This Life, Next Life: Evidence for the Afterlife - DVD review

This Life, Next Life: Evidence for the Afterlife (2009) by Keith Parsons

It may seem odd reviewing a film that cannot be seen by the public.*  Keith Parsons’s documentary is currently in limbo because of copyright issues; it contains quite a few archive photos and downloaded clips which have not been cleared because of the expense.  But in case the DVD acquires a kind of samizdat existence, passed round aficionados for private study until such times as the intellectual property difficulties are resolved, it is worth outlining its content and evaluating it.

Keith is a retired BBC radio producer who has single-handedly put together a well-structured and informative 54-minute documentary presenting the arguments for life after death.  He is unashamedly pro-survival which may grate with those who expect their documentaries to present a balanced view.  The reason for this partisan approach is because Keith sees a bias against the survival hypothesis in media presentations and wants to cover aspects that are less frequently aired; apart from occasionally in religious programming, the subject is generally treated as entertainment and not taken seriously.

An engaging and sincere host, Keith’s stated aim to present the scientific case for the afterlife, which as far as he is concerned is too strong to be discounted.  He begins his investigation with an anecdote which had a great deal of significance for him.  When he visited a medium he was given messages from his deceased father and sister (whose names were supplied to him by the medium), and as far as he was concerned the choice was between the messages being genuine spirit communication, and the medium reading his mind.  His thesis is that an examination of the evidence leads to the conclusion that the former is far more likely than the latter.  Other possibilities, cold reading for instance, are not explored.

That experience was of course convincing on a personal level, but not necessarily to others, and Keith focuses on a number of areas, some historical, some contemporary, which he feels should convince the impartial viewer.  The first of these is the cross-correspondences, scripts independently recorded by a number of mediums, separated geographically, in the first third of the twentieth century.  He gives some simple examples of how these correspondences worked, fragments that by themselves were obscure and only made sense when combined.

The next stop is a brief look at Tom Oliver Whitlock, who died in action in 1916 and came through at séances in the 1950s.  This was one of Alan Gauld’s ‘drop-in communicators’, recorded in the literature with the pseudonym Harry Stockbridge.  ‘Tom’ supplied items of information which turned out to be correct but had to be verified by reference to a variety of sources, making fraud and super-psi less likely explanations than spirit communication.

For The Scole experiment Keith is fortunate to have been able to interview both Robin Foy, who was the main organiser of the séances, and David Fontana, a primary investigator.  They run through some of the phenomena recorded there and Keith exhibits the book written by Jane and Grant Solomon, but does not mention the SPR Proceedings which examined the phenomena in much greater depth, nor does he mention the critical comments Scole has attracted, apart from the locked box in which test films were kept during sittings.  Foy mentions that the sitters were never searched by the investigators, though he says that they would have complied had they been asked, but the investigators did search the séance room before and after each sitting.  Fontana vouches for the honesty of the sitters and stresses the implementation of controls to eliminate the possibility of fraud, though there is no mention that séances took place in complete darkness and the spirits refused to allow the use of infra-red cameras.  Fontana points out that the investigators had challenged conjurors to duplicate the phenomena under the same conditions but had not had any takers.  Overall, despite flaws, Parsons seems convinced of the genuineness of the bulk of the evidence gathered during the Scole sittings.

A description of an electrical device through which the Scole group received a twenty-minute message leads into a discussion of Electronic Voice Phenomena and Instrumental Transcommunication. Beginning with Frs Ernetti and Gemelli and their contact with the latter’s deceased father when the wire on the recorder they were using kept breaking, Keith moves on to Friedrich Jurgenson, Konstantin Raudive, and George Meek’s Spiricom.  He also visits Anabela Cardoso in Spain to see her experimental set-up.  Keith acknowledges that sounds can be open to interpretation, the background noise rendering it difficult to understand what is being said, but again considers this approach valuable in demonstrating survival.

The mediumship of Leonora Piper is covered, including the investigation mounted by Richard Hodgson, previously a sceptic and scourge of Madame Blavatsky, who changed his mind about survival as a result of his contact with Mrs Piper.  The final part of the documentary comprises a discussion of the relationship between brain and mind.  Bruce Greyson is interviewed saying that current discussions of how the brain relates to mental function are inadequate.  If the mind is not dependent on brain, then survival becomes more tenable.  To illustrate this point we are shown a clip from the BBC programme The Day I Died featuring the well-rehearsed Pam Reynolds case in which she had an aneurism and the blood was drained from her brain to repair it, yet she had an NDE.  It would be ironic if this is one of the items causing publication difficulties as the entire documentary is freely available (at least at the time of writing) on YouTube.

