What is going on over at ASSAP?

 Romer resigns!

Unfortunate events are occurring at the Association for the Scientific Study of Anomalous Phenomena (ASSAP).  The chair, Christian Jensen Romer (known as CJ), has resigned, along with the treasurer, Dr Becky Smith, plus a number of executive committee members.  Becky remains as treasurer on paper to satisfy legal requirements and to hand over to her successor, when appointed, in an orderly manner.  Meanwhile, the organisation ties itself in knots as factions snipe at each other on ASSAP’s Facebook page – a forum open to non-members as well as members.  As a member myself I have naturally followed events with interest.

The circumstances of this rift were initially murky.  Gradually it transpired that a faction of five individuals on the executive, pretentiously calling themselves ‘The Fellowship’ (a soubriquet they seemed a little embarrassed by once it had been made public), set up a private Messenger group bypassing ASSAP’s three directors: the chair, the treasurer and the secretary (Claire Davy).  On the face of it the problem seemed to be a simple oversight in informing the Charity Commission of a change to the Articles of Association, something that, while awkward, could surely be easily rectified.

 

Articles of Association confusion

What was the nature of this oversight?  An email was circulated to members on 3 July by Dr Hugh Pincott, ASSAP vice-president and company secretary (who has not otherwise been involved in the situation).  This contained a motion to be put to an EGM to be held on 25 July: ‘That the illegal Articles of Association agreed in 2010 be rescinded, and replaced by the previous ones of 2007. The latter are agreed to be valid by the Charity Commission and deemed by it to be our governing document.’

His explanatory notes amplify how this state of affairs had come about.  Essentially, ASSAP’s original 1981 Articles of Association were updated in 2007, then further updated in 2010 and passed by the membership at that year’s AGM.  But one change was that ASSAP should have only three directors – chair, secretary and treasurer.  The Charity Commission had stated that all trustees are directors, and an organisation should not have only three.  The 2007 version allowed all trustees to be directors.

The EGM motion over Pincott’s name therefore invited members to discard the 2010 Articles, which would not be approved by the Commission, thereby reinstating the 2007 ones.  Further, it would ‘protect our present and future Directors (doubtless acting through ignorance of the Law) from criminal prosecution by the Commission and Companies House.’  Such a proposal is wise, looking at past history.

No doubt if the 2010 Articles had been sent to the Charity Commission this problem would have been swiftly pointed out, but they were not, through an oversight of the then chair (not CJ) and secretary.  So not knowing of this update, the Charity Commission assumed the 2007 Articles were in operation, while the ASSAP executive assumed the 2010 version was valid.  Once this anomalous situation had become apparent, realisation dawned that something needed to be done.  Consequently, CJ spent hours on the phone to the Charity Commission to check that the 2010 articles complied with the law and were valid.

 

The Fellowship rings in

Unfortunately a subset of executive members managed to blow up an administrative problem into chaos.  Whether rightly or wrongly, the three directors CJ, Becky and (apparently) Claire understood The Fellowship intended to remove them, using the confusion over the Articles as ammunition, even though none of the three had been involved in the 2010 error.  This involved The Fellowship contacting the Charity Commission direct, without the chair’s knowledge, rather than through the official organisational channel, in order to confirm the accuracy of CJ’s statements.  The result was seen as circumventing and undermining the directors.  This was what led to CJ and Becky’s resignation, followed by several other members of the 13-strong executive (CJ’s announcement on Facebook of his departure has since been deleted).  The major responsibility for sorting out the mess has fallen to Claire.

 

Parsons speaks

Naturally once the news of CJ’s departure broke there was alarm and despondency among the members, and a great deal of criticism was levelled at The Fellowship.  Initially there was little appetite by the Fellows to put their side of the story, but first Bill Eyre placed a defence on Facebook, then Steve Parsons, followed by a formal statement signed by all five.  In his commentary, Parsons noted the difficult personal circumstances CJ and Becky faced at the time the problem with the Articles came to light – Becky had suffered a bereavement in March, affecting both of them deeply – and while the fellows were conscious of the risk of losing Becky and CJ (presumably by undermining their authority, though Parsons is not specific on the point), it was felt action was required.

