with belongings of all kinds strewn across the floor with wild abandon. There was one
day after this when Marianne was three times thrown forcibly out of bed. With all this
going on she must have felt sometimes that enough was enough and that loyalty to her
husband and the cause of other-world investigation should have some limits.

When, in fact, the Foysters left after five years at the rectory, it was considered to be a
house no longer fit for a man of God and was put up for sale. Buyers were naturally
shy of the place and instead Harry Price rented it for a year, during which he
introduced a considerable number of interested people from all walks of life to the
vagaries of poltergeist possession. As the regime continued some of the visitors
became fascinated by the mystery of the wandering nun. Who was she and why did
she haunt the rectory? With a few clues and some guesswork it was concluded that
she was a French maid lured to England and murdered, with her body thrown down a
.well. It consequently seemed a proper exercise for the ghost-hunters to examine the
well known to exist in the original house.

When Harry Price and a company of friends confronted the task of opening the well,
they discovered the skull of a young woman. Could she have been the nun whose
frequent materialisation’s were the basic cause of so much agitation in the spirit
world? Violent activity seemed to accompany the skull when it was moved,
particularly when it was taken to an expert to be photographed. A series of accidents
took place in quick succession with the skull broken and valuable art works damaged.

By now the rectory was sold and came into the possession of Capt. W.H. Gregson,
although the military authorities, seeking billets, had earlier rejected it as unsuitable
because of disturbances at night. Capt. Gregson himself was not to experience the
occult regimen for very long. After the strange loss of his favourite dogs, young
spaniels that fled from the ghostly environment at first sight and were never found,
the captain concluded the long saga of the rectory when, dealing with papers and
books in the hall, a paraffin lamp was knocked over. The account of the incident says
that it `fell over'. But lamps do not normally fall over nor spill paraffin over papers
spread over the floor. Whatever the cause, a rapidly consuming fire was the result.

Small fires had been started from time to time in the house but up to now had been
dealt with before causing much damage. Was this another little fire that happened to
get out of hand or was it a deliberate attempt at a final conflagration by the
poltergeists now that the skeleton of the nun had been found? Whichever way it
happened, the interior of the rectory was quite destroyed. Those who watched the fire
spoke of figures in the changing light and of a young woman looking out of a
window-space in the ruins.

At Long Melford I happened across the Friendly Native again who had sent me on my
way.

`I bet you bin to Borley,' he guessed. `I know all about that place. You can't tell me
nothen' about Borley that I don t know about,' he declared, getting ravelled up in
double negatives.

 `Well, where is the nun now?' I asked him. Is she still there among the ruins?'

I thought the question had stumped him but he saw the chance of a bit of Suffolk fun
and answered: `No, I keep her in my owd shed. Jest in case some other fule come
along askin' silly questions.'
 
 

Tragedy In Norfolk

Wallace Benton was a smallholder. So were his neighbours, Mr Judd and the Napiers
further along the road at Tilney St Lawrence, a village between Kings Lynn and
Wisbech in north Norfolk. Benton chose to go in for fruit culture, with geese running
in the long grass in the orchards. The reason why Benton had been tempted into apple
growing instead of using his few acres for peas or lucerne was that he had had some
experience as a young man in the work of a large fruit farm.

 When he took over his holding 20 years before, he had set out; the maiden apples in
the two-acre field behind the house and watched them grow and fruit and become
mature trees. There was much hope in him to begin with and in his young wife, who
was as used to the work and hardship of a smallholding as he expected her to be. They
could both picture the future years filled with plenty and a happy, healthy life to go
with it.

It had not worked so well as expected. Either the varieties he had chosen were not
right for the soil or the situation was too frost-prone or the pollinators had failed to
live up to their name, but whatever the cause there was seldom the apple harvest he
had dreamed about. There was just enough, from the apple crop, the new laid eggs
and the Christmas capons to carry them through the year but there was nothing to
spare. Gradually the dream faded and a feeling of bitterness and failure took over his
life.

Old Benton was 70 now and with nothing very much to show for his long life. The
prospect of useless old age loomed, when he and his wife would be unable to run the
place and there were no children to give a helping hand. He would walk sometimes to
the edge of his holding to see how his neighbours were doing. They had more sense,
he acknowledged, going in for market garden crops and specialising in early salads.
Well, it was too late now to change.

Perhaps old Benton had always been a surly customer. Many of his neighbours
thought so and avoided all but the necessary courtesies - waving an arm in the field or
saying good-day to Mrs Benton when she was out in the village. Certainly his
surliness increased as he got older and he was known as a difficult man to deal with.
Deaf and part-sighted, he would have nothing to do with remedies. In fact, Wallace
Benton was a rather stupid and garrulous old man, relying more and more on his wife
in their daily life. But - a murderer?

Conditions became even worse during the Depression and the holding showed signs
of neglect as Benton began to fail physically. Unable to pay the interest in his
mortgage, in January 1929 he was presented with an ejection order, requiring him to
vacate house, buildings and land within one month. Benton tore up the notice in a
rage and showed no intention of moving. Perhaps because they feared an outcry at
turning old people out in bitter February weather, authorities withheld their demand
for another month.
 
In March Benton made no move, except to accept the offer by a generous fellow
smallholder to store his furniture. Mr and Mrs Judd also welcomed Benton's wife into
their home knowing that, with Benton's obstinacy, there would be trouble. A few
more days in the empty farmhouse while he dispatched the last of the animals and
Benton prepared himself for the show-down. At the county court, the officials saw no
alternative but to allow bailiffs to eject him, by force if necessary. It was on Thursday,
2lst March that the ejection notice was made for the next day.

Perhaps Benton would have gone quietly in the end but for an ill-timed incident on
Thursday evening. Because of the neglected state of the smallholding, a local farmer
had been desputed to take over and restore the place to a proper standard. The farmer,
Thomas Williamson, was known to Benton, who resented the other's success and his
right to come as if lording it over the holding. Williamson saw no great importance in
choosing to visit Benton's holding on the eve of the eviction day in order to look at the
state of buildings and crops. At the end of his tour he went to the farmhouse and
opened the door. There was a mattress on the floor, but nothing else. Benton stood
beside the mattress and as Williamson entered, raised his old gun, a 16-bore,
single-barrelled weapon, and fired.

When the gun went off, neighbouring smallholders heard the shot and soon after saw
Benton walking quickly away from the house and towards the village. At the police
house, he knocked on the door and roused the constable. `There's been an accident,'
he said. `There's a man been shot on my place.'

In a few minutes the constable had reached the Benton holding and was shocked to
discover Thomas Williamson lying dead with a huge and fearsome wound in his head
from a shot-gun fired only a few feet away. By the side of the body lay Benton's gun,
as if he had a half-formed idea of pretending that Williamson had killed himself. It
was a feeble ploy and later, to the senior officer who quickly arrived at the scene, he
openly confessed his long-standing dislike of Williamson.

`It was his own fault,' he said. `He got what he deserved.'

At the inquest, Benton proved to be completely irrational in his statements, that varied
sometimes minute by minute. From describing how Williamson could have shot
himself in a struggle for the gun, he veered off on to a different track. He complained:
`His pony kept getting out and I went there with my gun. He took hold of my left arm
and the gun went off and killed him.' Other versions followed, attended by
extravagant assertions and often wild gestures.

With patience and humanity, the judge allowed the old man to continue and when the
jury came back with an inevitable verdict of guilty they saw this Lear-like character
with as much sympathy as blame and added a strong recommendation for mer