3.15 | The Nun of Borely Rectory: The Ghosts of England's Most Haunted Home

Are you brave enough to join us on a chilling journey through time as we unmask the haunting mysteries of the infamous Borley Rectory? Nestled in the annals of history, this house holds tales of spectral nuns, enigmatic monks, and phantom horse-drawn carriages. We ask the unsettling question - can walls truly speak?

Journey with us as we recount the lives of those who called Borley Rectory home, from the Bull family and their supernatural tales, to the subsequent inhabitants, Guy Eric Smith and Mabel Hart. We peel back the layers of mystery that surround the spine-tingling encounter of the founder of the National Laboratory of Psychical Research, Harry Price, with the Rectory's legendary nun's ghost. Listen to the eerie tales of Reverend Lionel Feuster and his family's peculiar experiences after moving into the Rectory, and discover how the Wall Street Crash of 1929 played a role in shaping the Rectory's history.

Finally, we weave together the strange happenings during Harry Price's investigation, the odd occurrences leading up to the Rectory's fiery end, and the subsequent excavation of the Rectory, revealing unexpected finds. This is no simple ghost story; it's a tantalizing tapestry of haunted history that will keep you at the edge of your seat. Join us, if you dare.

Transcript

Speaker 1: 0:03

Hello there, fellow history enthusiasts and paranormal aficionados, jeremy Haig, here, your host and guide on this captivating journey through time and the unexplained. Before we dive into today's mind-bending tale, I want to give a special shout-out to one of our cherished listeners who truly gets what we're all about In their glowing review. They share Love, history, go stories, the occult Babe, then this one's for you. This show is really well researched, thoughtfully presented and just the perfect amount of spooky, great Expert guests, fun, ambient vibes, and you can tell this is a passion project for the host, jeremy. The whole pod is created with such love and care. I always look forward to each episode and the supplemental content on Instagram. Huge fan here. Wow, I am genuinely touched by your words. Your support and enthusiasm fuel our passion to unearth these hidden stories and bring them to life. It's listeners like you who make this journey worth every twist and turn. So, my friends, as we step into the unknown today, remember that your reviews and feedback are not just notes on my screen. They're a heartbeat that keeps our show thriving. Now let's uncover the mystery of today's episode on when Walls Can Talk.

Speaker 1: 1:42

Sometimes a place takes on a life of its own, having the energy of events, emotions and mysteries that unfold within its walls. Over the years, the bricks and beams become silent witnesses to whispered secrets, tragic loves and moments that defy understanding. Today we delve into a story not of a person but of a house, a house that is said to have witnessed more than any building should In 1940, a year when the world was already shrouded in uncertainties. Amidst all this, harry Price releases a book, a title so audacious, so bold that it is destined to make waves. The most haunted home in England, and suddenly a poorly rectory, isn't just a house in Essex. It became an emblem, standing shoulder to shoulder with tales as gripping as Jack the Ripper, as haunting as the Salem Witch Trials and, in the years to follow, as infamous as the Amity Horror. Could a house really carry with it such tales of spectral nuns, enigmatic monks and phantasmal horse-drawn carriages? Could walls built by mere mortals hold within them messages from the beyond and memories of a spiritualist era where tables tipped and planchettes danced? Then there were the bells ringing, with no one to toll them, and that fateful fire reducing the legendary house to ashes. Now the borly legend refuses to be just a dusty chapter in a history book. It fights, as legends often do against time, skepticism and whispers of deceit. Is it all a grand hoax, a carefully orchestrated act, or does the spirit of borly rectory, much like its tales, continue to linger, waiting for another chance to tell its story?

Speaker 1: 3:43

I'm Jeremy Haig, and this is when Walls Can Talk. Throughout the ages, man has repeated the same earnest, saying more of a question, really, or perhaps even a plea if these walls could talk. But what if they do, and always have? Perhaps their stories, memories and messages are all around us. If only we would take the moment to listen. From this podcast, we reinvestigate legends and tales of the past and allow the echoes of their lessons to live on, once again, informing us, educating us and sharing new and unique insight into the inner workings of the paranormal and spiritual world. Will you dare to listen? This is when Walls Can Talk the podcast.

Speaker 1: 5:26

Hearing. Northwards through Essex, you stumble on the village of Borley, so quaint and discreet that with a single blink you might just miss its whispered presence. The village unfolds on either side of this serpentine road, with trees and hedgerows as its silent sentinels dividing vast farmlands that stretch as far as the eye can wander, dominating the skyline. An old church, a relic from the 11th century but bearing the marks of 14th century craftsmen. And yet, right across the road, the march of time is evident in a line of newer red-brick cottages. Between these two worlds there's a space, a silent homage to what was once the Borley Rectory. The Rectory, with its grandeur and gravitas, served as the dwelling of the church's guiding spirits, its rectors. Its legacy is intricate and multi-layered. First the shadowy Borley Manor, an edifice rooted so deep in history that it's mentioned alongside Countess Adelaide in the 11th century doomsday book. But then the winds of change blew and this age-old manor came under the regal gaze of King Edward I. For a time it basked in royal aura, until the 14th century rolled around. Then it found its way into the hands of the Watergrave family Refluent, influential, with connections in both church and parliament, they made a gesture of faith, leasing this historic house to the very soul of Borley, its church Jump to the 19th century. Reverend William Herring the spiritual leader of Borley from 1819 to 1862, erects the second Rectory. Now, why do that? Probably meant the first one had to come down for some reason. But most of the original Rectory's history is lost to time. This new Rectory, it's simple, unassuming Creamstone walls that could tell stories if they chose to. But by 1863, another twist, enter Reverend Henry Dawson, ellis Bull. He steps in and suddenly there's a need for a bigger, grander stage, a stage not just for him but for Caroline, his new bride, their son Henry, or should I say Harry, to avoid all that familial confusion and the future echoes of their growing family. Can you imagine 13 children with 11 surviving those tender, vulnerable early years? This wasn't just a home anymore, it was a statement Rooms that echoed with laughter whispers in the murmur of high society. Because Bull, well, he was a man of the times, keen to play host, to be the center of the Borla universe. And so Herring's legacy, that modest Rectory Gone, reduced to memories, and rubble, well, all but the old stable which Bull, ever the visionary, transformed into a dual-purpose wonder Horses below and above, cozy quarters for the hands that helped run the Bull household.

Speaker 1: 8:37

There's something about the Bull Rectory that's both enchanting and well a little eerie. Built in that distinct Victorian Gothic style, it loomed large, an L-shaped colossus. The facade, stark contrast, of rich red brick, is punctuated by a sprawl of chimneys, erupting from its gray slate roof Over nearly three decades, as if mirroring the ebbs and flows of the Bull family. The house stretched and expanded the vision An ambitious 20-room structure organized around a central courtyard.

Speaker 1: 9:14

But this wasn't just any home. Inside, the northeast quarter flaunted a grand dining room where you could lose yourself in the intricate dance of the flames reflected off a stunning Italian marble fireplace, monks etched forever in its stone. Then there's the drawing room, this elegance juxtaposed with a library whose doors flung open onto a sprawling veranda. But a home isn't all luxury. On the east, rooms of function, a massive kitchen, pantry, dairy Scullery, the catch Windows barricaded behind iron bars like secrets held close to the chest. Upstairs, a realm of rest with eleven bedrooms, free tucked away, were reserved for the house staff, accessible by a concealed stairway. And then a room, once a bathroom, transformed into a space of reverence, with the colors of its stained glass window painting tales of faith. Yet for all its grandiosity, it missed out on the era's emerging comforts. There was no gas, no water, and electricity was still a distant dream for these rural corners. Instead, a symphony of shadows, with dark wood floors echoing footsteps, while oil lamps cast their golden glow. Water, a precious commodity drawn from a deep courtyard. Well, outside, nature's guardians, heavy shrubs and trees shielded the house, drawing a veil between the rectory and the world, a world that included what was now called Borley Place, a more humble abode, the ever-watchful Borley Church, and its silent neighbors resting eternally in the adjacent cemetery.

