Delphi Complete Works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (Illustrated) (1573 page)

The next comer was curious, though hard to verify. The name given was Niel Hamilton. He was twelve years old when he was drowned at Cuckfield in Sussex, more than a century ago. He had been pushed into a duck pond, when playing. He said that he was happy, but he gave no reason why he had not progressed further in so long a time.

We now make a big leap backwards and come upon Charles Amor, who died in 1658, at the age of eighty-one. He had lived at Fleet in Hampshire. When asked who was King he answered promptly, “No one. Cromwell.” Which, of course, is correct but might have stumped some of us. He had gone to Germany, his wife had eloped with a German and he had stabbed the man. Possibly this hasty temper may have kept him so long in the purgatorial regions. There was nothing really evidential.

The next comer took us further back still. His name was John Castle, who died in 1613, at the age of ninety-two. He gave James as the name of the King, at which the circle remonstrated, but John Castle proved to be correct. This seems an important evidential point, for please do not forget that I have the signed word of honour of all concerned that there was no deception. I have always found that a British word of honour is worth more than an oath. He was a learned man, but was asked frivolous questions by the circle, who certainly played down to their visitors and had no idea of the limits of spirit power.

The next was so definite that I had high hopes, but, alas, they came to nothing. The name was Laura Yelverton. She died early in 1928 at Torquay. The Register, however, in that town failed to trace her. She was thirty-one at the time of her death. She claimed that she was born at Chester, went to school in Switzerland, lived for years at Arcachon in the South of France, lost money, returned to England in 1918, was a married woman. In reference to her surroundings she said that, “it is all grey and almost sticky in the atmosphere.” There were many to whom to talk. She, like the last, seems to be in some sort of purgatory. Possibly this account may meet the eye of someone who can corroborate. A note to Crowborough would always find me.

She was immediately succeeded by a man, Mark Lamb, who died in 1725. He, at once, said that George the First was on the throne, which is, of course, correct but might not be answered by everyone. He was seventy-eight when he died and he put his death down to excess in living. He lived in Charles Street, London, and was a man of fashion, going to Court. He disliked the King. “His character I hated vastly.” So I should think — the coarse little boor. Here we have nothing evidential but everything plausible.

He was at once succeeded by Peter Lamb, a carpenter, who died of a poisoned arm at Chatham at the age of fifty in the year 1924. He had nothing to say save that he was unfit to go to the war.

The next spirit seems to have been more intelligent and of a higher grade than any of the others. He gave some prophecies which seem to have been fairly accurate. Then comes the following:

Q. “Is it pleasant where you are?” — A. “Very. I am happy. I have interesting companionship.”

Q. “Do you hope to rise higher?” — A. “I do earnestly.”

Q. “Is there reincarnation?” — A. “Yes” (violently).

Q. “Have you risen higher since you died?” — A. “Yes, twice.”

This is the kind of vital information which we want. As to reincarnation, it is clear at any rate that it is at only long intervals, since in three centuries he had not himself experienced it.

The next visitor gave the name of John. He was a half Spaniard who interlarded his remarks with Spanish words which were, of course, intelligible to the audience. He had been killed some fifty years ago, that would mean about 1879, on some steps in Madrid. It was in a fight with a rival over a woman. He was very unhappy, “I hate my surroundings.” He was English on his mother’s side. Nothing could be done to help him. His case seemed to be a bad one. There was nothing evidential.

There followed a very sprightly young lady named Willette, who claimed to be the girl of that “will of the wisp” Lionel Vereker. She did not like proper people. “Life is quite good here.” She had died in
1928 in
England. “What a hole!” she added. She came from Dresden, had red hair and was fond of laughing. She had talked to other people at séances, mentioning two names, Kenneth Gardner and Ruth Cameron. She was bored with Lionel — a cheerful irresponsible person — non-evidential.

The next called himself Peter Morrison, almost certainly using a false name if he exists at all. He had died in
1924 in
Birmingham, aged forty-one. He had been in the war as a Lieut.-Commander in the R.N.V.R. He was on the
Warspite
. Educated at Bradfield, born in Nottingham.

This was very disappointing, as inquiry both at Bradfield and at the Admiralty failed to find any Peter Morrison. Always we seemed to break down upon the individual name even when other names were convincingly correct.

It is noticeable how often they use Christian names only, as if they did not desire identification. Thus the next called himself “Robin.” He had been over two hundred years “a gentleman of much leisure and pleasure. I lived in London and Worcester.” Asked if he knew James Kirk, who seemed a kindred soul, he answered, “No, is he a well-known man?” Robin soon departed. The next was also very short. Rose Lonsdale was the name. She had died in early Victorian days, aged sixty-four. Her life was uninteresting. She was always tired. She could speak a little German because she had a German music master. Nothing evidential or instructive.

