Enigma of Borley Rectory

by Harry Ludlum

  4. A smell as of fruit, an odour that moved slowly from the upstairs bedroom next to the large end room of the 1875 extension, to a point near the two steps in the corridor linking those rooms.

  Temperature changes were again noticed, this time between an encased and an uncased thermometer.

  Visits on June 22, 1943 and on July 16 and 17 were totally unproductive. The next group to visit the site, where two other groups were already present, arrived on the night of September 25, 1943. Messrs Low, Mills, Snushall and Wilden-Hart teamed up with those already there. About 1.30 am, half a dozen footsteps were heard by Wilden-Hart and by Mr Leeman, the noise coming from the courtyard. Investigation revealed no obvious cause for the sounds.

  On December 3, 1943, a group consisting of V. J. Cattrel, J. L. Howarth, V. J. Smith and G. L. Squires, heard four whistles, like somebody trying to attract attention, each a little more forceful than the last. Various possibilities were put forward in the group's subsequent report on this visit but without any conclusions being drawn.

  During a visit on December 6, only the moving of a sheet of paper from a nail seemed in any way odd. A party who went down to Borley on March 20, 1944 noticed the advanced state of demolition then in evidence, but little else worthy of comment.

  On April 5, 1944, however, Harry Price made one of his few wartime visits to Borley, accompanied by American magazine photographer Mr David Schermann, and by Miss Cynthia Ledsham. The visit led, after Price's death, to quite a row and the cause of it was an occurrence that might arguably be said to be the one Borley phenomenon caught on film.

  Standing viewing the sad remains of the Rectory, Price felt sure that he had seen a brick rise by itself from a pile of rubble in the remains of the kitchen passage. Mr David Schermann took a photograph of the ruin, with a little camera having a very fast shutter speed, and when the negative was printed, there in mid-air against the darkness of the passage was a brick. After the war, Miss Cynthia Ledsham protested about Price's account of this incident, stating that he had in effect claimed it to be paranormal when the incident was of natural origin.

  In Price's defence, as noted many years later by Robert J. Hastings, it was made plain that Price had made no such assertion about the brick, and had only commented upon the occurrence itself. A popular assertion by some of Price's critics, including Dingwall, Goldney and hall, was that the brick had been tossed up in the air by workmen busy pulling down the Rectory. In fact there was one workman there upon the day in question, and the writer now asks his readers to study David Schermann's photograph, which is reproduced here from The End of Borley Rectory. The lone workman was situated on the far very left-hand side of the picture - his hand is just visible. The brick caught in mid-flight is over on the other side of the picture in the dark area. The workman could have had no justifiable reason for throwing a discarded brick so far, when he could have just dumped a yard or so away any debris that he wished to throw to one side. The picture shown in Price's The End of Borley Rectory shows further detail and even reveals the figure of the lone workman on the far left of the image.

  The controversial 'flying brick' illustration of April 1944. You can just see the hand of the workman on the far left and the levitated brick right of centre.

  A close-up of the 'flying brick' incident in 1944

  Price's original image which showed the workman also indicates that he was facing the wrong way in relation to where the brick is visible. Also, look carefully at the area around the brick itself. There are bricks lying on the ground to the right and below the 'floating' specimen. There are also loose bricks in the partly demolished wall above and to the left of the 'flying' brick. If one of these fell, it would drop straight down and not fly out at a tangent. Lastly, on the remains of the wooden floor above the spot, there is some debris. Close examination of this will reveal what is almost certainly plaster rubbish, but not bricks. At the far right-hand end of that bit of derelict floor there is a piece of brick, but it is nowhere near the falling point for the brick, which concerns us here.

  Having studied this photograph and examined the Hastings report, the writer is of the view that Harry Price cannot be blamed for any so-called misrepresentation of the incident. In terms of the Rectory and its curiosities, the photograph certainly deserves the benefit of the doubt and the author suggests that Schermann may well have been just lucky to catch one of the Rectory's tricks on film.

