Utrecht Artifacts, Part 2: Slates, Ghost Lamps & Miscellany

Continuing where I left off from Utrecht in Part One, we now arrive at the Harmonia/Beelmaterial Spiritische Museum's array of spirit slates, spirit paintings, and ghost call-bells. With the gap between blogs posts as I find time to write, more and more distance comes between now and the European tour itself. It was such a whirlwind I had little time to digest it while there, but now, looking back, it becomes more and more amazing with each recollection, from the acquaintances made to the artifacts I was able to handle and document. And I am thrilled to see that my peers were equally impressed by the experience, as well as with my lecture, "Preserving the Physical Artifacts of Psychical Research."

Leslie Price had some kind words for me in the latest issue (August 2014) of Psychic News, judging my lecture "one of the most remarkable" of the conference.  And he makes a further challenge to readers that I encourage them to take up: "In listening to this [Brandon's lecture], I thought of the hundreds of Spiritualist churches which may have such equipment, perhaps lying forgotten in cupboards. By means of photography and the internet it’s now possible to get these appraised by Brandon Hodge, who is making an international survey of such devices." Such opportunities are one of the great joys of this self-appointed task, and I would love nothing more than for the difficult job to become all the easier, with such institutions soliciting my aid, rather than me having to seek them out. Do contact me with questions about any and all items you may discover at your various churches and archives. 

Tom Ruffles gives us a similar review of the conference with a daily breakdown on his blog, and I encourage you to read it in its entirety. He discusses not only my representation of IAPSOP, but also my preservation lecture, and gives a very nice summary of its main points. Similar overviews are given for the other lectures at the conference, all of which were incredibly informative. Do give it a read.

But what of the remaining Utrecht items? There are many, actually. Far too many to cover here, and far too many for me to even document in their entirety while in Utrecht. Fortunately, Wim and his compatriots have done an outstanding job of that on their own, and I was able to concentrate on those spirit communication items most of interest to me for my upcoming book. 

Ghost lamp featured in the May 1936 edition of Spiritische Bladen.

I think the single most astounding artifact in the collection is the surviving ghost lamp. The purpose of ghost lamps were two-fold. Such contraptions signaled the arrival or presence of spirits so that séances could begin, and it could serve in the same capacity as spirit raps or modern flashlight séances by blinking on and off to indicate positive and negative responses, or even respond to alphabet-calling.

Lamp switch detail.

Ghost lamps and call-bells gained some traction among Dutch Spiritualists during the 1930s. The Dutch periodical Spiritische Bladen published an article on their use and construction in its May, 1936 edition, which my lovely friend and amazing science photographer Loes Modderman was kind enough to translate for me. At its heart, the device is little more than a battery-operated bulb and a simple switch that takes the form of an easily-manipulated balance or scale, so that a slight tip one way or the other of the scale's balanced arms causes the switch to engage and the light to briefly flash. In this way, it was designed so that spirits with enough ectoplasmic fortitude could manipulate the device to signal their arrival, tipping the switch with a ghostly appendage so the bright light of the lamp flashed out into the darkened séance chamber to let the sitters know they were ready to communicate. That seems the only illustrated purpose of the device, but Wim informs me of other accounts where communication indeed took place on the alphabet-calling model.

The crudely-constructed device shown in the how-to illustrations in the Spiritische Bladen pales in comparison, however, to the artifact I was able to document. It is not the most astounding piece of carpentry, but it is obvious that great care and consideration was taken in its construction. The carved and trimmed wood box is dark-stained, and measures approximately 8-inches across and 6-inches high. The ghostlamp went through at least two evolutionary forms in its long life: first constructed to house a battery in its frame, it was modified at some point in its history and wired for electric power.

Two circular brass plates and a crooked connector serve as the balanced switch, which tips to either side with the slightest breeze to activate the small lamp. It is so sensitive, in fact, that it may go a long way in explaining why there's a loop for wall-installation on the back of the device--obviously constructed for tabletop use, it may be that the slightest nudge of the table tipped the scale and triggered the light, and its creators saw fit to hang it nearby on the wall to escape undue influence on its operation. 

We discussed plugging it in and giving it a go, but were worried we might inadvertently spark an electrical fire, so we resisted the temptation and let the historical object lie. 