In addition to these strands, Keith lists a number of well-known researchers into life after death such as Sir William Crookes, Henry Sidgwick, Frederic Myers, Alfred Russel Wallace, Sir Oliver Lodge, Thomas Edison, John Logie Baird, William Barrett, William James, James Hyslop, Lord Rayleigh, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (illustrated with the portrait from the National Portrait Gallery implicated in the Scole Polaroid of Conan Doyle – see Fortean Times Issue 261, April 2010, pp.64-65) and Arthur Balfour.  This is certainly an impressive list, and is intended to reassure the doubter that if such eminent men were convinced, there must be something in it.  Of course as reassurance for the doubter goes this is of limited value, though it is always worth being reminded of the range of talented individuals with an interest in survival.

While the presentation is generally sound, there are some issues with which it is possible to quibble.  For example Keith makes assumptions about the narrow extent of Mrs Piper’s knowledge (she is often portrayed as a woman of limited education), something about which I have always thought it pays to be cautious; and he repeats the myth that Edison invented the light bulb (Joseph Swan).  More significantly, he characterises Colin Brookes-Smith’s conclusion after studying the cross-correspondences to be that survival was the only conclusion to be drawn by any reasonable person, and that the SPR should announce this breakthrough to the world.  Keith believes that the SPR did not make such an announcement only because it has sceptics among its membership, individuals who present a major obstacle to the acceptance of survival.

However, this is not actually what Brookes-Smith said.  He talked (in the June 1963 issue of the SPR’s Journal) in weaker terms: “There must now be in existence a very large amount of script material from which, after making due allowance, it can be inferred that discarnate intelligences have at least partly contributed to the subject matter”.  He also talks about the scientific arguments for survival being presented to the public by “a team”, not as an official announcement by the SPR.  Making such an announcement would contravene the Society’s principle of not holding corporate views, so would not be possible.  This misrepresentation (or more likely misunderstanding) seems to have come from Victor Zammit’s book A Lawyer Presents the Case for the Afterlife, which is featured in the documentary.

Later Keith discusses Hodgson’s attack on Madame Blavatsky and says that in 1986 the SPR “officially retracted its verdict on her”.  The SPR did no such thing because it had no verdict to retract.  Keith is referring to an article by Vernon Harrison in the April 1986 issue of the SPR Journal which was critical of Richard Hodgson’s role in the original investigation of Blavatsky.  Harrison’s article was prefaced by an editorial note which says in part:

“Although, as it has been repeatedly pointed out, The S.P.R. holds no corporate opinions, it has widely been regarded as responsible for endorsing the 'Hodgson Report' (as we shall hereafter refer to the report as a whole) and hence as being on record as condemning Mme. Blavatsky.”

Critics of the original report have long, as indicated in the quotation, assumed that the Hodgson Report represented an official SPR ‘line’, but from the beginning of the SPR’s existence it has held that its publications are the responsibility of the authors, and do not represent an official view by the Society.  Harrison’s opinions were his alone, as would have been apparent from reading the editorial note accompanying his article.

Clearly Keith is impressed by much of the research he presents, and sees an increasing feeling among scientists that a theory of everything needs to incorporate consciousness.  He predicts a paradigm shift in which spirit and other dimensions are considered essential components in an understanding of reality.  As he rightly concludes, if we accept survival, that acceptance causes a change in our view both of ourselves and of the world.

There is a limit to what can be achieved in under an hour, and the resulting briskness could be confusing for the newcomer, but seeing it might encourage viewers to seek out a wider range of resources.  Unfortunately having produced the documentary at his own expense and in his own time, Keith has not been able to find a broadcaster willing to take it on.  It would be a shame if nobody heard about Keith Parson‘s project, and it joined those films which for one reason or another cannot be shown.

It would also be a pity to lose the interviews he conducted with a number of eminent researchers in the field: Archie Roy, David Fontana, Victor Zammit, Robin Foy, Anabela Cardoso, Bruce Greyson and Peter Fenwick.  In commercial terms its lack of balance is bound to harm its prospects so it seems unlikely that it will be picked up for national broadcast.  The alternative approach would be to strip out the elements for which copyright permission has not been granted and post it online.   Whatever one’s view of the individual topics covered, it is still good to see them aired in an accessible way, even though the overall feel is one of preaching to the converted.

I would like to thank Keith Parsons for his kindness in supplying a copy of the documentary.