  From flying bricks, however, we must now move on. On April 30, 1944, more investigators, complete with various bits of test apparatus, witnessed another occurrence of the light-in-the-window phenomenon. The writer would remind readers of the comments earlier, concerning lights from trains penetrating the Rectory site. Torches were also dismissed as a cause on this particular visit. The party had two, neither being where the light appeared.

  Visits on June 5, 1944 and on June 9 produced nothing worthy of note.

  The last visit by members of the Cambridge Commission was on the night of July 22, 1944 by two parties. One group consisted of P. Brennan, P. Brown, C. J. Lethbridge, R. J. Watkinson and D. Williams. The other group was made up of E. R. Broome, P. J. Farr, L. B. Hunt and P. H. Lord and the two groups, rather oddly, were unaware of each other's presence. The second group, rather foolishly, indulged in some fake phenomena.

  This, then, was the end of the Cambridge Commission investigation which, apart from the last little bit of nonsense on July 22, had been an extensive and interesting project, conducted under considerable difficulties due to the various participants' over-riding academic commitments.

  I would again remind readers that in order to fit the Cambridge Commission project into this chapter, it has been necessary to condense it slightly. For the full picture, students should consult Price's second book, The End of Borley Rectory, and also, by application to the Harry Price Library, the original Cambridge reports themselves.

  One of the oddest reports sent to Harry Price during the war was that from a lady who claimed to have seen the carriage in full daylight, though as there was no clue given as to whether this occurred while the Rectory was still intact or after its destruction, Harry Price merely recorded it for what it was worth.

  According to the lady's story, she had been out for a walk, and was walking towards the Rectory during daylight. She was munching at some chocolate as she walked, when she saw a coach and horses turn into the Rectory drive. She thought that either there was film-making going on, or that there was some sort of fete or party, for which the carriage had been hired, but what happened next allegedly stopped her in her tracks.

  The coach stopped, and two men in tall hats got down from the driver's box and went inside the Rectory. After an interval, they reappeared, remounted the coach and drove out through the drive gates. Then without warning, the whole thing just shot straight up in the air and disintegrated ... wheels, shafts, horses all scattering in every direction! There was no corroboration for the story, but it is suggested that the reader carefully studies the chapter on the mystery of Katie Boreham, later in this book.

  And with that, we must close the chapter on the disturbances recorded during and just after the war. The period, during which the stable cottage was occupied by the writer James Turner, from 1947 to 1950, is covered by a chapter set aside for his time at Borley.

  What happened after 1950, on and near the site, has been reported by Peter Underwood and the late Dr Paul Tabori in their book, The Ghosts of Borley. The next chapters turn the clock back to look at the various characters who lived in the Rectory from 1863 to 1939.

  CHAPTER 9

  The Reverend Henry Dawson Bull

  It was Henry Dawson Bull who was the first occupant of this, Britain's most infamous Rectory. The Bull family had a long history of residency in the district and it is even suggested that there was a link between the Bull family and the detested queen of Henry VIII, Anne Boleyn, or Bullen, the mother of Queen Elizabeth I. At one time she kept a house at Bulmer, not far from Borley, and with her brother
and several associates and favourites was beheaded on Henry's orders. It has been suggested that in order to escape further persecution surviving members of the Boleyn and Bullen family altered the name to Bull.

  Many accounts of the Borley story imply that Henry Bull was also in some way related to the Waldegrave family, in whose hands the gift of the living had been from the time of Henry VIII, finally passing to the Bull family themselves on the death of Henry Bull in 1892. Both these ideas will be investigated shortly, but for now let me turn attention to the man and the family for whom Borley Rectory was built.

  Henry Dawson Ellis Bull was born at Pentlow in 1833, the son of Edward Bull, Rector of Pentlow. The Bull family home, known now as Pentlow Tower, was, and still is, one of the most extraordinary-looking buildings in the district. Like Borley Rectory, it was built of red brick and still possesses two curious features. It has enormous stained glass windows, making it look like something from Elizabethan times, and in the rambling great garden there still stands the folly from which the place gets its present name.