Another closely-related object--though much more crude, and a much less old--is the collection's call-bell. Its use would be nearly identical to the ghostlamp, only providing a ring to signal the spirit's desire to communicate, rather than the flashing light. This device's origins or how the more modern piece came to be included in the collection are unknown, but there's some question if the device even works as one supposes--there is no switch wire or balance, and we guessed that plugging it in would either cause it to ring continuously, or to not work at all. It may be that it was never finished, is missing an integral component, or it was simply an early attempt by an inexperienced enthusiast. It's still a lovely inclusion to the collection!

The Harmonia archive holds several important spirit slates, many of them with preserved messages intact. There are more than pictured, but were difficult to photograph and document since some have a glossy film tacked over the slate in an effort to prevent the chalk spirit writing from smearing or disappearing. It seemed no matter which angle I attempted to photograph from, I either got a nice reflection of my own head and camera, the glare of lights, or a nice grid from the reflection of ceiling tiles. Such are the challenges of working in the field. I did manage a good shot of one such "direct schrift" slate, however, with a message dating from April 20, 1932:

 Another slate contains preserved writing in a number of colors--this time in English:

Another pair of slates is noteworthy for their construction. Unlike most paired slates which are identical in all respects, and usually just regular school-slates used in the period, this pair seems specially-constructed to gather spirit writing. In the picture below, note how the bottom slate is deeper and recessed. The top slate would be bound, lid-like, above the other, and the resulting space left ample room for spirits to manipulate the chalk between the slates. The method isn't novel, and is one of the most common forms of obtaining spirit writing--but the design consideration is. Just a wonderful pair that, while lacking the preserved writing of its companions, shows the time, thought, and consideration that went into the item to foster the belief in what it could accomplish.

Lastly, for just a bit of slightly-off-topic fun, the collection includes a real screen used for Rhine ESP testing. In use, the screen would be stationed between the tester and the tested, and the results shown by sliding aside the wooden slat window. Wim informs me that he has pictures of this very screen in its historical use, so I promise to share those as they become available. Just a lovely artifact that was a lot of fun to examine.

I can't thank my hosts enough for this incredible opportunity to document this amazing collection, and I'm grateful for all the new friends and researchers that attended the conference and opened their minds to other sides of our respective disciplines. Thank you again to Wim, Loes, and all of our lovely hosts for their hospitality and assistance during my stay in Utrecht. Now, onward to Brussels to examine more incredibly important artifacts in the collection of one of the world's most enigmatic magicians!

Utrecht Artifacts, Part 1: The Beelmaterial Spiritische Museum's Boards, Trumpets & Planchettes

After an unfortunately short stay in London, my family and I headed to Amsterdam, narrowly making our flight in the process. There's nothing like rounding the corner dragging your bouncing luggage behind you after a crazy sprint through a ridiculously long terminal, only to see them closing the gates. And my wife did it with a 1-year old strapped to her chest. Whew!

The purpose for the trip was actually the impetus for the entire journey--an invitation to lecture at the Preserving the Historical Collections of Parapsychology conference in Utrecht. While the opportunity to share my knowledge and learn from other scholars of esotericism is enticing on its own, I was also drawn there to document the discoveries of Wim Kramer and his colleagues of the Beelmaterial Spiritische Museum collections, an amazing preserved archive of spirit communication devices and other artifacts dating collected in the 1930s by a Dutch Spiritualism museum.

Each morning, I took a lovely train ride through the countryside to Utrecht to attend the conference. While Amsterdam was a little nerve-wracking for me--it has an awful lot of cyclists zipping through its narrow streets--Utrecht was like a dream: this amazingly preserved medieval town dripping with charm. It was the perfect setting for our gathering.

My first order of business was to discuss the IAPSOP's mission, and how it relates to others doing similar work, such as Walter Meyer zu Erpen and John Reed and the WISE Wiki, Wim's HJBF Archive Projects, Shelley Sweeney and the Hamilton Collections, Eberhard Bauer and Andreas Fischer and their work with the IGPP, and so many others. The esteemed Leslie Price joined us from the College of Psychic Studies, and I got to meet the wonderful Loes Modderman! What an incredible assembly of occult scholars, archivists, and esotericists! I encourage you to download the sizable conference manifest and give it a good read--there are summaries of all of the lectures and profiles of the featured speakers that are well worth exploring.

