Earlyon the morning of 18 February 1848, two men and a woman walked into
the square in front of the Porte de Hal, in Brussels [below left], where
a public execution was due to take place shortly after dawn. They were
there to conduct a ground-breaking scientific study, and, by prior
arrangement with the Belgian penal authorities, were permitted to climb
onto the scaffold and wait next to the guillotine at the spot where the
severed heads of two condemned criminals were scheduled to drop into a
blood red sack.
One of the men was Antoine Joseph Wiertz, a well known Belgian
painter and also a fine hypnotic subject. With him were his friend,
Monsieur D_____, a noted hypnotist, and a witness. Wiertz’s purpose on
that winter’s day was to carry out a unique and extraordinary
experiment. Long haunted by the desire to know whether a severed head
remained conscious after a guillotining, the painter had agreed to be
hypnotised and instructed to identify himself with a man who was about
to be executed for murder.
- Mike's blog
- Login or register to post comments
- Read more
Delicious
Digg
StumbleUpon
Google
Yahoo
Technorati





But what is of interest to Forteans? Well it's the thirteenth century chamber. This is believed to have been built by Sir Hugo de Giffard (after whom the local village of Gifford was named), and Sir Hugo was a Black Magican and was know in his time as the Wizard of Yester. When I say the chamber was built by Sir Hugo he did have a little bit of help. From Goblins. They were loaned to him by his friend and master, the Devil. The chamber was subsequently known as Goblin Ha(ll)'. Goblin Ha' is the name of the local pub as well but whilst you're guaranteed to see spirits in the pub the story of the real Goblin Ha' is a bit better. It's hoped that the area will be bought by someone who is sympathetic to the Ha' but Scotland's right to roam does allow a level of access to the public.


It was hot and dusty in the crypt, and it had been hard work breaking into it. Now the vicar had gone, along with his invited guests, to take supper. The churchwarden and two workmen armed with spades were left to wait for their return, loitering by the grave they had come to examine – the tomb of Lord Byron the poet.
Crowe's name may not ring too many bells today, but a century and a half ago she was famous. Born in 1790, she was noted as a novelist (she wrote Susan Hopley, an intricately plotted crime procedural that was some way ahead of its time) and as a friend of the great and good (she knew Thackeray, Dickens and Charlotte Brontë, among many others). Nowadays, however, she is best remembered as a pioneer parapsychologist – "a hugely important figure in the emergence of modern ghost-seeing culture chiefly because of her relentless calls for society to turn its attention to the unexplained phenomena in its midst and investigate them in an objective manner." [McCorristine p.10]
"There is a most mysterious affair going on throughout the whole of India at present," wrote Dr Gilbert Hadow in a letter to his sister at home in Britain dated March 1857. "No one seems to know the meaning of it... It is not known where it originated, by whom or for what purpose, whether it is supposed to be connected to any religious ceremony or whether it has to do with some secret society. The Indian papers are full of surmises as to what it means. It is called 'the chupatty movement.'" [Hibbert p.59]
Eleven Popes have sat on the throne of St Peter since the turn of the last century, and most authorities would rank
Adam Sisman's sympathetic new biography of Hugh Trevor-Roper (Lord Dacre), the brilliant if acerbic historian, contains an unexpectedly fascinating passage on the great controversialist's declining years that sheds a ray of light on the way in which witnesses perceive ghosts.
It's thirty years now, more or less, since I first began writing for Fortean Times, and in all that time I doubt we covered a more shocking or more important story than the great Satanic Ritual Abuse panic of 1989-1991.
We've seen, in two earlier posts, how the Saarland village of Marpingen experienced a dramatic series of visions of the Blessed Virgin Mary (BVM) during the mid-1870s, with associated claims of miraculous cures and healing, and how the leader of the three girls who claimed to have encountered the apparition in woods outside the village eventually confessed that the entire experience had been invented – thanks, in part, to leading questions asked, and pressure placed on the three child-witnesses by, the eager adults of the village. Today I'm going to conclude this series of analyses, drawn from David Blackbourn's magnificently detailed study of the episode, Marpingen: Apparitions of the Virgin Mary in Nineteenth Century Germany, by taking a closer look at the reasons why there was so much expectation and religious fervour in Marpingen in the summer of 1876, and why the appearance of the BVM meant so much to the villagers themselves.
A couple of days ago we looked briefly at events in Marpingen, a German village in the Saarland, during harvest-time in 1876, and saw how a group of young female visionaries claimed to have witnessed an apparition of the Blessed Virgin Mary in some woods outside the village [right] – an account written up in vast detail by the Harvard history professor David Blackbourn in his 1994 book Marpingen. Today we're going to follow Blackbourn deeper into the local archives and look in considerably greater detail at the witnesses, at what they said they saw, at how their accounts of their experiences were shaped, and varied over time – and at what the raw data from Marpingen may imply about the gradual processes of sanitisation and consolidation that have worked to produce the much less controversial, much more uniform visions that have been formally approved by the Roman Catholic church. All this, as I noted in my first post on the subject, comes from an extensive collection of official and private documents assembled at the time, and gives us an unusually close look at what actually happened during one apparently quite typical set of Marian visions in the late 19th century – as well as offering several keys to understanding such events.
I've already mentioned,
Many countries have folk-tales that feature foolish kings – monarchs whose vanity causes them to make catastrophic misjudgements or attempt impossible things. Greek mythology offers the tradition of King Midas, who lived to regret wishing for the power to turn everything he touched into gold; for we Brits, the foolish ruler is King Canute, who – at least in the common modern telling of the tale – allowed courtiers to flatter him that even the seas would obey his commands, and consequently got his feet wet in a failed attempt to turn back the tides.1
Recent comments
23 hours 45 min ago
1 week 6 days ago
2 weeks 4 days ago
3 weeks 1 day ago
5 weeks 2 days ago
5 weeks 3 days ago
8 weeks 1 day ago
8 weeks 1 day ago
8 weeks 4 days ago
9 weeks 12 hours ago