Speaker 1: 11:09

There's always that one person in a village whose tales and quirks outlive their own lifespan. For Borley, that person was, without a doubt, henry Dawson Ellis Bull, a lineage of clergymen stretching back to the 1500s. And yet Henry, he was something else. To call him eccentric might be too quaint. Picture this Henry, sprawled on the library floor, aiming and shooting at rabbits as they daringly scampered across the tennis lawn. You'd think, being a rector, he'd be in clerical garb, but no, he donned those only when protocol demanded. In his regulars stout and framed by his intimidating mutton chops, he would have struck quite the image, tearing through the village streets in his four-strong trap, galloping off to either hunt or maybe even attend an amateur boxing match.

Speaker 1: 12:04

Borley's rectory, in those days, imagine a beehive constantly buzzing, the bulls, their fourteen children, staff from grooms to maids, everyone seemed to be in constant motion. But where there's bustle there are whispers. You hear these whispers wove a tapestry of legends. It appears the young bull generation might have been the chief storytellers, drawing inspiration from their haunting, gothic surroundings Tales of phantom nuns meandering through gardens, spectral coaches sometimes commandeered by headless drivers, and a mysterious lady in white fading into the treeline. Over time, each story grew, evolving, turning more intricate. The most haunting, a tragic tale of forbidden love, a nun smitten with a monk from yonder, their escape plan, a lope in the stealth of night in a horse-drawn coach. But fate had other plans. They were caught and then came the chilling punishments the nun tragically entombed alive within the walls of her sanctuary, and the monk he faced, the hangman's noose.

Speaker 1: 13:30

You know how stories become almost more real the more they're told. That seemed to be the case with the ghostly legends of the Borley rectory. No basis in historical truth, you argue, sure, but as with most legends, when told they can feel as tangible as the air we breathe. But here's where it gets fascinating. The tales weren't just the playful fancies of children. Enter Mrs E Buford, an undernourced maid at the rectory. Just two weeks into her employment she bolted, shaken. She'd been tormented by footsteps outside her door all night. And she confronted her fellow maids, each denied any nocturnal wanderings, their consensus. The rectory was just too weird. And it wasn't only her. Mr P Shaw Jeffery, a friend of the bull's son Harry, remembered seeing that same elusive nun wandering through the gardens and, in a turn of events, right out of a ghost tale, his mysteriously lost French dictionary appeared one night with a resounding thump in his locked bedroom.

Speaker 1: 14:41

As the years ebbed on, these tales, instead of fading, seemed to cement themselves into the very bricks of the rectory, becoming as intrinsic to its history as its very foundations. Then, on a fateful day in May 1892, the man at the centre of these tales, henry Bull, breathed his last at the age of fifty-nine in an upstairs bedroom of the rectory. Locomotive ataxia, a disorder tied to tertiary syphilis, was named as the cause. This curious ailment for a rector added a twist it fanned the whispers rumors that Henry Bull might have been the father not just to his acknowledged fourteen children but to other, less known offspring, perhaps born to his very staff? After the passing of Henry, the spotlight moved to his son, harry. Remember Harry?

Speaker 1: 15:34

Excentricity seemingly ran in the Bull family and Harry was no exception. Taking over as the rector, he remained in the company of his sisters in the house till 1911, but life had other plans. At the age of forty-nine, against the backdrop of his family's disapproval, harry married a woman twenty years. His junior, Ivy Brackenberry, a nurse by profession, was no stranger to the complexities of life. Widowed with a ten-year-old daughter, constance, in tow, ivy found herself the subject of much village chatter. There was an unsaid tension between Ivy and Harry's sisters. The common whisper around the corners was that Ivy's intentions were more for Harry's inheritance than for love. The family dynamics shifted yet again when Ivy, harry and Constance shifted to poorly place just opposite the rectory. The move was temporary and by 1920 they were back in the iconic rectory, much to Harry's sister's dismay.

Speaker 1: 16:35

Like father-like son, harry was quite the character. Educated at prestigious institutions like Cambridge and Oxford, and with an uncanny love for amateur boxing, he was a stark contrast to the typical image of a 19th-century rector. Discussions about the supernatural, oh, they were common table talk for him. Harry's quirks weren't limited to his academic and athletic choices. He had this unique tendency, which some speculated might be narcolepsy, where he'd just fall asleep. Anywhere, mr Meal, you'd probably find Harry napping in a corner of the garden or sprawled in one of the house rooms, and if ever there was difficulty finding him, all one had to do was look for his cats. Oh yes, around 30 of them, each with its own distinct name, and they trailed behind him like an adorable feline parade. Let's stay on the cats for a second, because in the winding story of Borely Rectory, even the cats have their own unique chapter. They were Harry's constant companions, following him throughout the house, but like all living creatures, they too met their inevitable end, and when they did, they were laid to rest in Harry's meticulously maintained cat cemetery at the garden's bottom. Each of these feline friends had a miniature, handcrafted headstone, a testimony to Harry's love for each of them.

Speaker 1: 18:01

In a place already heavy with stories of the otherworldly, even the pets had their ghosts. Speaking of ghosts, harry was never one to shush the whispers of apparitions and spirits that had become synonymous with the rector. In fact, he fanned the flames. Often he'd sit in one of the wooden summer houses in the garden, relic from his father's time and from there he'd narrate tales, eyes peeled for the spectral figure of the nun. But Harry wasn't the only custodian of these ghostly tales. His four daughters, particularly Eiffel Ball, took it upon herself to spread the legacy of their childhood ghost stories, and there's one marked in history that stands out A warm summer evening on June 28th 1900.

Speaker 1: 18:48

Eiffel, alongside her sisters Mabel and Frida, were returning from a party. The hour was 9pm, the summer sky painted in hues of pink and orange. As they walked towards the rectory, an eerily familiar sight met their eyes. The black clad figure of the nun, head bowed, seemed to drift silently along a path that the family aptly named nunswalk. Panic, fascination and a touch of dread gripped them. In an attempt to confront or maybe communicate with this entity, they fetched Caroline and other sister. But as these tales often go, the nun vanished, leaving only the shivers of the night and the lingering sensation of a haunting presence.

Speaker 1: 19:37

The bull family and their encounters with the supernatural are central to this tale, but it's not just their accounts that give credence to the hauntings. Ernest Ambrose, the church's organist, was more than just a casual visitor to the rectory. He formed a bond with the family, allowing him unique insight into their lives and the legends that enveloped them. Ambrose recalls the Reverend Harry Bull, the rector of the time, and his family. When Ambrose would visit the Reverend Harry Bull and his family, they often talked about their ghosts, not in hushed whispers or late night campfire tales, but like you'd discussed your neighbor's new car or the weather. There was an ordinariness to it, especially the rector's daughters. When they spoke of the apparition, it was without a hint of theatrics or fear. Now imagine this for a moment, walking into the garden following the pointed figures of the bull sisters as they guide you to a particular path, a specific patch of lawn. That's where they saw her, they'd say. And when asked how they felt about these spectral visits, their nonchalance was almost jarring. We're used to it, they'd shrug, it doesn't bother us. It's worth noting that while these women weren't seekers of the paranormal, they weren't deniers either. They firmly believed in what they saw, accepting it not as a myth but as a mere fact of their lives. It's almost poetic in its sadness.

Speaker 1: 21:06

In the same room where Reverend Henry Bull drew his final breath, so too did his son. The year was 1927, and Harry Bull succumbed to cancer. That room, in that ancient rectory witnessed the end of an era, an era marred by intriguing tales, eccentric behaviors and a family's unique relationship with their home in its supposed supernatural inhabitants. With Harry's passing, the Bull family's long chapter at the rectory came to an end. The daughters, those narrators of ghostly apparitions and creators of tales that chilled, had already left in the preceding years. They left behind the echoes of their stories, the whispers of their tales and the shadows of their past. But as one door closes, another opens, and the story of the rectory is far from over On the horizon.

Speaker 1: 22:00

A new era was dawning, and this time the rectory wouldn't just be the talk of the town. It was about to capture the imagination of a nation. Imagine for a moment stepping out of the sun-soaked streets of Calcutta, where the rhythms of the colonial Indian life play out, only to find yourself facing the chilling, haunting vastness of Borley Rectory, a place that would soon reveal secrets that had whispered only to a select few. Born in the vibrant city of Calcutta in 1885, guy Eric Smith's life was woven with threads from both ends of the empire. India had given him an education, a career in civil service and love. Mabel Hart, his wife, seemed to believe that England's climate would do her health some good. Maybe it was nostalgia and maybe it was hope, but in 1928, after a brief sojourn in Great Clayton, the Smiths took the leap and accepted the rectory position at Borley.