While nobody would disagree with that aim, the methods adopted are open to question.  Parsons asserts they were in fact doing CJ a favour by trying to ease his workload as they were obliged to ensure ASSAP’s good governance, and the extra pressure might have caused CJ to quit, something they were keen to avoid (even though in fact he was busy dealing with the Charity Commission to sort the problem out).  So they weren’t really going behind his back as conspirators, just being helpful by trying to clarify the situation prior to an executive meeting.  Parsons stresses there was no secrecy, but it’s hard to see quite how this process was transparent with the chair and treasurer excluded, plus other executive members missing.  He makes no reference to the secretary, who should have been included in such discussions, as she made clear in a Facebook comment.  There was in fact no legitimacy to The Fellowship’s actions.

And the name?  Group chats require a title according to Parsons, so The Fellowship was used off the cuff, with no deep meaning.  My understanding is the group was using Messenger, not WhatsApp as originally stated, and it isn’t necessary to give a Messenger group a name, so I don’t know what Parsons is referring to here.  He feels it was unfortunate this desire to help had the opposite effect of pushing CJ to resign, leading to hostility towards The Fellowship.  And finally, he says, if the entire executive were to resign, as has been mooted by some members, then ASSAP would cease to function.  That is true if they were not replaced, but there may be members willing to take on the challenge, and be team players.

 

The Fellowship puts its side

There followed a ‘Statement of facts relating to the governance of ASSAP’, dated 15 July, signed by the gang of five and sent to members, which at least finally made clear all the names of those involved.  This picked up many of the points in the statements released by Eyre and Parsons on Facebook.  Noting they now formed the majority of those left on the executive (five out of eight), the rest having resigned, they put forward their version ‘to clarify events.’  They refer to statements made by CJ at executive meetings during 2024 about governance which concerned the signatories and of which they claimed to have been previously unaware.  A group held ‘offline’ discussions (i.e. not in meetings of the executive) ‘to identify their concerns and consider how these could be raised with C J without causing upset or offence or seeming to make any false accusations.’

They could have said to CJ they were worried about the issues he had highlighted and suggested they seek to resolve them collectively.  I’m sure he would not have been upset or offended, quite the contrary.  Yet the Fellows refer to ‘accusations’ because bizarrely ‘we had gained the impression that CJ was perhaps ‘inventing’ rules as he went along and thought that he had produced a ‘new version of the A of A [Articles of Association]’.  One can see why CJ might have been offended by the suggestion, but they could have been put right easily enough had they only asked.  Reading the Articles would have helped comprehension.  Either CJ was spectacularly opaque in his presentation or the clique was being disingenuous.

What to do?   Well, they continue, they were going to talk to CJ, but before they had a chance, they say Stu Neville informed him of these secret discussions, at which point CJ resigned, making allegations that there was a ‘secretive coup to overthrow him.’  It should be noted that Neville, who resigned from the executive when the scandal broke, was said by CJ not to be the source, rather he was told by three separate individuals, one of whom had signed this very statement – it sounds as though members of The Fellowship were not being candid with each other.  But they claim there was no coup, secret or otherwise, so CJ was wrong.  As ‘concerned trustees’ they were merely trying to work out the correct rules, adding it is not unusual for subsets of executive members to discuss items such as events or training privately before bringing them to the attention of the full executive.

All blown out of proportion then.  But these constitutional matters are more fundamental than training or events, which would be handled by the executive member responsible before discussion by the full executive.  Furthermore, CJ had brought these items to their attention, so it seemed odd to exclude both him and the secretary from the Messenger chat when CJ was operating normally despite Becky’s bereavement, and Claire would have been perfectly able to contribute.  Yet the directors were conspicuous by their absence from the group, despite the key role they would need to play in rectifying past mistakes.