*Update 21 June 2015

On 20 June 2015 a copy of the film was uploaded to YouTube.  I don’t know if Keith was involved in this or if it was done solely by other hands: the upload credit is to the cleverly named iDigitalMedium, part of whose aims is ‘To share all aspects of spirituality and creativity as they relate to our everyday lives in this age of technology, on the cusp of the re-enlightenment of the consciousness of mankind’.  It may have been carried out without Keith’s knowledge – Tim Coleman, for example, has long been fighting pirates who have illegally uploaded his film The Afterlife Investigations, but that is commercially available, whereas This Life, Next Life never has been.  iDigitalMedium seems a reputable organisation judging by its website so it is likely that Keith gave his permission.  The YouTube film is the same length as the DVD Keith sent me in 2010, so either copyright issues have been resolved, or simply ignored.  The film may disappear as suddenly as it appeared, but for the moment it can be found at:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y5RpbveVC_4&feature=youtu.be

Update 25 August 2015

Keith wrote to me to tell me about the film’s availability (24 August 2015).  I hadn’t been sure if he was aware that it is now on YouTube, but it was indeed done with his consent; a copy had been seen by someone in the US who asked Keith if he could upload it.  To date it has been viewed almost 15, 500 times and Keith was pleased with its reception, which has been largely positive.  As to copyright, the start of the online video has a declaration: ‘Produced for free, educational viewing only.  THIS IS NOT A COMMERCIAL VIDEO PRODUCT. Copyright – Keith Parsons – 2009.  Unlicensed materials are included under applicable Fair Use provisions.’  The first and last statements have been added to the beginning for the YouTube presentation (the middle two were on the original DVD).  Perhaps the copyright owners will be content to acknowledge fair use, or alternatively waive fees on the grounds that Keith is not making any money out of it, or they may not even notice his incorporation of their material.  It is certainly gratifying for Keith that after being in limbo for so long his labour of love is finally reaching an enthusiastic audience.

Tony Cornell: An Appreciation

Part of the display at Tony's memorial

Veteran psychical researcher Anthony Donald Cornell died on 10 April 2010.  His memorial service was held at Fitzwilliam College, Cambridge, on 20 June, on what would have been his 87^th birthday.  The event, ably organised by Ali Cornell and Tony’s sons David, Martin and John, was very moving.  We had reminiscences from Alan Gauld, who had known Tony for almost sixty years, and carried out investigations with him (‘Tony as I knew him’), and Bernard Carr, a member of the Cambridge University Society for Psychical Research (CUSPR) in the late 1960s/early 70s, and a firm family friend ever since (‘Tony Cornell: Psychical researcher, intrepid investigator and mischievous spirit’).  Both Alan and Bernard are of course senior figures in the London-based Society for Psychical Research (SPR).  David Cornell spoke about his father’s role - extremely underrated - as a councillor active in planning matters in Cambridge.  We sang For Those in Peril on the Sea, which tied in with Tony’s wartime naval career, and there were some touching readings.  The chapel was packed with his friends, and while the mood was one of sadness, there was much humour, to reflect Tony’s irrepressible extravert nature.

Along with a buffet afterwards, we were treated to a slide show and display of photographs and articles on Tony’s life and manifold activities, covering his schooldays, his naval service, his travels, his politics, and his psychical research, not to mention his fondness for dressing in silly costumes and headgear.  There was also a loop of his appearances in television programmes discussing ghost hunting, though alas not my favourite, mentioned by Alan, in which Tony set out to test G W Lambert’s ‘underground water’ hypothesis to account for poltergeist phenomena.  It featured Tony, hanging out of an upstairs window while the house was shaken to pieces round him, shouting out that the poltergeist effects, which he argued should have occurred if the theory was valid, had not happened. (Tony’s mad antics, before the days of risk assessments, were great television but of course the sorts of vibrations Lambert suggested were responsible for poltergeists were of a different kind to those produced in this demonstration.)  Obituaries of Tony will appear in the SPR Journal and Fortean Times in due course which will describe his life, and particularly his significant contributions to psychical research, but in the meantime I want to record some personal thoughts of my own.

I first met Tony in 1989, when I was co-opted onto the SPR Council. Eventually I moved to Cambridge and we lived quite close to each other, so I would regularly pop round and spend a couple of hours drinking coffee and eating cake while telling him bits of SPR news and listening to his views on the state of psychical research, notably the lack of cases these days, the absence of decent photographic evidence for the paranormal, and generally whether we were all wasting our time.  I thoroughly enjoyed these visits, mainly because he had a vast amount of experience in the subject he was willing to impart, but also because he was astonishingly indiscreet and had an amazing store of anecdotes, both about psychical research and his life.  We would chat, often with the indoor rabbits underfoot, and I would look out of the window at the birds, mostly feral pigeons, and squirrels in the garden.  He bought seed in large sacks and must have spent a fortune on feeding wildlife over the years (including foxes as we were told at his memorial).