I recall that as John, Walter, Shelley and I approached the conference gates for the first time, Wim greeted us and asked me if I needed to be in handcuffs--the items were already on display upstairs, you see, and he knew just how excited I was to get my hands--and lens--on these items I'd admired for so long, and traveled so far to see. Luckily, handcuffs weren't necessary, and Wim will be happy to know I didn't sneak in any secret fondling when he wasn't looking. Let's take a look at some of the artifacts from this amazing treasure trove!

The collection contains much more than I was able to document, so I focused primarily on devices, at the expense of numerous spirit paintings, automatic writings, and other artifacts. All told, I photographed a talking board, a spirit trumpet, 3 planchettes, 2 ghost lamps, several spirit slates with preserved writing, a couple of spirit paintings, and a few other assorted surprises, the first set of which we'll examine here.

Wim and his counterparts rediscovered these items in May, 2010, lodged in a box in the attic of the HARMONIA Dutch Society of Spiritualists, in a building that had been the Utrecht chapter since 1922. Before coming to rest in the attic there, the items had been collected and housed by a gentleman in Haarlem (a town near Amsterdam) in his "Spiritualistic Museum," from 1935-1941. He often hosted small exhibitions at HARMONIA's public meetings, and published several short articles in the Dutch Spirirualists' magazine Spiritische Bladen about the items, which is how we know of their provenance.

Little is known about the items and their histories beyond their tenure as museum artifacts. The spirit trumpet is a beauty: a sturdy single-piece horn that--as has become so common in my trumpet documentation--doesn't match the dimension of any other trumpet I've recorded. This isn't all that surprising: if someone wanted a spirit trumpet, particularly a non-telescoping one, they are simple affairs to construct, and in the period could be acquired from a local tinsmith fairly cheaply. But there was also an industry, so it is always difficult to differentiate between commercially-manufactured and locally-produced items. And I believe the latter instance is the case here. The trumpet has four rings of tape with thick luminous paint still attached. Just a beautiful and classic specimen.

The collection contains a couple of talking boards, though one is a later-model Parker Bros added more recently. The other is quite an interesting specimen, however, and one of Dutch origin. At first glance at the above picture, it may seem commercially-produced: its letters arch nicely and uniformly and have a great font, for example. But up close, it's obvious that this is a handmade piece or one produced on a very limited basis locally. The board's bright yellow and glossy black paint is thickly slathered on all dimensions and has a strange texture to it, almost like it dried with a Saran Wrap or gauze-like texture on it. Indeed, it almost still looks wet or tacky to the touch. It is constructed of hardboard. There is no planchette with the board, though it may be that the gold planchette among the trip below was meant for it, though they aren't much of a match. Of course, it has Dutch phrasing: "Ophouden" for "Stop/Cease/Finished" and "Goedenavond" for "Good Evening." And, of course, "Nee" and "Ja," which lends itself rather nicely for the board's "Neeja" nickname.

The trio of planchettes is really what brought the collection to my attention, and what incredibly beautiful specimens they are. All three are handmade, and I was reminded of the handmade CPS planchettes I had just visited in London. I'll examine the pointing planchette first, because it may be a companion to the handmade talking board, though I don't think this is the case. It doesn't match the board in any way, and its construction seems more in line with its older companions, shown below. It is made of plywood with two substantial supports that hold smooth pegged legs of some plastic or bakelight material, and a neat little metal arrow as an index. The gold paint looks distinctly of the spray-paint variety, and is a subtle metallic gold. Whether this plank once had a companion board or was used in more of a tabletop alphabet card capacity is unknown, but it really is a great piece.

My favorite item in the collection is this handmade automatic writing planchette. Its shape is so unusual and distinct, and unlike anything I had seen previously. The hardware is not the most effective. In a topic I've discussed before, it seems a lot of woodshop crafters and even commercial entities--including the Psychic Science Institute discovered in our fresh London foray--resorted to ball-bearing components for wheels that were not made to be smoothly-rolling castors. Wheeled pantographs were obsolete technology by this time, so the petite castors so common to the first generation of planchettes weren't commonly available. So, other hardware had to be used, and it is my belief that these components are repurposed door and cabinet hardware meant to keep closed doors closed, because there is an internal tension--likely a spring--that pushes the ball-bearing up against its housing and keeps it from freely rolling. I have similar hardware in my own home from the 1940s. This tension can be felt when pushing down on the ball-bearing and feeling the springiness beneath. Now, given that it is still a smooth ball-bearing, it likely still glides smoothly over a wooden tabletop or paper, but not quite as smoothly as one might suppose, because the tension keeps the ball from actually turning. There's also a simple little turn-screw pencil aperture that's very effective, and still holding its pencil after all these decades! By far my favorite of the bunch, and one of my favorite planchettes of all time.