 

The regrettable misunderstandings

The Fellowship claim they acted with the best of intentions, and CJ’s resignation arose from two misunderstandings, one on either side.  The first was their assumption that the 2010 Articles had been ‘the work of CJ,’ whereas they had been the responsibility of a previous chair.  They were told this by CJ after he resigned, and they say that had they known beforehand, there would have been no need to have the ‘offline’ conversation.  They do not concede that this is what you get when you cut a key player out of the loop and act on incomplete information.  The second was CJ’s assumption that there was a plot to unseat him and seize the leadership of ASSAP.  It was never contemplated ‘owing to it being an onerous, time consuming, yet unpaid, role.’

A fair assessment, yet they still undermined the chair, and presumably the notion didn’t pop into CJ’s head from nowhere, unless The Fellowship want to add a charge of paranoia.  They conclude that the business could have been avoided by having an executive meeting before CJ resigned, though they could easily have requested one by approaching the secretary.  They maintain that ‘CJ’s decision to become petulant, resign and involve the whole of the ASSAP membership in these matters has undoubtedly brought ASSAP into disrepute,’ a sentiment a contributor on Facebook characterised as a textbook example of gaslighting.

The Fellowship said they had initially refrained from commenting to avoid further argument, but had no choice because CJ’s ‘distorted account’ had resulted in ‘malicious accusations’ against The Fellowship, though actually their silence had stoked annoyance as it looked as though they had no adequate response.  When CJ resigned there was an outpouring of affection for him on the Facebook page, with many positive comments about his various activities for ASSAP, and a marked feeling he had been hard done by, but criticisms were measured, not malicious.

While they thought CJ was a good researcher and speaker, The Fellowship believed ‘his petulant nature and periodic outbursts when dealing with other members of the Executive does make us doubt his suitability for the Chairman’s role.’  They had previously said they had no plans to oust him and couldn’t think who else might take on this ‘onerous, time-consuming’ position anyway, now he is unsuitable for the job.  The thought processes appear confused.  An indignant Hayley Stevens took exception to the repeated use of petulant and wrote a blog post titled ‘ASSAP Exec. Loses Plot, Call (sic) CJ Romer “Petulant”’.

 

Romer bites back

Not only Hayley Stevens took exception.  The Fellows’ self-justification evoked an email to members from the man himself, a clearly annoyed CJ setting out his ‘final statement’ following his earlier Facebook interventions.  Beginning by highlighting the lack of communication leading to this outcome, he exonerates Neville from the charge of having dobbed The Fellowship to him.  He also mentions in passing an allegation by The Fellowship that he had changed passwords when they had not been changed, indicating a worrying lack of competence on their part.  He alludes to complaints made about a talk he had given, though no details have been aired.  Naturally he is vexed by the reference to petulance because naturally he sees his action as proportionate and considered.

He says he and Becky were planning to stand down at the 2024 AGM in October anyway, but wanted an orderly transition, a long way from what has happened.  Not only has he stepped down from the executive, he has left ASSAP, although finishing off some jobs.  Other outstanding business will fall to what remains of the executive, not least the Journal and magazine, currently being proofread.  Normally CJ and Becky would oversee production and dispatch, but he has passed the task on to the no doubt chuffed publications officer.

 

Next steps

The Fellowship contends CJ overreacted, but I would say his response has been entirely reasonable.  I’m sure I would have felt much the same had I discovered a group of executive members were going behind my back and doubting what I was saying, however they dressed it up.  I’ve known him thirty years, and whatever the merits of the Fellowship’s case he is an honourable, hardworking, highly intelligent individual who has given a great deal of service to ASSAP over many years, as chair, editor of its publications, talk organiser and presenter, as well as the administration that goes with committee work.  Looked at objectively, it is hard to disagree he has been shabbily treated, even if one charitably characterises the actions of The Fellowship as merely inept.