Speaker 1: 23:07

It was curious how Borley Rectory, once a beacon of warmth and history, stood empty in the cold aftermath of Harry Ball's passing. Twelve prospective tenants had come and gone, either scared off by the ghostly tales or possibly daunted by the practical inconveniences of this massive home. Guy and Mabel walked into the rectory blissfully unaware of the spectral stories that had been spun there. Could you even imagine Walking into a new home only to find out from the townsfolk that you might just be sharing it with entities from another realm? But it wasn't just the ghost stories. Moving in right on the cusp of what would become a historically cold winter was challenging enough. One could almost hear the walls of the rectory sigh with the weight of its past. As the cold wind whistled through the gaps, the Smiths, ever resilient, started to mold the rectory back to life, to warm its chilled bones. Yet with every repair and every tweak they were also unknowingly peeling back the layers of its past.

Speaker 1: 24:12

When you walk into a home filled with legends, it's hard to turn a deaf ear. The Bull sisters, with their stories, fresh as if inked, yesterday painted a portrait of borly rectory that was hard to shake off, and the vast hollow spaces of the house did little to reassure the Smiths. It's fascinating how empty rooms can be so heavy with presence, with echoes from another time, with phantoms of memories and imaginations. Being a rector, reverend Smith likely believed in the ethereal, in something beyond our understanding. But how does one react when those ethereal tales wrap around your everyday life? The Smiths employed a single live-in maid, the first of which was similarly dissatisfied with the house and quit her position after just two days following an encounter with a shadowy figure at the bottom of the garden. She was shortly after replaced by 15 year old Mary Pearson.

Speaker 1: 25:08

The truth of the matter was that the stories floating around the village concerning the rectory and the physical state of the house were not the only thing playing on the Smith's minds. Ghostly whisperings echoed around the empty hallways. The service bells rang continuously, despite no one being around to pull the cables, so much so that Reverend Smith eventually cut several to stop the possibility of them being rung at all. Mabel Smith had begun hearing footsteps outside her bedroom every night. And to top it all off, the skull of a woman had been found in a cupboard in the library wrapped in brown parcel paper. The skull had in fact been sent to Harry Ball during his rector ship for re-internment in the churchyard, but had been put to the side and forgotten. Reverend Smith eventually finished the job, burying it in the churchyard opposite the rectory.

Speaker 1: 25:59

There's something about old houses their ability to hold onto memories like they're tangible, like they're solid objects that you can stumble upon. Mabel Smith, with her already fragile nerves, found herself grappling with these memories, or apparitions, at Borley Rectory. Imagine being Mabel, looking out of your window on a cold winter's night and seeing the glow of lights where there shouldn't be any, a room warm and inviting from a distance, only to step inside and be met with darkness. It's the kind of eerie experiences that give birth to tales whispered between neighbors and told around campfires. And then there's the phantom coach. The very word phantom suggests something seen but not tangible, a fleeting vision. But Mabel saw it Not once, but twice. But was it the product of her stressed mind or was there something truly supernatural at play? The ethereal glow of dim oil lamps parked in the driveway, a coach, guided by invisible hands through the garden. These weren't mere trivial events. They have weight, a heft, especially when experienced firsthand.

Speaker 1: 27:10

With the coming of spring, as life began to renew and days stretched out longer, the Smiths might have hoped for respite. Or perhaps they hoped that, in the light of day, the answers they saw might finally be unveiled. In their search for solace, they might have believed that science and research would provide them with answers. But what happens when a genuine cry for help meets the eager ears of a news-hungry public Sensation? That's what happens.

Speaker 1: 27:38

A national tabloid like the Daily Mirror is always on the lookout for a story that'll grip its readers, and the tale of Borley Rectory, with its whispers of hauntings, certainly fit the bill Vernon Wool. Instead of offering the Smiths the respite they so desperately sought when they wrote, the paper instead painted a vivid picture for the public, a picture that might not have been entirely accurate. Headless Coachmen, a sorrowful nun roaming the gardens these are the makings of a classic ghost story. But for the Smiths, this wasn't fiction, it was their reality. It's an age-old tension the allure of a story versus the truth of lived experience. By putting Borley Rectory in the spotlight, the Daily Mirror inadvertently amplified the mystery and allure of the house. People are of course drawn to the unknown, and Borley Rectory was quickly becoming a beacon for the curious and the thrill-seekers. The Smiths might have hoped to quiet the whispers with some scientific rationale, but, as we'll soon see, their actions would set in motion events that would ensure Borley Rectory's place in paranormal legend for generations. Now it's hard to tell how many of these ghost stories reported by the Daily Mirror are genuine history and how much is well fluff. For the sake of a good article I mean, newspapers love a good ghost story.

Speaker 1: 28:59

Right On June 10th, the article made headlines. It spoke of Mabel Smith witnessing mysterious lights in the windows of the Rectory. And it wasn't just her. Vernon Wall, who's reporting on the scene, describes this palpable atmosphere, the kind where every rustle, every gust of wind sends your heart racing. And then, out of the gloom in the woods, a figure in white Wall, justifiably or not, freaks out. His photographer, in a frantic attempt to capture the moment, ends up more tangled in his equipment than actually getting any photos. But then the punchline, the apparition, just the Rectory made offering coffee. It's a moment that's half hilarious and half humbling. The night then carried on Trees, shadows, nerves on edge Every stump looking eerily like a nun from a distance. But eventually the woods gave up no more secrets and the two decided to call it a night.

Speaker 1: 30:04

Now here's where things take an interesting twist. The editor had a contact up his sleeve, someone he knew would be perfect for the story Harry Price. For those unfamiliar, price wasn't just any name in the world of the supernatural and in fact deserves a full episode at some point. He was, at this moment in time, the former resident of the American Society for Psychical Research, and beyond that he had ties with the prestigious University of London. So when it came to understanding or debunking the mysteries of the unknown, price was your guy.

Speaker 1: 30:39

Price's reputation was built on more than just a keen interest in the supernatural. He was a man with a mission, determined to bring clarity to an often muddled field. Throughout his career he had unveiled many a fraudulent medium. It was a time when seances and spirit communications were all the rage and not everyone was, well, let's say, genuine in their practices. Price had this uncanny ability to sift through the performances and get to the heart of what was real. But the rectory, with its tales of spectral coaches, ghostly figures and eerie lights, was a different kind of challenge. Would Price's pragmatic approach pierce through the layers of local legends and newspaper sensationalism to uncover the truth behind poorly rectory? Or would the mysteries of this haunted location remain just that Mysteries? Just a few years prior, in 1925, price had carved his own path in the supernatural world. He'd formed the National Laboratory of Psychical Research, a clear challenger to the Society of Psychical Research. Now, while rivalries were not uncommon in the academic world, this was not just any rivalry.

Speaker 1: 31:53

Price, with his insatiable curiosity, had been keeping an eye on the unfolding drama at Borley Rectory. Reading about it in the papers had captured his imagination. And when the opportunity came knocking, price was more than eager to dive in. He wasn't going in blind, though. Lucy Kay, his trusted secretary, was by his side as they embarked on that 70-mile journey from the hustle and bustle of London to the eerie quiet of Borley, the Smiths welcomed them and over lunch, in the dimly lit dining room of the old rectory, poured out their tale of mysterious happenings. And as the afternoon sun dipped, price did what he did best a systematic investigation. Room by room, he took measurements, made notes, perhaps hoping to find some logical explanations to the chilling tales. But as darkness blanketed the countryside and they settled into a summer house hoping to catch a glimpse of the infamous nun's walk. Even the ever-skeptical Price couldn't be prepared for what came next. In the stillness of the evening, as the first stars started to twinkle, a sudden jolt of excitement Wall, the Daily Mirror journalist grabbed Price by the arm, his voice filled with a mix of fear and exhilaration there she is, he exclaimed, pointing into the gloom and, for a fleeting moment, as described by Price, against the backdrop of night shadow darker than the night, made its way across the garden. Now, was it the famed ghostly nun or just tricks of the dim light? For someone like Price, it was a moment of reckoning where belief and skepticism met head-on.

Speaker 1: 33:34

By the time Dawn approached, Mr Wool was already piecing together a story that would grace the front pages of the Daily Mirror. It would be an account that would leave readers nationwide with more questions than answers, an account that toes the line between reality and the supernatural. He begins weird night in haunted house. I can almost imagine the intrigued faces of people reading this over their morning coffee. There can no longer be any doubt that Borley Rectory, near here, is the scene of some remarkable instance. This isn't just a ghost story. It's a statement, it's validation.