  Edward Bull's Rectory at Pentlow, birthplace of Henry D. E. Bull in 1833

  In later years it passed to Harry Bull's brother Felix, and in his time Harry recalled one of the maids there having the ability to make objects move by themselves. On one particular afternoon, Harry Bull had gone to Pentlow Rectory with a friend, and the maid, on being asked to show them her apparent powers, said nothing and went on with her chores, but as she did so, the fire irons flew out across the drawing room floor with a clatter. This, then, was the peculiar household in which the young Henry Dawson Ellis Bull was to grow up.

  From his Pentlow birthplace, Henry went on to take up the career that was ultimately to bring him to Borley and the building of its haunted Rectory. Henry graduated from Wadham College, Oxford, subsequently becoming a curate at Holy Trinity Church in Ely in 1858, a post that he held until 1860. Enquiries made of the archives of Holy Trinity in Ely did not reveal very much about him as a curate at Ely, but one or two basic items came to light through the help of Canon Niel Munt.

  As curate, Henry Bull conducted his first baptism at Holy Trinity on May 1, 1858, and his last such serving in May of the following year. At these functions he signed himself Henry D. E. Bull, and stuck to this form for the rest of his life. The first burial service at which he officiated was on June 17, 1858 and his last was on November 6, 1959. On November 7, Henry Bull took the only wedding service at which he officiated while at Ely, a point which moved Canon Munt to comment that Henry's vicar must have liked doing weddings as apart from that one occasion young Henry didn't get a chance to deal with any other.

  By the time he came to Borley in 1862, following the passing of John Philip Herringham, he had become something that was very much an English speciality, a wealthy squire-parson, not least because he was able to avail himself of the considerable wealth that the Bull family enjoyed. This was readily apparent when he ordered the building of his new Rectory in 1862/63, but let us take a look at the character of the first Bull of Borley Rectory.

  Devoid of a moustache, but sporting mutton-chop side-whiskers, he was an immensely strong, tall and broad-shouldered man and among his many pleasures during his off-duty hours was that of hunting, in which he took part with great zeal. He was also a proficient boxer and no mean shot with a fowling piece. One of the many memories of him often related is that he could sometimes be found sprawled on the floor of the library at Borley Rectory, shooting at rabbits on the lawn through the open French windows.

  It is believed to have been at Henry's instigation that the big octagonal summerhouse was built at the top of the lawn. It was also Henry who had the side window of the dining room bricked up, supposedly because of the habitual staring of the nun when the family were at their meals.

  There is contained in Sidney Glanville's Locked Book a suggestion that among those who knew him intimately, and among members of his family, he was known by the nickname 'Carlos'. However, when some of the surviving Bull sisters were interviewed many years later, they were said to have claimed that he had no such nickname.

  Oddly enough, when one comes to examine the results of the various séance experiments carried out at Borley Rectory during 1937, there does arise the suggestion that Henry Dawson Bull was referred to as Carlos!

  The exact number of children born to Henry Bull has varied from one account to another, and aspects of this bear on some of the strange stories attached to the history of the Rectory. It is often stated that Henry Dawson Bull fathered 14 children, of which 12 survived, but the record of baptisms for Borley Parish Church, checked by the Rev. Christopher Cook, show only 13, as follows:

  Dates of Baptisms, not Births

  Henry Foyster Bull, March 25, 1863.

  Caroline Sarah Elizabeth Bull (Dodie), April 17, 1864.

  Winifred Margaret Bull, March 17, 1865.

  Alfred Richard Graham Bull, February 23, 1866.

  Basil Walter Bull, January 11, 1867.

  Ethel Mary Bull, January 20, 1868.

  Adelaide Mabel Bull, Christmas Day, 1868.

  Edward Gerald Bull, December 18, 1870.

  Constance StClere Bull, January 14, 1872.

  Hubert Ellis Bull, January 12, 1873.

  Emily Poundrow Bull, February 13, 1876.

  Cyril Garwood Bull, January 21, 1877.

  Alice Kathleen Bull, January 26, 1879.