I spent a lot of time with him for an extended period helping to clear decades of possessions and rubbish from the damp-riddled basement of his house in Victoria Street, venue for the CUPSR, and immortalised in the large number of interviews that Tony gave for both television and print media.  I decided that Tony was himself a squirrel of the first order, partly because he had accumulated so much junk over the years, and partly because he remained reluctant to part with a lot of it. I did many trips to the tip with enormous bags of rubbish, but even so I would regularly say, “shall I throw this out Tony?”, and he would frown and reply, “no, it could come in useful,” even though he must have realised it probably never would.  These visits were particularly noteworthy for the drive there and back in his car.  After his stroke he had limited mobility in one arm and although he continued to drive, he tended to disregard the road markings.  At Mitcham’s Corner in particular he would always be on the wrong side of the line and would swoop across at the last moment to take the left turn, occasionally prompting a vigorous honking behind us.

One of my regrets is not having been around during the glory days of the CUSPR.  Those Sunday evenings in Tony’s basement sound as if they were great fun, even though Tony and his colleagues were conducting serious research.  Tony was always disappointed that there was insufficient interest among the university’s undergraduates to keep CUSPR going.  Another disappointment was that his book Investigating the Paranormal was not distributed as widely as its importance merited.  Hopefully now that the rights are in other hands this will be rectified and marketing will be more vigorous.  Who knows, we might one day even see a second edition with the bits that Helix Press cut out the first time round reinstated.

Sadly I never accompanied Tony on a proper investigation; the closest I came was when we went to The Bell at Thetford to participate in the making of a television programme for a series called Ghosthunters.  I was there with my local group, and we tried to simulate a vigil while the room was bathed in bright light aimed in from a cherry picker parked outside.  I also had to describe Tony’s SPIDER (Spontaneous Psychophysical Incident Data Electronic Recorder) to camera after Tony had given the background to the case.  Alas while Tony’s contribution remained the rest never made it into the programme. (Rather curiously, as I was typing this the magazine produced by the Association for the Scientific Study of Anomalous Phenomena arrived, and on opening it the page fell open at an article by Lionel Fanthorpe describing his recent visit to The Bell.  No mention of Tony though.)

The overarching theme of the memorial, which tied together his various interests, was his essential decency.  In his public life he always tried to do the right thing.  David Cornell’s account of his father’s tenacity as chair of the Council’s planning committee – not you would have thought the world’s most exciting topic, but as Tony was involved it was bound to be lively – was punctuated with “…and then there was an almighty row.”  Tony did not curry favour, and although a staunch Conservative, was not a party hack. That could be why, despite his long service to the City, he never obtained the gong which those of lesser achievement often receive.  He was willing to challenge developers and fellow Councillors if he thought they were in the wrong, and Cambridge is the richer for it.  In particular, as David pointed out, Tony was the inspiration for the Cambridge Science Park, an achievement of which he was enormously proud, but for which he never received his due recognition.   It was also this tenacity which led to his long tenure (over twenty years) as Hon Treasurer of the SPR during some financially difficult times.

I last saw Tony two days before he died.  He had come home from Addenbrooke’s and was installed in his room at the front of the house, in a peaceful road with the sun streaming in and spring flowers in the garden.  Ali said that I could hold his hand, but I was reluctant as holding hands with Tony was not something I would normally have done.  He was heavily sedated and although he was conscious I didn’t know if he could understand what I was saying to him.  While Ali made coffee I told him some news about the SPR, and mentioned the names of people I knew annoyed him, hoping that doing so would engage his attention.  If nothing else I thought that he would at least know he was not alone.  Shortly afterwards the nurse came and I felt I was in the way and should leave.  Before doing so I did hold Tony’s hand briefly and said goodbye.  I told Ali I would like to come back to see him again but he died before I could.

After the memorial, resolutely not called that on the programme, but “A celebration of the life of Tony Cornell”, Karen and I walked back to the car which was parked at the front of the college.  I sat in it while Karen changed her shoes, and something on the grass by the car caught my eye.  For a moment I could not work out what it was, and then realised it was a green woodpecker, just a few feet away, on the ground with its wings spread.  I told Karen not to move and for about half a minute we watched it sit there before it flew away through the trees and across the Huntingdon Road. Karen reckoned it had a glint in its eye so was probably Tony, wearing one of the masks of which he was so fond, saying cheerio.

Tales of Terror – A Review

Tales of Terror, presented by The Happiness Patrol, featuring ghost stories by Louisa Baldwin, M R James, Lafcadio Hearn and Edgar Allen Poe.

ADC Theatre, Cambridge, 25 May 2010.