Speaker 1: 34:11

The tales from Borley aren't mere tales, they're experiences, and it's as if Wool is leaning over and whispering to the reader. You know those rumors, you've heard, they're all real and what Wool and the rest witnessed is, frankly, the stuff of legends. The distinct silhouette moving in the garden is the light dims, the odd sensations, the chilled air that seems to settle in your bones. Wool describes all this with a journalist's precision. Yet there's an underlying sense of wonder, or even disbelief. In his own words, he talks about standing there in the summer house. Every sense heightened, the evening's shadows playing their tricks on his eyes. It's almost poetic the way he describes the apparition, how it eluded clear definition, but its presence was undeniable. The path on the other side of the lawn bore the weight of something or someone.

Speaker 1: 35:06

But beyond just a journalist's report, wool's words, paired with Price's involvement, turned Borley into more than just a haunted location. It became a centerpiece in the discussion of the paranormal, where skeptics and believers would endlessly debate, where stories would grow, evolve and perhaps even distort. But at the heart of it all was that undeniable feeling of something being out there, something that transcended our understanding. As Wool ventured further into the garden, hoping to catch another glimpse of the figure he saw. The night responded with a startling crash. A glass pane from a spot seemingly untouched by anyone was now shattered on the ground. It's these moments that make one wonder was the rectory expressing its own emotions, or was it something else entirely? But the mysteries didn't end there. As they wandered the hallways of the rectory, a sudden movement, a flash in the periphery of Wool's vision, and then the unmistakable sound of something striking metal. The pieces of a red vase lay scattered, a vase that had until that moment been resting peacefully in the blue room. It was as if the house itself was trying to communicate, or perhaps something residing within it.

Speaker 1: 36:22

The climax of Wool's account truly defies reason. The very idea of communicating with an unseen entity with no medium in sight is a notion that can challenge even the most open-minded among us. But as they all gathered in that room asking questions unto the stillness of the night, the responses did indeed come, not as words, not as whispers, but as raps against a mirror. It's a detail that wasn't even mentioned in the newspaper, maybe because it was too implausible, or maybe because the experience was so personal, so intimate, that it was best left out of the public domain. Reading through Wool's account, there's this persistent sense of navigating the thin line between skepticism and belief.

Speaker 1: 37:09

The events of that night at Borley Rectory were so vivid, so tangible, yet also completely unfathomable. The echo of that singular night continued to reverberate not just within the walls of the Borley Rectory but in the lives of all who were present. It wasn't just the taps against the mirror that captivated those gathered, it was the eerie implication of their meaning. And as if the atmosphere wasn't already thick with suspense, the introduction of Eiffel and Adelaide Bull added another layer of intensity the daughters who originally propagated the ghost stories. Their presence, familiar with the history and nuances of the Rectory, seemed almost essential for what was to come.

Speaker 1: 37:52

Using the simple yet eerily effective tap system three for confirmation, two for uncertainty and a lone tap for denial the group attempted to unearth the identity of their spectral guest. And as the narrative began to unfold, it was as though a dark veil was being lifted. It wasn't just any spirit they were in communication with, but that of Harry Bull, the former rector, whose presence in the Rectory had perhaps never really left. His confession, tapped out in that dim room, turned the atmosphere. Icy Admitting responsibility for the haunting footsteps was one thing, but the claim that his own wife, ivy, had murdered him for inheritance was a twist no one had anticipated it was a chilling proclamation, turning the curious into the deeply unsettling. But where some might have seen a conclusion, harry Price saw an invitation, a challenge if you will. The next two days for him were a whirlwind, a deep dive into the past, looking for answers in the memories of the Bull sisters. Price wasn't merely hunting for ghosts, he was hunting for truth. But, as anyone familiar with these kinds of stories will tell you, sometimes the line between fact and fiction, reality and the ethereal can blur.

Speaker 1: 39:13

When Harry Price returned to the Rectory, one imagines him expecting an encore of the peculiar events from his previous visit. The anticipation, the desire to once again pierce the veil of the unknown. Yet life and the unexplained often don't play by our expectations. This time it was the jarring rings of the service bells, calls from no one to no one. The atmosphere was different no sinister figures, no whisper of secrets long buried, just silence. But even as the Rectory seemed to retreat into a temporary hush outside its walls, the world was in a frenzy. The power of the press, exemplified by the throngs of people streaming into borly. It was a fascinating dichotomy the people of desire are insatiable curiosity about the unknown, even when it risks unsettling the peace of a quiet hamlet. And for the Smiths, peace was now an elusive dream. The Rectory was no longer just their home. It had become a spectacle, a stage. And though the curtains fell on the newspaper series, for the Smiths the show had never really ended.

Speaker 1: 40:27

Moving to Longmelford was perhaps an escape, a respite, but it's hard to shake off a legacy once it's been etched into public memory. Reverend Smith's eventual departure from Borley Church in 1930 felt like the closing of a chapter. But stories like these don't really end, do they? They linger and whispers in memories, in the creaks of old floorboards and the shadows that dance just beyond our line of sight. Empty houses tell stories too. They become a symbol, a space just waiting for their next act. For over a year Borley Rectory stood silent, almost as if catching its breath after a whirlwind, and by October 1930, change was on the horizon.

Speaker 1: 41:27

Reverend Lionel Feuster, a distant kin to the Bull family Feuster, wasn't unfamiliar with the Rectory. A fleeting visit in 1924 had perhaps hinted at what lay ahead, though who can ever really know. It's intriguing how destinies entwine. Ethel Bull reached out to him an invitation from across the vast expanse of the Atlantic. She must have sensed the Rectory's yearning for a new chapter, a fresh start. Or maybe it was the other way around, the Rectory's silent pull bringing the foisters back from their mission in Canada.

Speaker 1: 42:04

Feuster was no stranger to devotion. Following a path laid out by his father, he joined the spiritual realm. Educated at the venerable Cambridge, the hallowed halls and spires, might have felt worlds away when he left it all behind to serve as a missionary in the rugged terrains of Canada. But one wonders, did his time there, amidst the vast landscapes and deep woods, prepare him for what awaited at Borley Rectory? As the Rectory underwent renovations that September, one can imagine it shaking off the past, or at least trying to. But old houses, like old memories, have a way of holding on. But Lionel's tale was one that interweave love, challenge and destiny. Lionel, thousands of miles away from his homeland, struck up a bond with a woman who was not just two decades his junior but also had a history that felt straight out of a novel.

Speaker 1: 42:58

Marianne's early life reads like a story of resistance married at 15, deserted shortly after giving birth. One can only wonder at the emotions, the challenges she faced. Yet in the backdrop of it all, was her son a beacon of hope for her? And when Lionel entered her life, things took another unexpected turn. Together they formed a unique family, adopting Adelaide after the heart-wrenching loss of her parents. For a while, life in Canada seemed promising, yet shadows began to gather. Lionel struggled with rheumatoid arthritis, a debilitating pain forcing him to lean on a stick. Marianne's health challenges also cast another shadow. And just when they might have hoped for a respite, the Wall Street Crash of 1929 tore through their savings. The offer to return to England to take over Borley's Rectorship might have seemed like a lifeline.

Speaker 1: 43:56

For the foisters, moving into Borley Rectory wasn't just about adjusting to the new spaces and the quirks of an old building. They were unknowingly stepping into a different realm, one that had been the subject of newspaper headlines and whispers in the community. One has to wonder would they have taken up the offer had they truly grasped the scope of what awaited them? The once explosive tales in the Daily Mirror had faded in the public consciousness, yet the memories etched in the walls of the Rectory were as alive as ever. Marianne, whose life had already been a blend of hope, struggle and resilience, began to experience the unexpected Hearing her name whispered in hushed tones when no one was around, the unseen footfalls, a reminder that perhaps they were not the only ones inhabiting the space. But it wasn't just sounds and steps. Harry Bull, an apparition on the staircase, a face Marion recognized, brought the house's tales into stark relief.