The pattern of homemade construction and hardware continues in a third planchette, this one less elegant and fantastical in shape, but no less efficient. Blocky and triangular, this automatic writer seems made from the same stock of wood as its counterpart. Its ball-bearing castors are bulkier and lack the spring-tension of the type likely used for doors or cabinets, and are more likely small furniture castors similar to the "Roll-A-Weight" brand that were sold here in the States in small four-packs.  Without that tension, the ball-bearings would have served their purpose much better, and this would have been the best-working specimen of the bunch. The pencil aperture is just a simple screw and a small metal retainer embedded in the wood, and the pencil use would have to have been small. Beyond its museum origins, no account of its use of messages received through the item have survived, which would have been absolutely incredible, but we're lucky to even have it!

We're luckier to have some surviving script related to other artifacts in the Beelmaterial Spiritische Museum collection, but we'll need to wait for our next installment in Utrecht Artifacts, Part 2: The Beelmaterial Spiritische Museum's Slates, Ghost Lamps, & Miscellany. Stay tuned, folks, for the continuation of our review of this incredible cache of artifacts!

London Artifacts, Part 3: The CPS Talking Boards

The CPS' central stairwell, stretching
upward toward new discoveries!

The trip to the College of Psychic Studies (the review of which started in Part One of this series) was a whirlwind, mostly due to the mad rush of being in London a day late and having to trek immediately there from Heathrow. But through the distant lens of hindsight, I can see just how incredible those few short hours were. It wasn't all about the devices, mind you. There's a certain atmosphere that comes from being in hallowed halls once wandered by Sir Conan Doyle, and that hosted seances by Eileen Garrett and a veritable who's-who of 19th-and-20th-century mediums. I could spend another several blog posts just examining the artwork of the CPS, from their nearly-life-sized portrait of D.D. Home, their bust of one of my favorite mediums, J. J. Vango, and numerous frames of spirit-influenced art and portraits of important mediums who have visited or held residence in the college over its many years. And then there's the Stainton Moses archives themselves, boxes stacked upon one another just waiting to be explored further, containing all manner of glass slides of seances and spirit phenomena, spirit photographs, automatic writing, clairvoyant tools...the list just goes on and on. And, of course, there's the library itself and the undocumented wonders its texts contain, which IAPSOP is in the process of assisting in order to digitize as much of these rare tomes as possible. Maybe next trip I'll have the chance to examine these other discoveries. more closely. For now, let's continue where we left off from Parts One and Two, and examine the talking boards in the collection of the College of Psychic Studies.

As with the Psychic Studies Institute planchette we investigated in Part 2, two of the talking boards in the CPS holdings were not only unknown to us, but largely unknowable due to utter lack of markings or identification of any sort--they didn't even have and sort of name or variant of "Ouija" that we usually use as a starting point for studying boards. Instead, we had wood of a decently-fine grade, some degree of commercial craftsmanship, and letters and numbers. And that was it.

I did make a few observations, the most important of which was the applique of the letters and numbers: they are not printed or screened, and they aren't stickers. They are decals, of that sort familiar to airplane modelists that must be moistened, then carefully applied, often with tweezers--they are known as "waterslide" decals. They have a distinctive film around their perimeter, and carefully scrutinized in the right light, it was obvious each letter had a distinct film halo that gave them away. And it turns out, 2 of the 3 boards present--both of the wooden boards--had this sort of application. Could they be related?

The second wood board had the type of decal application, though with some differences, particularly with the size of the "Yes" and "No" and the numbers, as well as the alphabet's font. The board was also more square, and finely framed. But, again, no markings or label. But with the same type of decals, similar plywood, and identical (and telling) placement of letters (three rows, A-I, J-T, U-Z), there was a high probability the boards were related.