Calling a production Tales of Terror is a hostage to fortune because you expect at the very least to have a chill down the spine at some point in the proceedings, even if the company does have ‘Happiness’ in its name. Unfortunately this was an event distinctly short on terror, or tension of any kind. You may also assume, given the venue, that it is going to involve some element of dramatisation (much as we had a perfectly serviceable adaptation of The Woman in White at the ADC a few weeks ago). Tales of Terror instead involved a cast of one giving us a recitation that would have worked well on Radio 4 but wasn’t best suited to the stage, even though the mise-en-scène nodded to the spooky by being completely black, with black-clad narrator Philip Holyman lit from below, and ‘eerie music’ between the stories.

Holyman knew the words, which as far as I can tell were word-perfect, and he varied his tone to match the speaker when there was dialogue (though they all appeared to be from the West Midlands). The tales were sufficiently different to prevent him from becoming monotonous. But the choice was surprising. There are plenty of out-of-copyright stories that he could have used, and one wonders why he selected these ones.

The first was ‘How He Left the Hotel’ by Louisa Baldwin, who was Prime Minister Stanley ‘Farmer’ Baldwin’s mother. It got us off to a good start, but unfortunately was entirely predictable, and Holyman was just not able to make it sound uncanny. ‘There was a Man Dwelt by a Churchyard’, by M. R. James, was of course creepy, as you would expect. Unfortunately it has a frame which is perfectly understandable on the page, and would be if told around a roaring fire to a few admiring acolytes in the Jamesian manner, but in the larger space of the ADC sounded confusing.

‘In a Cup of Tea’, by Lafcadio Hearn, came across well, aided by the exoticism of its setting, but is just as incoherent a narrative when spoken as it is when read. The final one, given in isolation after the interval, was the strongest: Edgar Allan Poe’s ‘The Black Cat’, a splendid character study of Poe’s ‘imp of the perverse’, though a bit of an ordeal for animal lovers.

Alas for the element of surprise, none of these was a neglected story plucked from some dusty and long-forgotten repository. ‘The Black Cat’ would be known to many in the audience from page and screen, not least Roger Corman's 1962 effort in which he combined it with 'A Cask of Amontillado' as one of a trio of Poe stories in the film Tales of Terror. ‘In a Cup of Tea’ may be familiar to some because of its appearance in the 1964 portmanteau film based on Hearn’s writings, Kwaidan. Including M R James was nice because of his Cambridge connection, but again his work is well known, and Holyman’s effort suffered in comparison to the superb one-man adaptations done by Robert Lloyd Parry in which he creates a James persona. Only the Baldwin was relatively obscure, but even that has been anthologised and is not hard to find.

The venue was a problem because the stage was too big for just one person, and the effort of projection meant that subtlety was lost. Dressing it in black with minimal lighting was not enough to generate the required atmosphere. The intimacy of the Corpus Christie Playroom, where I have seen Lloyd Parry perform, might have given the material a better chance. Finally, the running time was a lot shorter than the 1 hour 20 minutes the programme promised. Both halves together clocked in at under an hour, which isn’t much of an evening’s entertainment at the theatre. There were mutterings in the audience which suggested that dismay was not mine alone.

Ann Moore: The Fasting Woman of Tutbury

This article was published in ‘The Skeptic’ (hence the spelling of that word in the text), Vol. 6, No. 6, November/December 1992, pp.9-11. It was illustrated with a picture of Ann Moore from the Mary Evans Picture Library, and the title page of the third edition of the pamphlet “An Account of the Extraordinary Abstinence of Ann Moor”. At one time the article was included on a Tutbury community website but the village doesn’t seem that bothered to emphasise the association these days, and the place is probably better known for having had the Most Haunted crowd descend on its castle. The asterisked information was omitted by the magazine’s editors, though they left the asterisk itself, otherwise the article is exactly as it appeared then.


The Fasting Woman of Tutbury

A close look at a nineteenth century ‘miracle’

Ann Moore was born in 1761 in Rosleston, Derbyshire, and had spent her working life firstly in service and later in the cotton industry. Early in 1807 she declared that she could live without food. At the time she was living in Tutbury, Staffordshire, and consequently became known as ‘The Fasting Woman of Tutbury’.

The first watch

Moore agreed to be subjected to a watch in order to prove her story, so in September 1808 she was taken from her own home to that of a local grocer, Mr Jackson. The event was supervised by a surgeon, Robert Taylor, but all inhabitants of the village were invited to help, and 80-90 participated. The fast lasted for sixteen days, though Moore was allowed some water on the first three days. Then she was taken home, having apparently succeeded in establishing her claim.

Taylor published an account of the proceedings, declaring that Moore had lived without food, liquid or solid, for thirteen days. Her window was always kept open, and the hypothesis was advanced by Taylor that she was somehow obtaining nutrients from hydrogen in the air. Other cases of people fasting for lengthy periods without ill effect were adduced.