The Fellowship sign off their 15 July statement by acknowledging that several executive members had resigned because of the stress (though there are other explanations), express the wish that the remaining ones will carry on trying to provide services, and welcome new members who decide to stand at the 2024 AGM in the autumn.  Whether the executive can carry on so severely understaffed for the next three months is debatable.  In particular, the resignations of executive members have created a great deal of work for the secretary.

Unsurprisingly there have been numerous calls to hold elections for all executive posts immediately, and if they are, The Fellowship will discover how convincing their arguments and justifications have been (the one Fellow who may feel he is safe is Steve Parsons, because he is so deeply embedded in the ASSAP training programme).  When the elections are held the membership will face hard choices, not least whether it wants individuals whose judgement has been so lacking to continue in positions of responsibility.  The EGM to be held on 25 July may present a way forward, and allow the Association to rebuild.  The Fellowship members will be a key aspect of the debate, I’m sure.

 

Acknowledgement: The image was generated at OpenArt AI, using the prompt ‘crisis in psychical research’.

A couple of coincidences

These are notes of a couple of coincidences I experienced in 2020 which have been sitting in my file ever since.  I offer them diffidently, on the assumption that some people will find them about as interesting as hearing someone else’s dream.  On the other hand, while they probably have no significance, they still leave me with a feeling they might point to something deeper I cannot quite put my finger on (the reason I noted them).

 

1 Cause Célèbre

On the evening of Friday 24 April 2020, I sat down with my wife to watch the 1987 Anglia Television adaptation of Terence Rattigan’s final play Cause Célèbre, starring Helen Mirren, Harry Andrews and David Morrissey as Alma Rattenbury, her husband Francis, and her young lover George Bowman respectively.  The play is based on the real-life murder at Bournemouth in 1935 of Alma’s elderly husband and the subsequent trial of Alma Rattenbury and George Stoner (presumably the name change to Bowman was because Stoner was still alive in 1987) at the Old Bailey.

While I was putting the DVD into the player I mentioned I was familiar with the case from a true crime volume, and said, disregarding spoilers, that the husband was attacked by the lover when Alma and her husband were walking along a suburban road and the young man jumped out from behind a hedge, bludgeoning him.  As we watched the programme it was clear this was not how the murder happened: George creeps into the downstairs bedroom of ‘Rats’, as Alma calls her husband, and whacks him several times with a mallet, cracking his skull.  Clearly, I had been confusing it with another case, but a search the following morning did not throw up what it was.

A few hours later I was reading the Daily Telegraph’s Saturday review section and turned to Simon Heffer’s ‘Hinterland’ column.  He writes about aspects of British culture and generally has something interesting to say.  To my surprise his subject was a 1934 novel by F Tennyson Jesse, A Pin to See the Peepshow, a fictionalised retelling of the Thompson/Bywaters murder case at Ilford in 1922.  Although Heffer does not refer to the manner of the murder, the mention of Thompson was enough to remind me this was the case I had had in mind the previous evening.  Edith Thompson had an affair with the lodger, Frederick Bywaters.  One night, while Edith and her husband Percy were walking home, Frederick jumped out from some bushes and stabbed Percy several times, fatally injuring him.

There were similarities in the Thompson and Rattenbury cases: an affair between a married woman and a younger man leading to violence against the husband, though whereas in the latter Alma was acquitted (shortly afterwards committing suicide) and George’s capital sentence was commuted to a prison term, both Edith and Frederick were hanged.  This was clearly a miscarriage of justice as there was no evidence Edith was complicit in the death of her husband.  Perhaps the more lenient judicial outcome for Alma and George 13 years later – the court of public opinion was another matter – was influenced by the earlier verdict.  I had wrongly recalled that Percy Thompson was bludgeoned, as Francis Rattenbury was, because he was stabbed; I had clearly conflated the two murders.

This was a minor coincidence to be sure, but it seemed odd to have the reference I had been seeking fall into my lap with no effort after having failed to track it down a mere couple of hours before.  They are both fairly well-known true-crime cases of course, but Heffer ranges widely over British culture, and there were many topics he could have addressed other than A Pin to See the Peepshow.  However, another echo on Sunday 26 April, when I heard about a multiple stabbing in Ilford, indicated the need for caution when assessing events with so many potential associations.