As with the discovery of the PSI planchette's identity, the answer was only a few hours off. When a properly-labeled PSI planchette popped up on eBay that evening, complete with the "BCM/PSI-LON" address, it gave us a keyword to research. And that turned up an old auction listing with a talking board identical to the first wooden CPS specimen, complete in its original box. The box identified a proper non-BCM address of 18 Worton Way, and from there, and with a little education from our mate and international-man-of-mystery Glenn Rinker, we were able to properly assign the board as a creation of the Psychic Science Institute, and date it to the late 1940s-late 1950s through ads placed in Prediction magazine. And in the confirmation of one, it is highly likely that the second, framed version is also a product of PSI, given the near identical means of construction and unique nature of the decals and overall design.      

Why not? A 1949 Prediction magazine ad for Psychic Science Institute's
planchettes, Ouija, and other "psychic appliances."

The final board would not reveal its secrets so easily. Its manufacture is uncommon, as it is constructed from some laminate--what is most likely cut Formica, or possibly Cusheen. The construction is identical to classic office door plaques and hallway signs, with a thin sheet of Formica set on a chipboard type material.

Now, if my arm was twisted toward wagering a guess, it would be that this is also a Psychic Science Institute board, and what we're seeing is a decade-long evolution in the manufacture of that company's products. Which way that evolution goes I wouldn't hazard a confirmation, but it's likely they began with the wood-and-waterslide-decal boards, then moved toward engraved Formica as that technology became available after entering the European market after World War II. The 3-row arrangement is the same as the other boards (A-I, J-T, U-Z) as is the placement and general arrangement of the alphabet, numbers, and Yes/No. There's also one additional piece of evidence: the planchette of this board is identical in construction--but not shape--to the planchette included in the old PSI eBay board auction. That is to say, it's a thin, single-ply sheet of wood paneling with some felt pads glued underneath. So there's that. And this planchette is an exact match to yet another PSI specimen--this one wooden like the first two--from the silver screen (see below). With all of the evidence, as well as PSI's proximity to CPS,  my money's on this board also being a Psychic Science Institute specimen.

A notable appearance of the PSI talking board, again brought to our attention by our ever-affable colleague Glenn Rinker,  is 1972's Tales from the Crypt, in that fantastic talking board and planchette-writing scene with Peter Cushing (at the 36:00 mark). Besides getting to see a Selchow & Righter Scientific Planchette in use, we're given another likely PSI variant here, most closely resembling the first specimen we looked at above, though with red "Yes/No" letters, and with a planchette that matches our Formica variant exactly. With all the similarities, the evidence seems more and more compelling that these are all fruits from the same tree...

Peter Cushing seeks guidance on a PSI talking board before turning, naturally, to his reliable writing planchette for
the real goods--a warning of D-A-N-G-E-R!

Before concluding my overview of the CPS collections, I want to post a triptych of some of the other marvels of the visit, which includes hints of some of the less-explored wonders that I'll have to make sure I have more time for next trip, including the massive and beautiful oil painting of D.D. Home, the magnificent bust of the medium J.J. Vango, and William Stainton Moses' personal scrying crystal, with his own archives curving in the view behind it.

A fitting end to this tribute to my visit to the CPS, and I would like to again thank the college for their wonderful hospitality, the generosity of their principal Gill Matini, and, of course, my friend Leslie Price, for taking the time to escort me through it all. I hope my research has been able to shed a little light on the items in their holdings, and tell them a little bit they didn't know before. Next up on our tour is the PHCP conference in Utrecht, where I visited to not only lecture on behalf of IAPSOP and my own device research, but similarly catalog a host of incredible items from the Beelmaterial Spiritische Museum. Stay tuned!

London Artifacts, Part 2: The CPS Planchettes

Continuing where we left off in Part 1 of my visit to the College of Psychic Studies in London, I want to examine the planchettes in the college's holdings before moving on to their talking boards in Part 3. So let's get to it, shall we?

The CPS Library in a photo from Pinterest.

The CPS owns 3 talking boards and 4 writing planchettes. Like the trumpets, we are dealing with devices where identification is very difficult, and provenance has unfortunately been lost--the devices have lingered in the holding in various states of display and storage for as long as anyone can remember, which for my host Leslie Price dates back as far as 1968.