Speaker 1: 44:54

And then there were the smaller mysteries items vanishing only to reappear in unexpected places, as if the house itself was playing tricks. The scent of lavender drifting through the air comforting to some, but eerie in a house with tales such as boorlies, most of stones. Throw away from the rectory, nestled on the outskirts of the little village of Liston, is the Stafford Allens and Sons Limited, a company They'd been around since 1899, starting out as a drug manufacturer, then branching out into making essential oils and flavors. They had fields, fields full of lavender, saffron, licorice, you name it. Even before these plants made their way to the factory, the air must have already been thick with their fragrances. So could this explain our mysterious lavender mystery?

Speaker 1: 45:42

Perhaps by 1931 the rectory wasn't just a place with perplexing scents. It had become a veritable hotbed of strange occurrences, objects levitating and hurling themselves, aiming particularly at Lionel and Marianne. When something happens once, it might be a fluke, twice, maybe it's coincidence, but when it happens day after day and you start chronicling each odd event, well, it starts to take a life of its own. And that's exactly what seemed to be happening with Lionel. From the moment he stepped foot into the rectory, lionel took it upon himself to be its historian, meticulously noting down every strange occurrence. I've gone through his diary and it paints a picture of a man who might have been becoming obsessed. Every creek, every whisper, every misplaced item, they all found their way into those pages. Was the house consuming him or was he just trying to find patterns, explanations, a story behind each anomaly? It's hard to tell.

Speaker 1: 46:46

In March, the foisters took on a lodger, a man named Frank Peerless, though he liked to be known, inexplicably, as Francois Die, despite being born in Birmingham in London, and being most assuredly not French. Frank Hedyung's son, douglas, and had advertised for lodging in the newspaper. Mary Ann replied to the advert offering the cottage opposite the rectory, hoping that Douglas and Adelaide could play together and keep one another company. Mary Ann On the outside she seemed content a loving relationship with Lionel, an adopted daughter and now a new friend for her child in Douglas. But delve a little deeper and a more intricate story unfolds.

Speaker 1: 47:30

When Frank moved in, the atmosphere in the house shifted. Sources close to Mary Ann revealed that her relationship with Frank quickly evolved into something more intimate. Mary Ann and Lionel's bond, while emotionally deep, lacked physical intimacy. Frank, as it seemed, filled that void for her. Yet from what I gather, she didn't exactly care for him. It was almost transactional, a temporary solution to a deeper personal problem. As the days turned into weeks and weeks into months, the affair continued and, as if feeding off this newfound energy, the odd occurrences in the house seemed to grow with intensity. May rolled around and everything took on an even more urgent tone.

Speaker 1: 48:17

Mary Ann is going about her day dealing with the humdrum of daily life, the complexities of her relationship with Lionel and the secret passion with Frank, and then, out of nowhere, a scrap of paper floats down in the kitchen. The moment freezes. She snatches the paper and there, scribbled in what could only be described as a childish hand, is her name. What's initially seen as a one-time occurrence soon turns into a pattern. These notes start appearing everywhere, and it's not just any handwriting. It's the same distinct scrawl each time it's as if the house is communicating with her, reaching out, whispering through these papers. But the strangeness doesn't end that very handwriting starts appearing on the walls of the rectory.

Speaker 1: 49:05

Imagine waking up to find cryptic messages scribbled on your walls, fragments of sentences that hint at a plea, a cry for help, an unsolvable riddle. Marianne, in what must have been a mix of courage and desperation, decides to reply to one of these messages writing on the wall. And what happens next? A response appears, further deepening the mystery. The question I kept coming back to was who was trying to communicate with Marianne? What was the message they were trying to convey? Was it a cry for help or something more sinister? The atmosphere at the rectory was palpable. It was becoming something of a pilgrimage site for spiritualists and psychical researchers. They flocked hoping to either debunk or prove the stories surrounding the old home. But for Marianne, their conclusions often added a weight of suspicion she hadn't anticipated. One by one, they pointed fingers at Marianne, their insinuations that she was orchestrating the entire paranormal display, the strange messages, the floating papers. Was at all a grand performance orchestrated by Marianne.

Speaker 1: 50:17

Harry Price returns, a man whose prior investigations had already brought him notoriety. He'd been in touch with the Bull sisters and they kept him appraised of the unfolding drama at the rectory. But just before his anticipated arrival, another player comes into the scene. William Salter, representing the Society for Psychical Research, makes an appearance with the stark warning for Foister about Harry Price. He implies that Price's intentions may be less than pure hinting at the possibility of sensationalist publicity.

Speaker 1: 51:01

It's an overcast day in October. Harry Price and a close-knit group of spiritualists Mrs Kathleen Goldley and Mrs Henry Richards, entered the rectory with high hopes and a hint of skepticism. What they'd witness would be both bewildering and confounding. Imagine sitting down to a civilized dinner, pouring wine, raising a toast and watching in horror as the luxurious red wine turns to ink before your very eyes. It was a scene straight out of a horror movie.

Speaker 1: 51:34

Understandably, mary Ann, who was already under a heavy weight of suspicion, found the whole ordeal too much to bear. She retreated, seeking solace in her room. But the house had other plans. The persistent clang of servant spells echoed through the hallways. Possessions flung themselves violently across the floor and, perhaps most eerie of all, their chauffeur, james Ballantine, caught a chilling sight, a hand devoid of body moving up and down the kitchen door. But even in the thick of the supernatural faith, played a hand Locked inside her room, mary Ann found herself inexplicably trapped, the door locked, while Lionel, in a desperate act of hope, placed a statue by the door and together, separated by the barrier, they prayed. Miraculously, the door unlocked, starting later, at an inn, away from the brooding presence of the rectory, price and his companions dissected the days on settling events. As they talked, a suspicion began to take root even further Could Mary Ann still be orchestrating all these eerie incidents?

Speaker 1: 52:47

When Price approached Lionel with these doubts the next day, the couple was resolute in their defense. But the seeds of doubt, once sown, are not so easily uprooted. The reverend foister wasn't ready to let the stain of doubt tarnish the house's reputation or his wife's character. Determined, he extended an olive branch to Price, an invitation for another night's vigil. Perhaps in the hallowed silence of the rectory they could lay to rest both restless spirits and brewing suspicions. But words spoken in haste or doubt leave scars. Man's view of Price had shifted from a figure of intrigue and hope, he had become, in her words, bombastic and horrid. Yet despite the simmering tension, they embarked on a second night of watchfulness. The house, however, remained mostly silent, offering just a solitary bell's chime, as if in defiance.

Speaker 1: 53:48

Price's doubts about Mary Ann mirrored those of other investigators who had ventured into the rectory. To them, the epicenter of these mysterious events seemed less otherworldly and more human. But just when the scales seemed tipped, in comes Lady Whitehouse, a close confidant of the foisters. She painted a different picture of Mary Ann, a woman frail from the relentless onslaught of the inexplicable phenomena, even bedridden with stress on nights when the supernatural refused to rest. Lady Whitehouse's earnest testimony gave Price pause. Could Mary Ann, in her fragile state, truly mastermind such elaborate hoaxes? As always, the house remained silent. It's hard to imagine the wear and tear on one's psyche from living in a house that refuses to let you rest. And so the foisters found solace in the inviting arms of the White House family, a much needed respite from the oppressive atmosphere of the rectory. But even in the refuge of the White House home, the specter of the rectory, its secrets and accusations trailed them.

Speaker 1: 54:57

By now the foisters had become wary With the constant prying eyes and, more insidiously, the whispers of deceit had made them reluctant custodians of the rectory's mystery. Mary Ann in particular was wearied. She felt cornered, endlessly defending herself against a tide of doubt and disbelief. But every so often the universe extends a hand. Enter the local spiritualists from Marctay and Essex. Led by the Warrens, proprietors of the local village shop that held secrets of its own, they reached out to Lionel. Their proposition, a promise to cleanse the house of its lingering shadows. And guiding them was Guy L'Arange, the town's counselor with an unexpected side job, a spiritualist medium.

Speaker 1: 55:46

In the witching hours of one evening, when the rectory was alive with noises and shadows that refused to be named, the spiritualists of Marctay ventured into its depths. Their mission was clear rid the house of its phantoms and offer the foisters some semblance of peace. One by one, they cleansed each room, their chants and prayers echoing through the cold, drafty quarters, pushing back against the dark by dawn. An assurance the house was calm and Lionel, he felt it a palpable shift in the energy of their home. But sometimes, in our quest for answers, the mundane mixes with the mysterious Marianne's absence from the rectory during weekdays, told its own story and could have explained the sudden dip in paranormal activity. Her affair with Frank Peerless was a poorly kept secret. And while Lionel bankrolled Frank's new venture, a florist shop, life had its own twist. Waiting for Marianne, frank Peerless, in an unforeseen turn, shut up shop and vanished with a 16 year old assistant. The rectory, for all its hauntings and history, was once again home to Marianne.