Then to my surprise the following month the Rattenbury murder popped up again, with no effort on my part to seek it out.  The excellent Strange Histories blog (subtitled ‘A walk on the weird side of history’), which I follow, published a lengthy post on 25 May 2020 titled ‘A Moment of Madness: Murder at the Villa Madeira’.  This recounted the background, murder and aftermath in some detail, highlighting the complexities of the confessions which raise doubts over who actually killed Francis Rattenbury.  A comment remarking it would make a good film elicited the reply that Cause Célèbre was based on the case.  This is the sort of story Strange Histories would cover so its inclusion was not surprising, but it felt noteworthy coming so shortly after what was already a coincidence relating to the Rattenbury case.

But it was not the last time it crossed my horizon during those weeks.  On 1 July I received an email from a Sean O’Connor about a particular topic he was working on with which he thought I could assist (it became the 2022 book The Haunting of Borley Rectory).  Not knowing the name, I looked him up and discovered he was the author of the 2019 non-fiction book The Fatal Passion of Alma Rattenbury, and in the foreword he refers to the Edith Thompson trial.  By now of course I was picking up on any mention of these cases, whereas at one time they would perhaps have passed by little noticed (leaving aside my general interest in true crime), but it still seems strange to come across so many references over so short a period.

 

2 ESP in Life and Lab

If anything, this was odder.  I was reading Louisa E Rhine’s 1967 ESP in Life and Lab:Tracing Hidden Channels, a book mixing anecdotal evidence sent by members of the public and the results of laboratory research into psi processes.  One of the anecdotes (pp. 192-4) was about a dream a woman had had.  In it she came upon a house, inside which she could see a room set up for what looked like a wedding breakfast, although there were no people around.  A few weeks later she and her husband were invited to a meal to celebrate his having achieved 25 years with his company (something neither had realised was imminent until he was told).

The meal took place at a new inn they had never been to before.  Although reluctant to go, it proved to be a very enjoyable lunch.  The writer said they married during the Depression and did not have much of a celebration, so this felt more like her wedding than the real one had.  When they entered the dining room, she had a feeling she had been in it before, and after she returned home she realised the room was the one in her dream though reversed, as in the dream she was looking in from the outside, hence she had not immediately recognised it.

Now, quite often dates are not given in these accounts; the year is mentioned, sometimes the month, but precise dates are infrequent, probably a function of the delay between having the experience and writing the report.  In this case, however, the precise date is supplied.  The date of the dream, which the dreamer took to represent a room where a wedding was to take place, was 7 March 1953.  That was the very day my parents married in south London.  There is no doubt about the date of the dream because the dreamer wrote her account straight away.

This was one of many reports in the extensive Rhine collection that could have been used to illustrate the point being made, and one of the few in the book with a precise date.  To then find the reference to a wedding has a date which tallies with an event of personal significance (albeit occurring before my time!) seems remarkable.  There would have been few things linking a middle-class couple in Virginia and a working-class couple in Camberwell, but here a dream provided a connection only appreciated 67 years later.  I should add the reason I am sure of the date of my parents’ wedding is because I was born on their wedding anniversary.

 

I have had a couple of other experiences, as recounted in the Autumn/Winter 1996 issue of However Improbable, the magazine of the long-gone Anglia Paranormal Research Group.  In the first of these, when I was a student, I was hitchhiking with a girlfriend to Greece and we met some college acquaintances, also hitch-hiking, on a minor road somewhere in Yugoslavia (also long gone).  In the second, while on a family holiday from Norfolk, we bumped into my young daughter’s best friend from home in Carlisle railway station.