The claim, now seemingly verified, was believed by many, and large numbers flocked to see her. They left gifts, ostensibly for her children, and these were estimated to amount to about 250 shillings in two years, and perhaps as much as 400-500 by 1813. Moore professed to be very religious, and would discuss theological matters with visitors, in order to add weight to a divine interpretation of her ability. But it was felt that this was a mask, as she was capable of ‘virulent’ language when challenged by skeptics. It was the case that prior to the advent of her fame she had been morally depraved; she had been separated from her husband for about twenty years, during which time she had lived in adultery with a man by whom she had borne two children.

From the time the watch ended, she claimed to have eaten nothing, a declaration which was clearly profitable. Indeed, she said that she had now lost the power of swallowing - if she attempted to do so, she would suffocate. As a corollary she had not urinated nor defecated during that time, neither had she slept.

Various causes were advanced by Moore as to why she had been afflicted (or blessed, depending how one looks at it) in this way. To begin with she said that it had been caused by washing some clothes which had been used to bind the ulcerous wounds of a boy. Then, she said that it was due to extreme want. Latterly she stated that it had come on gradually, so that she ate less and less food, then took liquids only, then nothing at all.

The Henderson report

As a result of hearing of Moore's fame, Alexander Henderson and two friends on holiday visited her at her home during 1812. They had previously canvassed opinions of the phenomenon, and found that whereas the medical community was skeptical, members of the general public were convinced of her sincerity, and pointed to the nine-day watch as definite proof.

On meeting her they gave her a full examination, and found her healthy. She was thin, though not abnormally so, and her stomach had not caved in as would be expected in a case of starvation. On the other hand the lower part of her body appeared to be wasted and paralytic. She produced plenty of saliva, and her bed stank of urine. In addition to her ability to survive without food, she still claimed not to be able to sleep. She did doze, she said, but was always conscious. She also stated that she was subject to fits, had problems opening her mouth, and had lost the use of all but the index finger on her left hand. She said that she had lost all feeling in her lower limbs.

The party was not convinced and thought that she was fabricating her condition in order to ‘excite wonder and compassion’, carried out in collusion with others. Henderson produced fourteen reasons in support of his contention that Moore was not telling the truth. Some were direct, others circumstantial, based on previous cases of lengthy fasting.

To begin with, there was the natural and healthy appearance of her face and the strength of her pulse, muscles and voice. Moisture in her mouth, nostrils, eyes and the surface of her skin did not indicate any desiccation. Her intellect had not been impaired. On a moral note, the dissolute conduct of her earlier life and the admission that she had once passed as religious for worldly gain did not inspire confidence in her probity. There was the vested interest she and her attendants had in perpetuating the deception, as well as the declaration that she had made that she thought that a time might come when God would restore her appetite. This would be a useful escape should she be caught eating.

Other factors militating against her were: evidence of the concealment of the evacuation of urine; her dread at a repetition of the watch; a general dread of experiments performed upon her; variations and contradictions in her statements, for example the date upon which she ceased eating, using a finger she had declared to be useless, and whether she did or did not perspire; the performance of actions which were inconsistent with her statements, such as drinking when she had declared that it caused her pain; and the fact that her bodily state was about the same as when she began her fast, yet case histories of starving people consistently found that physical deterioration occurred quickly.

Instances of similar frauds from across Europe were discussed by Henderson, and it becomes apparent that there was a tradition of women claiming that they had not eaten for extended periods. He cites various cases of women who, like Moore, had been convincing at first, but had later been caught cheating. In any case, he continued, the previous scrutiny of Moore had only lasted sixteen days, which was not the same as five years, nor had it been scientific.

The second watch

Moore's claims were treated with skepticism by the scientific community, so she was invited to participate in a second watch which would be better controlled than its predecessor. It was reported in a pamphlet published, like Henderson's, in 1813. This was now six years after she first made claims of abstinence, and four and a half after the first watch. It was clear that despite these alleged privations she was still in good health. The Henderson pamphlet spurred her friends to encourage her to refute his allegations as quickly as possible.

This watch was to be more rigorous than the first, so only Church of England ministers, medical men and magistrates, upright citizens all, were to be allowed to participate. The committee was headed by Sir Oswald Mosley, Bart., of Rolleston. It met on 20 April 1813, and agreed that Moore should be watched for one month. She refused at first, but the medically qualified members were adamant that no shorter time would suffice to test her adequately, so she was forced to agree.

To begin with she was weighed and was put on a new bed which had a weighing machine attached. Moore was dissatisfied with these arrangements, and said that she expected to lose 2-3 lbs. The bed had been inspected and filled with chaff. The bedding was searched, and the move from the old to new bed watched. Her person was examined, as was the room. Naturally she was kept isolated, except for the investigators.