Speaker 1: 57:01

After the tempestuous start, what would the next chapter hold for the foisters? The walls of the rectory had borne witness to so much over the years, and yet its next chapter was one of stillness. The year was 1935,. As Autumn's golden leaves fell, so too did Reverend Lionel foister. A sudden health decline saw him collapse mid-sermon, a dramatic and heartbreaking moment. Lionel's days at the pulpit were over.

Speaker 1: 57:32

The rectory, a building that had once echoed with stories of the paranormal, was enveloped in a different kind of silence, abandoned. But as with all stories, change was once again on the horizon. As always, 1936 brought with it Reverend Alfred Clifford Henning, and while he took up the title of Rector, the rectory itself remained untouched. Henning chose the cottage across the way. A fresh start, perhaps? But by September, changes and parish dynamics meant the families moved to Liston Rectory, leaving the borly rectory to its memories once more. The sprawling borly rectory, with its rooms steeped in history and mystery, now stood with a foresale sign in its yard. The church had come to a sobering realization the house was no longer practical, an expensive behemoth, hard to manage, and the media's constant sensationalization of the property certainly didn't help make things any easier.

Speaker 1: 58:33

Now, once again, re-enter Harry Price, the same price who had earlier suspicions about Marianne Foister. He saw potential in the rectory, not as a family home but as a hub for paranormal research. He dreamt of turning it into a psychical trust, a sanctuary for those touched by the other worldly. But dreams often come with a price tag. The rectory was in bad shape, the cost to restore it Astronomical. But Price wasn't ready to let go. Instead he shifted his gaze towards renting it. After a series of negotiations with Reverend Henning, and after a few rounds of back and forth, price secured the rectory for thirty pounds a year. And just like that, borley Rectory had its first lay tenant.

Speaker 1: 59:23

In a bustling London in 1937, an advert catches the eye of readers across the city the pitch To become part of an intriguing investigation in an allegedly haunted house. I mean, this isn't just any haunted house, it's the Borley Rectory, a place with history as thick as the walls that held its many secrets. Price wasn't just calling for volunteers, he had a specific idea in mind. He was seeking responsible persons of leisure intelligence. I mean, what does that even mean Leisure intelligence? But it goes on Intrepid, critical, unbiased. And there's more. But perhaps the most curious part, he was looking for individuals who had their own cars. Huh, wonder why he released the Blue Book, a manual on how to well, essentially how to meet a ghost. It's filled with both the mundane, like bring sandwiches, and the profound, or perhaps just plain weird, like the part where it tells you to, if you see an apparition, not move your own approach, just watch and remember the details. It's like Price was crafting his own ghost-watching etiquette. The Blue Book also came with a sort of disclaimer.

Speaker 1: 1:00:44

Price wanted to ensure that his investigators ruled out anything ordinary before crying ghost Rats, wind birds in the chimney. It seemed Price was as much a skeptic as he was a believer. What remains so curious about Price's approach is how it contrasts with his previous experiences. Why seek unbiased investigators and then hand them a guidebook that essentially narrates the haunted history of the Borely Rectory? Did he want them to go in unbiased or well-informed? It's a mystery.

Speaker 1: 1:01:18

After the ink dried on that advert in the Times, the allure of Borely Rectory was undeniable. Investors poured in, over two hundred of them, people from all walks of life, all with one common thread the desire to spend a night in what was touted as England's most haunted house. Price, meticulous and perhaps a bit cynical, sifted through these applications. He was looking for not just any investigator but the right kind, and from that pile of hopefuls he chose forty-eight, the roster. It was a mixed bag, from stoic military men used to the discipline of the battlefield, to journalists with their insatiable curiosity, even some doctors. But why Was it to lend credibility to whatever findings they'd gather? And here's where things get a bit curious. Each of these investigators had to sign a contract. Now Price himself scoffed at it, saying it was essentially worthless. But the clauses in it? They were very specific. In essence, it silenced the investigators. No writing about it, no lectures, no pictures without Price's explicit permission. One has to wonder was Price trying to control the narrative or was he ensuring the authenticity of the investigation? This question will haunt us even more in the actions that followed. It's evident that Harry Price, ever the shrewd self-promoter, wasn't about to let anyone else take the limelight or, more specifically, have a share of the Borley Rectory story. The question then becomes was this venture for genuine research or was it the making of his own well-scripted ghost story.

Speaker 1: 1:03:09

As the summer days shortened and the nights grew colder, borley Rectory's libraries became more than just a room filled with old tomes and dust. It morphed into the nerve center of this expedition, into the unknown. Picture it, the warm glow of gas lamps illuminating a room that once housed tales of fiction and now documenting potentially factual events beyond our understanding. Sydney Glanville, a member of the investigative team and as meticulous as they come, took it upon himself to chart the geography of the ghostly house. Every room, every corridor was sketched in detail. It's like he was trying to map the border between our world and the other.

Speaker 1: 1:03:52

Reports from the investigators working on the property began to stream in Bells without ringers, footsteps without feet. Later that fall, a quartet of investigators decided to bridge the divide more directly. The seances they held were their medium, their channel to converse with the past. Seances. From yesteryears emerged the bulls, a family long associated with the Rectory, seemed to have unfinished business, tales of treachery and poison. During eight seances over a 48 hour period, they were contacted by spirits claiming to be both Henry and Harry Bull, as well as Henry's wife Caroline, with all three making claims of various historical poisonings, including a servant girl being poisoned by Henry and Harry having been poisoned by his wife. But like any conversation with the past, clarity isn't guaranteed. Messages started spiraling into a cacophony of confusion before being abandoned.

Speaker 1: 1:04:57

The investigators then found themselves in a hallway, a space often traversed but rarely noticed. Just outside the blue room, table, tipping, a method often seen in old movies and seances, became their tool of choice. The table, like a compass, began to point them to an identity, a name Mary Lair, a nun from another era, another world. Mary's story was one of crossing borders, from the picturesque landscapes of France to the rolling hills of England. But as the planchettes skated over the board, it seemed the heart of her tale lay beneath the earth, a shallow grave, hidden from sight on the property, beneath a towering fir tree. Her plea, simple and heart-wrenching a Christian burial, an acknowledgement of a life once lived. Yet as the days wore, on another whisper from the beyond emerged Father Enoch, a monk, his fate intertwined with Mary's in the garden's embrace, two souls seemingly bound to the rector's grounds, each with a story yearning to be heard.

Speaker 1: 1:06:06

Mary Price, the man at the helm of this supernatural voyage, was known for his meticulous documentation. In his book the Most Haunted Home in England, he delved deep into the phenomenon of Borley Rectory. Yet one aspect struck me as odd. When presented with accounts of the mysterious nun named Mary Lair a character ripe for validation Price balked. Though the grave's exact location was described, he did not excavate. Instead, he penned his own elaborate backstory for Mary.

Speaker 1: 1:06:41

But when you pull back the curtain there's a notable absence. Historical records bearing Mary's name are eerily absent. Was she real, a figment of collective imagination? Or perhaps a creation by Price himself, aiming to fuel the enigma of the rector? But it wasn't just about Mary. As the months passed, a mountain of evidence grew, capturing every eerie echo and unexplainable rustle within the rector's walls. Yet Harry Dingle of the Society for Psychical Research had a different take. To him, this pile of data amounted to little more than whispers in the wind.

Speaker 1: 1:07:20

In our quest for understanding, I wonder when do we sift through the noise for true meaning and when do we find ourselves ensnared by the allure of a good ghost story? Seances, as we've come to understand, are intimate affairs, connections made with the beyond and dimly lit rooms. But this particular seance took a different route. Instead of the cold echoing chambers of the boarly rectory, it was held within the cozy confines of a home belonging to the Glenvilles family. The spirit that made contact that evening went by an unexpected name, sue Nix, and with an odd message to boot A forewarning of the rectory's imminent destruction. The message was cryptic at best, a promise of fiery doom. At nine o'clock, haunting revelation and a tale of ghastly murder. But as is often the case in stories like these, skepticism took the reins. No one from the Glenville household ventured to boarly that night. In hindsight, perhaps a wise choice, given the night passed without any fiery events.