These are incidents in life that seem to have no great meaning (though I was happy to have my idle curiosity about English domestic murder satisfied in such an easy fashion by Mr Heffer) but they catch our attention.  Similar anecdotes can be told by many people, the sort of thing that makes one wonder about the interconnectedness of life no explanations couched in terms of the law of large numbers can quite satisfy.

 

The Ghostly Gift of Miss Constance Couper, by Sean Lang

Sean Lang’s latest play, acted with an all-women cast by Combined Actors of Cambridge, was produced at Cambridge’s ADC Theatre from the 16^th to 20^th April 2024.  The Ghostly Gift of Miss Constance Couper is very loosely inspired by Charlotte Moberly (1846-1937), principal of St Hugh’s College, Oxford, and Eleanor Jourdain (1863-1924), who became her vice-principal and eventually succeeded her.  While visiting Versailles in August 1901 they claimed to have been transported back to the late eighteenth century, as recounted in their book An Adventure, first published in 1911 and appearing in five editions until 1955.  They used the pseudonyms Elizabeth Morison and Frances Lamont, and the fourth edition, published in 1931, while Moberly was alive, was the first to include the authors’ real names.

Lang, an Oxford graduate, was, until his recent retirement, Senior Lecturer in history at Anglia Ruskin University and – full disclosure – the internal examiner when I took a PhD at ARU.  He weaves together three time-lines: the horrors of the French Revolution, in particular its effect on Marie Antoinette; the academics Misses Annie Martindale and Constance Couper at Oxford, including their holiday visit to Versailles, after which Miss Martindale writes a book detailing an alleged time-slip; and a couple of young women in 1968 sharing the house in which Martindale and Couper had lived together.

However, the events recounted by Miss Martindale are faked, the book instigated by Miss Couper as part of a nefarious plot to discredit her colleague, force her retirement, and assume her position as principal of St Hugh’s.  A scene shows Miss Martindale offering the job as her deputy to Miss Couper, who delightedly accepts, then proposing they share Miss Martindale’s house close to the college, which she owns.  Miss Couper accepts Miss Martindale’s generosity and uses it to her advantage.

After their holiday, Miss Couper suggests they use the visit to Versailles and the people they had seen while walking around to produce a narrative describing how they were transported back to the eighteenth century.  They would both write accounts, containing minor discrepancies to demonstrate they had been written independently but agreeing on all important points.  Initially, Miss Couper says they should do this as a private exercise for their own entertainment, a jeu d’esprit, and Miss Martindale enthusiastically agrees.

Later, Miss Couper encourages the naive Miss Martindale to publish the account, knowing the result would be to make her look credulous, and lose the support of the college fellows in the ensuing controversy.  With Miss Martindale eased out, Miss Couper, despite her weaknesses as an academic, would be well situated to replace her.  The plan appears to be on the point of working when Miss Martindale says she wishes to step down. 

Unfortunately for Miss Couper, the mild Miss Martindale then baulks at the prospect of resignation, and in a riverside confrontation declares that not only does she have no intention of standing down but, having seen through Miss Couper’s strategy, intends to force her out instead, possessing proof Miss Couper had played a full part in the planning and execution of the book.  However, if finesse cannot work, force can, and Miss Couper pushes her colleague into the river, the death allowing Miss Couper to have the top job after all.

Miss Couper tries to recruit an able young lecturer, Miss Ada Smart, to her side by dangling a fellowship, and Miss Smart become Miss Couper’s vice-principal.  Later, disenchanted by Miss Smart, Miss Couper tells her that she plans to force her out.  However, during the inquest Miss Couper stated she had been in the house at the time Miss Martindale drowned, but Miss Smart, who had accompanied Miss Martindale to the river for a walk before leaving her to attend a suffragette meeting, had seen Miss Couper close by.

Belatedly going over the inquest documents, Miss Smart compiles enough circumstantial evidence to show the death might not have been an accident, the mere hint of which would cause a scandal for Miss Couper.  The price of Miss Smart’s silence?  Miss Couper’s resignation, enabling Miss Smart to take over as principal.  To this Miss Couper agrees (one might think she would attempt to brazen it out), but she continues to live close by in the house, dying there an embittered old woman.