At the end of seven days, an announcement was made that she had taken no food in that time. Moore's supporters were confident that she would last the entire month, though it was clear to those observing that she was suffering, and had lost a lot of weight. She developed a fever, and asked for cloths dipped in a vinegar/water mixture with which she could wet her tongue and mouth. These were usually wrung out, but one watcher did not do so in order to see if she could swallow, despite her claim to the contrary. She swallowed the mixture avidly.

By the eighth day she was very distressed, and her pulse was registering 145 beats per minute. The day after she said that she had to give up the test as she was ill, and asked for her daughter to be sent for. The watchers were worried that she would die, and admitted the daughter. She, upon seeing her mother's condition, ran to a neighbour's house, but immediately returned, and it was supposed that she transferred a quantity of water from her own mouth to her mother's under the pretence of kissing her.

Moore was somewhat revived by these ministrations, and her daughter begged the team to leave the room, which they were loath to do. The daughter refused to assist her mother unless they did, and they felt that they had no choice as the doctors present opined that Moore appeared to have only a couple of hours to live. Her pulse was now 160 beats per minute in one wrist, and not discernible in the other. The watch therefore broke up, the daughter took charge, and Moore began to improve.

The aftermath

Despite the failure of the test, Moore said that she wanted to make an oath that she had taken no food during the preceding six years. This she did, no doubt hoping to retain her credibility. She might have succeeded in this endeavour, but Mr Bott of Tutbury, one of the investigators, discovered linen concealed in her room which seemed stained with urine and faeces. Her blanket was also wet through. When confronted, Moore broke down and made a written confession, dated 4th May 1813. At last she admitted that she had eaten during the six years, and asked forgiveness of the people she had deceived, as well as of God. She drank some milk in the presence of witnesses without difficulty, though when water had been placed in her mouth when she seemed to be dying she had imitated the act of suffocation and had brought up blood.

Conjectures as to why she had succeeded during the first watch were put forward by the writer of this third pamphlet. One was the possibility that the huge number of watchers had included collaborators, although this had not been proved. Her linen had been brought and removed by one woman, and could have been used as a vehicle for food, but again nothing had been found when it was searched. The daughter could have helped, as she had visited every day and had been permitted to approach the bed. The conditions of the second watch ruled out this possibility.

Any urine discovered during the first test would not have been seen as significant, as she had been allowed to drink during the first three days; it was only after the test ended that she claimed to have lost the power of swallowing. During it she took snuff, and also pretended to have a cold, so that she used nineteen handkerchiefs in two days. These were washed in case they contained starch, but were more likely used to absorb her urine. They would have been dried on her body before being returned, with the smell covered by the window always being kept open. She was also at first given hartshorn for a headache, the ammonia in which would have helped to disguise the smell of urine. This remedy was later withheld.
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With all these loopholes in the protocol of the first watch, Moore must have been confident of succeeding in the second, and it is unlikely that she would have agreed to participate had she appreciated how rigorous it was to be. During the nine days the only assistance she received was the supply of wet cloths. She was so grateful to Mr Wright, who had not wrung out the cloth he had given her, that she promised him her body for dissection after her death.

The report acknowledged that people can survive on very little, and postulated that Moore, never a hearty eater, had been tempted to exaggerate this ability. Her daughter did admit that her principal source of sustenance was tea. The writer concedes that had she had access to water, she would probably have been able to survive the entire month. This admiration for her constitution is tempered with the declaration that Moore was an imposter, her deception made worse by its religious cover story. It had been impious of her to offer herself as a miracle.

It is interesting to speculate on why Moore should have chosen to make such a preposterous claim. Apart from the monetary gain, which came after she had passed the first trial, she found herself an object of interest and celebration. Medical men came to visit her, which must have been gratifying to somebody who would not otherwise have been found interesting. Starvation, with all the discomforts it entailed, was one of the few ways for a working woman to gain social and financial advancement.
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It is possible too that the fraud got out of hand, so that something designed to impress the inhabitants of Tutbury blew out of proportion until it was a matter of national interest. On a larger scale, this was a time of uncertainty. The long war with France had created unrest and economic difficulties in the country, and industrialisation was affecting the cotton industry in which Moore worked. It is clear that fantastic claims flourish when times are hard.

Bibliography
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An account of the extraordinary abstinence of Ann Moor (sic), of Tutbury, Staffordshire, who has, since June 1807*, lived entirely without food; giving the particulars of her life to the present time, an account of the investigation instituted on the occasion, and observations on the letters of some medical men who attended it. Also other similar cases of abstinence. By a gentleman 
living near Tutbury. Uttoxeter. Third edition, 1810 (First edition issued in 1809).