The rumor of planchettes in the collection is what first drew me to it. Unlike the trumpets, I had not been provided any sneak-peeks online, so I really had no idea what to expect. The first finding nearly knocked me over in surprise when Leslie retrieved it from storage:

The "bearskin rug" planchette, date unknown.

I've dubbed this specimen the "bearskin rug" planchette. It has a companion, which we'll get to in a minute, but it is a fantastically-constructed homemade planchette with some age to it. While the era is unknown, it does have brass hardware and ivory wheels, the latter of which we rarely see after the turn of the century. The shape is unlike anything I'd ever seen before, and facilitates the unusual 4-wheel construction. One wheel is unfortunately long-missing, and I'd love the opportunity at restoration to get this old bird back in operational order.

Note strange aperture and horizontal orientation.

The most unusual aspect of the planchette isn't its shape, however--it's the pencil aperture. There is an unusual central retaining joist on the plank, which is aligned with what should be an aperture. But it's built to hold a round rod horizontally, and inserting a pencil would position the lead facing forward, rather than down, which isn't going to produce any automatic writing results unless your paper is mounted upright, and even then, you can't produce script without any movement on both as x and y axises. And beyond that, it would only fit a very small, but necessarily long, pencil. And that front joist has a small retention spring within, so it would hold something relatively securely, but something else is going on here...

Let's explore this perplexing construction with an examination of the planchette's sister board:

The heart-shaped companion planchette--note relocated wheel wells.

The companion piece is more traditionally heart-shaped, but with the same 4-wheel construction. And, sadly, it also has a couple of missing ivory wheels. The wheels were actually moved and re-attached at some point in the plank's history, either to give them fresh support from old nail-holes or perhaps to correct some balance issues. Like its sister, it has an unusual central joist of sorts that lines up with the front aperture. But this one's different, in that whatever rod it once held would have to be flat--rather like a small door-bolt, which very well may be the source of the hardware. There's no pencil--not even a flat construction pencil--that's going to fit in that slim opening, and there's the same issue of orientation.

Castor and aperture detail.

But there's other evidence of what was going on here with both planchettes. The heart-shaped piece has some distinctive fading that indicates there was once something there--a bar that once ran nearly the entire equatorial length of the board. I think, in theory, that there was a flat brass attachment that would be held in place between the central guide and the front retainer, and would jut forth from the front of the planchette, and subsequently hold a vertical pencil that way--assuming, of course, that it's a pencil it once held. If that's indeed the case, it really harkens back to planchette's primordial form: the corbeille a béc ("beaked basket"), or ngọc cơ, still in use among Cambodian Spiritists, and which has a jutting writing implement displaced somewhat from the main body of the apparatus:

A Cambodian ngọc cơ basket planchette. Note extended writing implement.

It's really the only way to explain what's happening here--the retainer and aperture isn't built for a pencil, or chalk, or anything sort of writing instrument I can identify--it's just evidence of a missing part, that that part is what held the writing implement. Of course, I'm open to other interpretations here.

Possible types of hardware used in the plank's construction.

There's a last-minute discovery that hit us just before this blog goes to press, fortuitously made when ever-reliable friend and collaborator Bob Murch was offered an illustration from a 1907 issue of the French weekly, Le Monde Illustré. The illustration shows a "un medium typtologue" (who may be named in the still-waiting-for-the-issue-to-arrive-so-we-can-translate-it text) at work on an alphabet table, with a curiously-shaped planchette. The CPS "bearskin rug" planchette is not only the first 4-wheeled planchette I've ever encountered, but also the only one with that unique shape--the planchette pictured in this illustration is the second. And the drawing's planchette sure seems to be busy around the front end with the indicator jutting from its main board, and while I note it is depicted with pegs, not wheels, at the very least we have a depiction of a planchette very similar to the CPS specimen in actual use, in Paris, in 1907. The description to the picture leads to the next page of the scan, which we don't yet have--stay tuned for more analysis of this incredible find!

The "bearskin rug" depicted? An illustration from Le Monde Illustré, 1907.

Together, these two planchettes are a wonderful pair, even if incomplete, and the care and craftsmanship put into their construction is obvious. One hopes that they saw heavy use in the CPS's hallowed halls, and I hold out hope that Leslie will run across some strange brass hardware somewhere in the archives that completes the devices and solves the mystery of their intended use and construction.

The paddle planchette--a close approximation of Ouija's 1890s'-era pointer.