The second time period follows Marie Antoinette at Versailles as the French Revolution begins and gradually the violence escalates, until not only does it destroy the royal family but is killing even those who had supported it.  The third period is1968.  Sheila Smart, Ada’s great-niece and a student at St Hugh’s, moves in and is joined by fellow student Perdi Warrender.  Sheila has been given the accommodation rent free, and assumes this was thanks to her great-aunt.  Sheila is a buttoned-up provincial intent on her studies while Perdi is a cosmopolitan hedonist, but despite their initial friction a friendship grows between them, and they find they have more in common than they initially realised.

Then mysterious, and increasingly scary, events start to happen and it becomes clear the house is haunted.  The haunting escalates and the students realise there is an intelligence behind it.  Perdi does some digging in the archive and learns it was not Sheila’s great-aunt who had been her benefactor.  Rather, Miss Couper had willed the house to the college on the understanding that should any descendants of Ada Smart ever come to the college to study, they would be given rooms there free of charge.

The reason for her largesse towards a relative of the person who had destroyed her career was because it would give her an opportunity to be revenged on Miss Smart by proxy.  As Sheila is a diabetic, this can be achieved by hiding her insulin syringe, leading to diabetic coma.  At the climax, with Perdi shut out of the house by the paranormal force and Sheila close to unconsciousness, the full-form apparition of Miss Couper appears and menaces her.  She is saved by Miss Smart who appears and by an act of will forces Miss Couper back (the ghostliness of each signalled by the wearing of veils covering their faces).  Perdi is able to enter and help Sheila administer her insulin, saving her and thwarting Miss Couper.

In his programme notes Lang asks who would have been the ghosts in 1901 if Moberly and Jourdain had really gone back in time.  It would not have been those in the eighteenth century ‘now’, rather the visitors from its future.  But even with their ghostly presence Lang notes the time-slip is not scary (though to be fair that was not Moberly and Jourdain’s intention) and says he wanted his play to be scary, hence why he added the 1968 thread.  He was able to introduce a more conventional kind of ghost, a familiar horror type as seen for example in The Woman in Black, to menace the living.  But the aim was not merely to provide a frisson for the audience, a theme was how each of the three periods featured emancipation of some kind, but with limited gains for women.

The identification of Miss Martindale with Charlotte Moberly and Miss Couper with Eleanor Jourdain is so close that the uninformed viewer would be forgiven for thinking Lang is presenting a scenario close to the reality.  He is of course free to create any kind of play he likes based on historical events, but his distorted treatment of Moberly and Jourdain, including murder, is actually distasteful.  Moberly became the first principal of St Hugh’s College, Oxford, in 1886.  Jourdain was her deputy and succeeded her as principal in 1915, remaining so until her death.  So, while the play has Martindale/Moberly dying violently while in post, easing the way for Couper/Jourdain, actually Moberly outlived Jourdain.  Nor was Jourdain ousted by a younger academic, leading her to ‘haunt’ the college in her old age, rather she retained the position until her death.  Lang has used an incident in Jourdain’s career when she ill-advisedly attempted to dismiss a colleague, which would have likely resulted in her resignation, but she died of natural causes first.  Most obviously, while the authors used pseudonyms, from the first edition it was clear that An Adventure was a joint effort, not the product of a single pen.

Lang paints Martindale as weak and manipulated by Couper, who is also able to use undue influence on the college fellows, until Martindale stands up to her, with fatal consequences.  But there is no indication the relationship between Moberly and Jourdain became toxic, and it is implausible that someone so weak-willed would have managed to achieve such a senior level in an Oxford college.  Nor is it likely the book was a cynical hoax, the authors knowing the events it depicts were fictional.  The content of An Adventure is heavily contested, but the considerable amount of discussion it has generated since 1911 invariably starts with the assumption they were sincere, even if mistaken.  By playing fast and loose with the facts, Lang has done their memory a disservice.