The next gave the name of James Welby and he made the comprehensive remark, “we live as mortals do.” He had died two centuries before at the age of fifty-two. Died from a severe cold. When asked who was king he said that George the First was on the throne. George I died in 1727, so that would be fairly correct. He lived at Salisbury and was a man of leisure. He was born in Hampshire. His parents bought him a large house in London or he added, “on the outskirts of that noble city. It was just outside of Piccadilly.” Afterwards he travelled in France and married an Irish lady, named Cecilia Abby. When asked the name of his London home he replied, “It had simply the name of Dunton House.” This place I have been unable to identify. He continued, “We went to all entertainments, routs and such frivolous amusements. We were blessed with two daughters, one alas, died of small-pox. The other married George Fountain. My wife died and I then lived in Salisbury, contracted a severe chill and died.” The dialogue then ran:

Q. “Are you happy?” — A. “Extremely.”

Q. “Are your wife and daughter with you?” — A. “Yes.”

Q. “And your other daughter?” — A. “I wish I knew.” (This is interesting.)

He was then asked if he knew Robin and he answered he knew Robert Castle who often called himself Robin. They suggested that Robin lived in London and Worcester, and he replied, “No, this one lived in Cheshire.” He then added that he was happy and that his surroundings were more or less like the earth he knew, but more happy and less troubled.

There is nothing evidential here, but it is very reassuring to us mortals who follow on the trail.

We now come on Richard Merriman who died in 1560 and is, therefore, the oldest spirit of all. Asked who was king at that time, he replied instantly, “Queen.” “Which one?” they asked. “What other, but our Elizabeth?” He died at sea at the age of thirty-five. He caught “the feared disease. Was not able to obtain help of any competence. We had no surgeon aboard.” Nothing further of importance was gathered.

Then came Katie, who refused to give a second name. She died in 1764. When asked who was king, she replied, “George the Second while I lived.” This was quite correct, as George the Third came on in 1760.

The accuracy of these historical dates is really a strong point for the proof of the reality of these visitors.

Q. “How old were you?” — A. “Thirty. A great age for a woman of my kind.”

Q. “Were you a woman of easy virtue?”—”If you care to word it thus.”

Q. “Could you tell us the names of some of your lovers.” — A. “Arthur Grenville, Will Roberts, Laurence Annaly. There are none worth my attention.”

The conversation abruptly broke off. The next witness gave me more trouble than any of the others and some disappointment, since I seemed to be continually on the edge of what would be evidential and yet never could attain it. I was greatly helped by the courtesy of the Secretary of Lloyds’ Shipping Register. The name given was John Coke. He said that he was a sailor and had been drowned eighty years ago in a shipwreck off the Virgin Islands. He asked them to pronounce his name as Cook. When asked if he was happy he said, “Not very. I miss the sea. It meant a lot to a man like me.” Asked if any of his old shipmates were with him, he said, “Yes, two, but not my friends.” “It is very black,” he added. “I like light, I like wind and sea and salt and sun and sails. I think you do not have many sails now.” Buenos Aires was a bleak town in his time. He seemed surprised to learn that it was now a great city. He was English by birth. Born at a village, Bolderstone in Norfolk. (The nearest I could get to that, after long inquiry, was Blunderstone.) He was a mate. His ship sailed from Hull to the West Indies. They were carrying back a cargo of sugar and fruit. The name of the captain was “Molleson.” The name of the ship,
The Mary of Kintyre
, about two thousand tons. He was forty and unmarried.

By search we found that there was a vessel,
The Marion Macintyre
, but the name “Molleson” was not connected with it. There was, however, a vessel named
Mary
with “Morrison” as the master’s name, in 1846. Her subsequent movements could not be traced. The tonnage seemed to be excessive for those days. It has been suggested that “Gorleston” which is a seaside village from which a sailor might well originate, is the right name and Bolderstone a mistake. This, however, seems a little far-fetched. On the whole we must admit that my search has not been successful in identifying John Coke.

Only one other case remains to be examined. It was that of Zoe, a lady of light virtue who claims to have met her death two years ago at Tours. She was stabbed or shot by her lover. I made some inquiries from a friend at Tours, but here again I was unable to verify the facts. Zoe, judging by her dialogue, was an amusing and rather impertinent person. Her remarks took the form of rather broad chaff of the people in the circle. Once again we have to admit there is nothing evidential.

One very curious thing about this series of cases is the number of them who died by violence. Zoe was murdered, John was murdered, Nicholas was executed, Overman died in a motor smash, Coke was drowned. The death of Harriette Wilson, is in my opinion, extremely doubtful. Therefore quite a large proportion of the cases came to their end in an untimely way. Whether this determined their presence in the particular stratum which this circle seems to have tapped is more than we can say. Apparently it was not one stratum alone, since about half of the communicants said that they were happy and the other half miserable, half being in light and the other half in gloom. Though, of course, in this world we do find happy and unhappy people living in close proximity. I give the facts as reported and I give my analysis as far as I have been able to make it, and while there is much which is unsatisfactory, there is a great deal which is plausible and which was entirely outside the knowledge of the circle. It is just possible that this publication may bring some fresh evidence on one point or another, and such evidence would be very welcome to me. When compared with other such records there is enough in common to give us good reason to believe that we are, in some sort of dim fashion, gaining an actual glimpse of the conditions of life in a certain section of the purgatorial world.

Conan Doyle on the French Front, 1918

First published in 1924, this autobiography of Conan Doyle blends his memories and adventures with accounts of his many different interests and achievements in life and literature.
 
Conan Doyle views his life primarily from the Spiritualist perspective of his later years, which was also influenced by his ‘Western Wanderings’.
 
The memoir also includes a series of sketches of
America
and
Canada
, as well as fascinating accounts of life on the Front in the Great War.