An examination of the imposture of Ann Moore, called the fasting woman, of Tutbury; illustrated by remarks of other cases of real and pretended abstinence. By Alexander Henderson, M.D. Physician to the Westminster General Dispensary. London, 1813.

A full exposure of Ann Moore, the pretended fasting woman of Tutbury. London, 1813.


* The plate opposite the title page is captioned ‘Ann Moore, of Tutbury Staffordshire. Born 1761. Who has lived without Food, since July 17. 1807’"


Tom Ruffles is a freelance writer living in Norfolk.

Tony Cornell and the Cambridge Cinema Ghost Experiment

Some time ago I reviewed a book for the nthposition website called Six Feet Over by Mary Roach (Spook in the US), in which she described a series of experiments conducted in 1959-60 by Tony Cornell with members of the Cambridge University Society for Psychical Research. These involved a figure masquerading as a ghost in a variety of settings in order to test the reactions of the public. The final experiment consisted of “a white clad figure” (ie Tony wearing a sheet) walking both ways across the stage in a cinema, after which the investigators asked the no doubt bemused patrons whether they had seen anything. The procedure was carried out during a black and white trailer for the following week’s attraction, as it allowed the group time to quiz the audience before the single feature began.

What caused my eyebrows to levitate was Roach’s description of the cinema as a “porn theater“, a type of establishment most unlikely to exist in Cambridge, and even if it did, not the sort of place I could imagine Tony taking university students. It was also clear that women - one with her husband - were present during the discussion, which seemed even more unlikely if the cinema was showing pornographic films.

The original article describing this experiment, in the Society for Psychical Research Journal for December 1960, refers only to “a local cinema” (ie in Cambridge), and there were a number of these in the city. So I asked Tony which one they had used and he told me it was the Rex, no longer in existence, which was located behind the Shire Hall Council buildings. After such a long gap he could not recall the name of the film that was playing that night, but the article says that it was X certificate so that they could obtain the responses of adults with no children present.

In my review I speculated that the film might have been Peeping Tom, a strong film for the time (eliciting negative verdicts from the newspapers and effectively ending director Michael Powell’s career), which was released in May 1960. But, during a recent email exchange with Chris Romer, he said that Tony had told him that the cinema they used was known for dirty films, which suggested the type of fare that would have been shown at a membership-only cinema, rather like Soho‘s Compton Cinema Club which opened in 1960. As it seemed possible that even more people had this impression, I thought I would check to see what was on at the Rex the night of the experiment.

Fortunately Tony was very precise in his article about the date: 28 May 1960. Knowing the cinema’s name made it easy to establish what was showing as the local newspaper, then called the Cambridge Daily News, carried advertisements for all the cinemas each day. The film exhibited at the Rex on Saturday 28 May certainly was an X, but pornographic - no, although mentioning the word ‘panties’ was thought a bit racy at the time. It was Anatomy of a Murder, directed by Otto Preminger, with Lee Remick and James Stewart. The following week saw a double bill, The Last Angry Man and Edge of Eternity, both U certificate. Edge of Eternity is in colour, but The Last Angry Man is black and white, so it is likely that that was the trailer showing when Tony made his passage across the stage, with not a dirty mac in sight.

Why Mary Roach should have thought that the cinema was showing porn is unclear. I don’t think Tony can have given her this misinformation because he would have mentioned it to me when I discussed her book with him. It is possible that, being unfamiliar with British film certification and the Cambridge cinema scene of the period, she assumed an X-rated film would be pornographic, as its use in the United States before the introduction of NC-17 had those associations. Tony’s reason for telling Chris Romer that the cinema showed dirty films is harder to fathom. Most likely he was exaggerating for effect. Or, it could be, his standards were of a kind that considered Anatomy of a Murder to be such a film, though given the nature of some of his anecdotes, I somehow doubt it.


PS 13.9.10: At the 2010 annual conference of the Society for Psychical Research in Sheffield, Professor Bernard Carr gave a talk about Tony's life during which he referred to the cinema experiment. The following day, Professor Chris French gave a paper which among other things discussed inattentional blindness. This is the strange inability we often have to notice something which should be obvious when we are focusing on a cognitively resource-hungry task. The example he provided was the well-known Daniel Simons/Christopher Chabris 'Gorilla in our midst' video made in 1999: viewers are told to count the number of ball passes made by a group moving around a small space, and a surprisingly large number will fail to notice the person in a gorilla suit passing through. During the question session, Carmen Dell'Aversano pointed out that the experiment bore a striking similarity to Bernard's description of the cinema experiment, and that Tony was far ahead of his time. While there are differences (the cinema audience was not told to concentrate on a task, for example), the point remains that the CUSPR work was pioneering, and deserves to be better known.