Speaker 1: 1:08:27

Once Harry Price's tenancy concluded, the investigators departed their findings, archived in boarly secrets. Well, they remained just that. The boarly rectory had a long history of haunting echoes and whispered secrets, each tenant leaving with their own tales to tell. But Captain William Hart Gregson, with his two sons, was to be the last in that line. It's funny, isn't it? Here's a family starting a new chapter in a house with so much history and within weeks, the very same house bears witness to its own tragic ending. It started innocuously enough a mere tumble of books, a gas lamp knocked over. But the consequence was devastating. The flames grew quickly, swallowing the rectory whole, despite the valiant efforts of the fire department using the tranquil waters of a nearby duck pond to combat the roaring flames. The rectory was lost.

Speaker 1: 1:09:27

While the ruins whispered the tales of its past, captain Gregson was caught in the undertow of suspicion. An insurance claim that should have been a formality became a contentious battle, one that pulled back the curtain on a potential sinister motive. Did the captain, the very man who sought refuge within the rectory's walls, set the blaze to cash in? Or was it truly an accident, a mishap of fate? As the Gregson drama played out in real time, another figure re-entered the scene for the millionth time Harry Price, a man with vested interest and a penchant for the supernatural. Instead of moving on, price was penning down his experiences, turning the investigation of the poorly rectory's mysteries into a legacy. His book would not only document the hauntings, but would elevate the rectory to an iconic status in the world of paranormal investigation. The house may have been reduced to ruins, but its legend was only just beginning.

Speaker 1: 1:10:28

Borley rectory was now once again front page news. His book didn't just stoke the flames of intrigue, it set ablaze a worldwide fascination. The lore of the love struck none. The ominous monk and the eerily prescient seance of Sue Nix became part of the public consciousness. The public latched onto this tapestry of events with an almost fervent zeal. There was something about the ruins, the story, that was simply irresistible.

Speaker 1: 1:10:56

And Captain Gregson Well, he became the unlikely gatekeeper of these mysteries, but not merely as an observer. Indeed, he cashed in. The ruined Rectory really wasn't a heartbreak for him. It was a business venture, and business was booming. Years later, gregson's own sons would throw him under the bus. Their father, it seems, didn't buy the Rectory out of fascination or even chance. He had a plan, a plan to monetize the very specters that haunted its walls. When it became apparent this wasn't going to pan out quite as he had anticipated, he torched the place, hoping to cash in on the insurance. Instead, now, with the building in ruins, the house was finding renewed interest and the haunted amusement became something of a reality.

Speaker 1: 1:11:47

Borley Rectory wasn't just the site of historical hauntings. It was, and perhaps always had been, a stage, and its actors, well, they were ever changing, but the story, it was timeless. It's 1942. The world is in the throes of a war, it's future uncertain. And here's Price, in the middle of it all, determined to unearth the mysteries of the Nun reportedly buried on the grounds, in an effort to verify a past long gone and finally was going to excavate, but the universe combated him.

Speaker 1: 1:12:24

The war didn't just tear countries apart. It left little room for pursuits of the supernatural. Abel-bodied men were enlisted to protect their nation, leaving ghostly stories to the background, that is until Reverend Alfred Henning re-entered the picture. He opened up the doors to list in Rectory for Price, offering not just hospitality but also the hope of unearthing the truth. With a spade, a gardener and the weight of history on their shoulders, they began to dig, but what were they really hoping to find? Was it the confirmation of a haunting tale, or perhaps something even more profound?

Speaker 1: 1:13:04

August 17th, a day that started like any other in the quaint village where Borley Rectory once stood Soft morning glow, a gentle breeze. But beneath the seemingly placid exterior there was a tingling sense of apprehension Price, a man who had been intertwined with the Rectory's experiences from the very beginning, digging through its very foundations. By his side, reverend Alfred Henning, a spiritual man who had seen the past and present of the Rectory and now was eager to uncover its buried truths. And then there's Dr Eric Bailey, with its clinical precision, and Roland Bailey, the barrister, ensuring everything was above board, with historian Georgina Dawson providing historical context and Mrs Ethel English diligently jotting down every detail. It was a team that meant business. For hours they found what you might expect Discarded items, remnants of the past. But then, at two o'clock in the afternoon, a discovery A jawbone. Not just any jawbone, but one still bearing its teeth, and nearby a fragment of a skull, whispering of a forgotten past. Dr Bailey, analyzing the findings there and then confirmed what they all suspected these were human remains, the jawbone of a woman. Could it be the nun Mary Lair or someone else from the Rectory's storied past?

Speaker 1: 1:14:36

The next morning began with renewed energy. The group, having made a startling discovery the day before, hoped that maybe they'd unveil more of the mystery. But this day's diggings brought something different Two small medallions as they glistened in the light. Price examined them. His conclusion Italian in origin, an odd find for this English countryside. But it wasn't the first Italian connection to the Rectory. It brought back memories of the elegant Italian marble fireplace that once adorned the home. Two weeks later they returned for another go, hopeful, but the earth remained tight-lipped. No more jawbones, no more skulls, just the stillness of history.

Speaker 1: 1:15:22

By 1945, with the war now over, the fragments of bone, the remnants of a lifelong past, had their final resting place In a quiet ceremony, beneath the overhanging branches of ancient trees, enlist in churchyard the bones were laid to rest. Among the attendees were Reverend Alfred Henning, his wife and son Harry Price, and local photographer Eric Cowcraft. All gathering to pay respects to a soul they never knew yet, one whose story had become inexplicably intertwined with their own. Harry Price's second book on the Borley Rectory, titled the End of Borley Rectory, hit the shelves in 1946. This wasn't just another account. It was his conclusion, his final thoughts on a place that had consumed so much of his professional life. In the pages of this new volume, price painted the picture the ruins of the rectory, once towering and intimidating, had been reduced to rubble, the echoes of its haunting past, silenced by bulldozers, fire and time. But in Price's eyes, the discovery of those bones. They had finally given a name and identity to the haunting specter of Mary, a French nun who, according to Lore, wandered its halls. For now she had been laid to rest.

Speaker 1: 1:16:49

But just as Borley's stories seemed to find a conclusion in Price's writings, life, as always, had its own plot twist. In a quiet Sussex home, on March 29, 1948, price's story came to an unexpected halt A heart attack. What's remarkable is that even in death, price's legacy continued A third book forever left unfinished, forever keeping the world in anticipation on his final insights on the mysteries of Borley. But while his third book never saw the light of day, the tales Price had already shared lived on. Reprints of his works filled bookstore shelves. And tales of the haunted Borley Rectory found new audiences, each generation intrigued, each reader captivated by the enigmatic stories of the house and its ghostly inhabitants.

Speaker 1: 1:17:40

While Harry Price's tales of Borley Rectory held the public's fascination for years, things began to unravel after his death. Detractors, skeptics, they were everywhere and they had a lot to say. There's this journalist, charles Sutton, who worked for the Daily Mail. In December 1948, just months after Price's passing, he pens an article for the Inky Way Annual. Now Sutton had been with Price during a visit to Borley in 1929, and his account paints a rather different picture. Many things happened the night I spent in the infamous Borley Rectory with Harry Price. Sutton writes. After much noisy phenomena, I seized Harry and found his pockets full of bricks and pebbles. There's this image Sutton struck by a pebble in the haunted hallways of Borley. Discovering these very pebbles in Price's pockets, he rushes to phone in his story, but it's squashed. Bad luck, old man. The news editor tells him, fast forward to 1956, the Society for Psychical Research releases their own report.

Speaker 1: 1:18:46

Now, this is an organization with some weight in the world of the paranormal and their findings on Price Certainly not flattering. They critique his methods, his conclusions, and they even hint, just hint, that Price might have well fudged some evidence. The very bones he said might belong to the legendary nun, potentially planted. So here's the thing I keep coming back to. As Harry Price's star was rising, there was this palpable growing hunger from those around him. People didn't just want to hear about the otherworldly wonders Price spoke of, they wanted to witness them firsthand. It's a little like being drawn to a light, or perhaps more fittingly, like moths to a flame.