  There are some points about these records that deserve attention. The first concerned Henry Foyster Bull, or 'Harry' as he was always called. Though usually recorded as having been born at Borley Place, the 1871 and 1881 Borley census returns state his birthplace at Guestingthorpe!

  Caroline Sarah Bull eventually married the Rev. William Hayden, and died in 1937. Her mother was also Caroline Sarah Bull.

  Cyril Garwood Bull is the one who died after only a few weeks, and is buried in Borley churchyard.

  Oddly enough, there is no mention in this list of Freda, unless this was an additional Christian name either not used by one of the above listed daughters, or adopted unofficially by one of the girls. Similarly, there is no mention here of Harry Bull's brother Felix, who apparently became Rector of Pentlow, unless he was neither born nor baptised at Borley.

  For years, there were stories in the district that Henry Dawson Bull fathered three illegitimate children, and that he died from a sexually transmitted disease. For the moment it will suffice to record that Henry Dawson Bull died on May 2, 1892, from Locomotor Ataxia, which is listed in Balliers Nursing Dictionary as 'a manifestation of tertiary syphilis'. He was 59 years of age. The background to this has proved to be almost certainly connected with the history of Borley Rectory, but details of what this means must wait until later.

  CHAPTER 10

  The Reverend Henry Foyster Bull

  We turn now to probably the best known of all the former residents of the Rectory, excluding Harry Price and Marianne Foyster, namely the Rev. Harry Bull, though he was christened 'Henry Foyster Bull'. Harry was born at Guestingthorpe in 1863, the year after his father's appointment to the Rectorship of Borley.

  He went through higher education at Pembroke College, Cambridge, and at Exeter College, Oxford, and it was while he was at Oxford that he made the acquaintance of P. Shaw Jeffrey, who was subsequently to become headmaster of Colchester Grammar School. As a result of their friendship, P. Shaw Jeffrey spent one, possibly two, summer vacations at Borley Rectory with Harry and his family, and with some rather interesting results, as we will see later.

  From 1886 to 1889, Harry Bull was a curate at Westoe in County Durham, his first pastoral appointment, and for a further three years from 1889 to 1892 he was curate to his father at Borley. From the archives of the South Tyneside Metropolitan Borough Council and through the efforts of the Department of Palaeography and Diplomacy at Durham University, some interesting details about Harry's time as a curate show his time there to have been not entirely a happy one. It is this that gives rise to the writer's feeling that
there was a lack of fulfilment on the part of Harry Bull, a clue that he was perhaps a somewhat troubled figure.

  Harry was curate at Westoe St Thomas, a church no longer, and during that time he did not get on very well with some associates, in particular with the incumbent of St Thomas's, the Rev. Morris. Harry Bull wasn't the only one to fall out with Morris, because about that time there was a row between Morris and a Dr. Leget, with complaints about 'High Church' practices involved between them, and from which maybe Harry Bull caught some of the draught!

  Aside from this, an examination of the records of Harry Bull's ordination assessments makes interesting reading, and shows that he was far from being considered a potential rising star in the church. The details, kindly provided by Durham University, originate from the Auckland Castle Episcopal and Ordination Registers, 1881-89, and relate to examination results for Harry Bull and others in line for ordination. Amongst the comments on Harry Bull's work one finds the following:

  'Weak!'

  'Only Sufficient!'

  'On Isaiah ... Fair Matter, but form weak!'

  And from the Durham Diocesan Records, 1887 to 1894:

  'Style Weak, but Fair Matter!'

  Harry Bull evidently knew he had to bring his work up to standard, and did so, attaining a level sufficient to result in his ordination at Advent, 1887.

  However, what at least ought to have been a high spot in his private life came in 1911, when he married Ivy Brackenbury, ostensibly a widow, though it is recorded in S. H. Glanville's Locked Book that her previous marriage broke up without a divorce and that her former husband was still alive at this time. How much of that could be proved and how much was village gossip is hard to say after such a long time. It was a local belief that Ivy was at the time a nurse in Walnut Tree Hospital in Sudbury, which in 1981 was still standing and in use.