Speaker 1: 1:19:33

Price's decision to found his national laboratory wasn't just some spur of the moment whim, it was calculated. In doing so he crafted this sort of exclusive club, drawing in the thinkers of the day, especially those with a curious tilt towards parapsychology. And they didn't just idle around. He allowed them into his inner sanctum, giving them a ticket to some of the most talked about seances In return for this access. These scientific minds also unknowingly became Price's PR machine. Their attendance wasn't just about observation, it was an endorsement.

Speaker 1: 1:20:11

Let's talk about the media. Price was every journalist's dream. His stories, whether you consider them flights of fancy or the gospel truth, were journalist gold. They sold papers. They sparked debates in smoky parlors.

Speaker 1: 1:20:26

But and this is a big but was there a possibility that Price, sensing the allure of his narrative, might have sometimes embellished? Was he the truth-seeking investigator delving into the unknown? Or was he perhaps a storyteller knowing just how to spin a tale to make headlines? What do we make of all this? Was Price a con man looking for fame? Or was there something real, something unexplainable, happening at Borley? As always, the truth, it seems, is harder to pin down than a ghost.

Speaker 1: 1:21:02

Let's take a step back for a moment. While many have been quick to question Price's motives or even discredit his work, I can't help but think that maybe it's not as straightforward as it seems. Could Price have truly believed in the foundational elements of his stories and simply felt that adding a little flair might help the genuine parts shine through? Now I don't want to paint an incomplete picture, to say that Price's approach lacked the rigor we'd expect from serious research. Well, that might be putting it mildly, but there's no denying that his penchant for drama and headlines could overshadow the authenticity of his work. But let's pause to consider another side of this coin.

Speaker 1: 1:21:43

Despite the criticism, it's impossible to ignore Price's undeniable impact. Since the days of Yor, it was Price who brought psychical research to the everyday Englishman. He made it a household topic, spurring countless discussions in homes and pubs, and whether we agree with his methods or not, he made it mainstream. But was it a genuine representation? Borley Rectory remains a mystery in its own right. Others have argued that it holds a unique place in the annals of psychical research, but I can't help but feel torn about it.

Speaker 1: 1:22:19

There's another element to the beginnings of these stories that we haven't really discussed yet Health, and its impact on the narrative can't be ignored. Consider Henry Bull, the figure at the heart of the narrative's beginnings. His battle with tertiary syphilis raises unsettling questions about his mental state. It's a well-established fact that syphilis can lead to cognitive deterioration. His son, harry, following in his father's footsteps, was entrenched in the world of spiritualism.

Speaker 1: 1:22:48

Yet there's more to Harry's story. Narcolepsy, a condition causing sudden deep sleep episodes, could have woven a layer of complexity into Harry's encounters. Apnagogic hallucinations during these sleep attacks could have blurred his perception of reality. And then there's the foisters, marianne and Lionel. Their narrative is interwoven with financial strain and emotional turmoil. Could these elements have blurred their psychological landscape? Stress, as we know, can mold perceptions in peculiar ways. Could their struggles have shaped their experiences, causing them to perceive the inexplicable in ways different from reality? In this intricate tapestry, health becomes a central thread linking individuals and experiences. Yet it's a thread that leads us down meandering paths of speculation.

Speaker 1: 1:23:37

What's certain is that Borley Rectory holds more than just paranormal intrigue. It's a human story of complex lives intersecting with the supernatural. We're left with fragments of a puzzle that may never fully come together. In dissecting the intricate web of the Borley Rectory saga, it's evident that we're dealing with a story that naturally cleaves itself into distinct chapters Pre-price involvement and post-price era. Each phase unveils a different facet of this narrative.

Speaker 1: 1:24:10

Before Harry Price's arrival on the scene, the storyline remains simpler, with a cast of characters who genuinely believed in the presence of the phenomena within the Rectory's walls. Their shared conviction gave rise to a rich oral history weaving a baffling story that they all seemed to believe. Then enters Harry Price, a transformative figure whose impact on the story cannot be underestimated. With his insatiable hunger for publicity, price's presence muddies the water of this already strange tale. His relentless pursuit of fame taints the very fabric of the investigation, as observed by those around him, and herein lies a quandary that colors much of the subsequent work dedicated to the case. Intriguingly, borley Rectory reveals itself as a narrative of two distinct halves One, a chronicle of sincere belief and genuine curiosity, the other, a narrative shaped and shaded by the ambitions of one man.

Speaker 1: 1:25:12

Delving into this juncture of Borley Rectory's history, even staunch advocates of Harry Price must grapple with the realization that he orchestrated several incidents of deception during his involvement. Among these, one of the most conspicuous is a photograph of a purportly paranormal phenomenon a levitating brick. This photo was captured by David Sherman, a photographer for the American magazine Life, during his visit to the demolition site, accompanied by Price, in 1944. This image, showing a brick seemingly suspended in mid-air was showcased by Price as concrete evidence of supernatural activity. However, it was nothing more than a clever ruse A brick tossed over a workman's shoulder, conveniently concealed just beyond the camera's frame. It's a vivid illustration of Price's penchant for manipulating visual evidence to support his claims.

Speaker 1: 1:26:07

The overarching narrative surrounding Mary Lair, the nun whose existence lacks substantiation also stands under scrutiny. Was she perhaps a product of Price's imagination, ingeniously woven into the tale to spark the public's imagination? The narratives of the ghostly nun gliding through the Rectory's gardens and the spectral carriage, though they still endure. Countless witnesses remain ready to recount their own encounters, painting an undeniably eerie portrait of the paranormal within its walls. Equally compelling are the accounts of spectral whispers that drift through the corridors and the sound of ringing bells in the emptiness of the near-deserted building during the haunting hours of night.

Speaker 1: 1:26:48

From its inception, the boorly rectory tale was fraught with controversy. A winding narrative that defies definitive resolution, even after more than seven decades since the building's fiery demise. While it might not definitively hold the title of the most haunted home in England, the story of the boorly rectory stands as an intricate narrative. It's a tale marked by complexity, a captivating puzzle that comfortably finds its place among the pantheon of history's most renowned hauntings. And so, as we reflect on the layers of this history we've unraveled, we find ourselves caught in a web of contradictions, controversy and the ceaseless pull of the unknown.

Speaker 1: 1:27:33

Throughout our exploration, we've traversed the thresholds of time, encountering a world woven from tales of apparitions, ringing bells and the mysterious presence of a spectral nun. We've witnessed the remarkable efforts of Harry Price, a figure who seemingly bridged the gap between science and the unexplained. Yet as we delve deeper, the lines between genuine investigation and sensationalism begin to blur, prompting us to question the motives behind the stories we've found. And so we're left with a lingering question why should we care about a burnt-out ruin and the ghosts that may or may not have inhabited its walls? Perhaps it's because stories like Boorly Rectory remind us that the boundary between reality and imagination is more porous than we'd like to admit. It beckons us to embrace the mysteries that exist at the fringes of our understanding, inviting us to consider the unseen forces that shape our world. In the words of the poet HP Lovecraft, the oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.

Speaker 1: 1:28:42

As we conclude this chapter of when Walls Can Talk, let's not forget that the very walls around us hold stories we've yet to uncover, and the boundaries of the supernatural realm remain as blurred as ever. The story of Boorly Rectory stands as a testament to our unyielding quest for answers, a testament that, even when we tear down walls, the mysteries they hold may linger on echoing through time with a haunting and poignant resonance and that, dear listeners, brings us to the end of another captivating chapter in the intricate tapestry of haunted history. I'm your host, jeremy Haig, and every story we've explored on when Walls Can Talk is a labor of love, a journey into the forgotten corners of the past where the walls whisper tales of bygone eras. Before we wrap up, I'd like to, as always, extend a heartfelt thank you to Artlistio for providing the hauntingly beautiful music and sound effects that accompanied us throughout this episode. If you found yourself lost in the melodies and rhythms, you're in for a treat. Head over to the show notes, where you'll find a link to Artlistio, the premiere destination for royalty-free and copyright music. And, as a special offer for our listeners, you get two months free when you join a paid membership.

Speaker 1: 1:31:00

If you've enjoyed our journey through Boorley Rectory and the many other stories we've shared, I'd love to hear from you. Leave us a review on your favorite podcast platform and let us know what stories resonate with you the most. Your feedback helps us continue to bring you the most engaging narratives from the past, and you may be shouted out in a future episode. Remember, the walls around us are alive with stories waiting to be discovered. So until next time, embrace the mysteries that history holds and keep listening to the echoes of the past. Thank you for joining me. And this has been when Walls Can Talk.