Another planchette was cause for a start when Leslie introduced me to it--a very traditionally paddle-shaped plank stained in a rick, dark patina. It is a lovely specimen, and most likely another handmade item. It immediately reminded me not only of the classic Kennard planchette of Ouija's Bond-patent era, but also more specifically of the Kennard-style index of Robert Murch's mysterious "London Ouija," which as far as we've been able to determine is a product of Elijah Bond's failed attempt to introduce the Ouija to the UK market. Despite the similarities, this device is singular, and while it only has smooth brass tacks as terminals on its tapering rear legs to act as any sort of castors, and no aperture hardware to speak of, it is a lovely piece that also seems to carry some age with it. As with much of the CPS holdings, here's hoping some clue to its identity shows up in their archives to help us tell this piece's story.

A 1940s-50s-era PSI planchette.

We know more about the CPS's fourth and final planchette. When I felt its slim board through the tissue paper in which it was wrapped, I immediately guessed it was a Two Worlds planchette. They were popular devices, I'd already seen a couple of Two Worlds trumpets, and its board was super-thin as we see in their Weyers Brothers-produced boards. But rather than a 30s-era plank, I unwrapped something dating a little later. It's a lovely little shield-shaped plank, with ball-bearing castors that are unfortunately stiff, likely due to the fact that the hardware isn't made to roll so much as provide tension to hold cabinet doors shut or some such--I've seen similar castors on planchette still for sale to this day, and eventually I'll figure out the true purpose of those castors, but that's a good guess.

The code cracked! Within a few short hours, a similar planchette appeared on an online auction site with a less-
obscured label (inset), giving us the vital legibility we needed to discover the planchette's true origins!

It's funny how quickly a frustrating mystery was solved in this case. It never happens this fast, folks! As you can see from the pictures, the planchette carried a stamp, but the ink was worn and very obscure--a frustrating discovery to know that all the information you need to ID the item was right there, and its faded remains are only stay behind to taunt you. So, with the stamp and quality of construction, it was obvious we had a commercially-manufactured item--we just didn't know who, when, or where. But I didn't have long to wait before a vital clue showed up--this time in the form of a near-identical specimen on eBay showing up later that evening, from the attic of a Spiritualist church not far away, with a more intact label. While the "C" and the "O" were a little tough to decipher, a few googled variations actually revealed another old eBay auction for a talking board by the same company that clarified everything: the label reads "Copyright BCM/PSI-LON. London. W.C.1 Design" and the box had an "18 Worton Way" return address. My pal and frequent guest commenter Glenn Rinker educated me on what I was looking at with these abbreviations, and even forwarded me a matching advertisement, to boot:

According to Glenn, BCM stands for "British Commercial Monomarks," and is an anonymous postal service similar to a PO Box for businesses, except that they receive your mail, then forward it to your proper address--an obviously attractive way for psychics and mediums to conceal their proper addresses. And "Psi-Lon" is the company's address abbreviation for BCM (in short, their PO Box designation) that stands for "Psychic Science Institute--LONdon." They advertised planchettes and other devices in the 1940s-1950s, and we'll examine a couple of their talking boards in Part 3 of our London examinations. It is unknown what connections there may be between that group and the CPS. Looks like this company also produced a spirit trumpet, which also may match up with one or another of the CPS trumpets, but we'll have to wait for those particular auction items to arrive to know for sure. 

So there you have it. An incredible assortment of automatic writing planchettes, courtesy of the College of Psychic Studies. We'll conclude our examination of their devices in Part 3, as we turn toward their talking boards and an extra-special item connected to the college's founder I had the rare privilege of documenting.

London Artifacts, Part 1: The CPS Spirit Trumpets

The last several summers have always been flurries of activity rushing to-and-fro to document as many spirit communication devices as possible, and these days I need little excuse to book travel to far-off destinations in search of desired answers in the history of spirit communication devices. I was honored this year to be invited to speak at the PHCP Conference in Utrecht, Netherlands, and never one to miss an opportunity, I promptly contacted other institutions in the region or along the way to make the most of it: namely London's College of Psychic Studies and Christian Chelman's Surnateum in Brussels. And while the traveling is always teeth-rattling difficult when you cram too-much-transit in too-little time, the payoff is always well worth it. This summer's start is no exception.

My awaiting destination: London's College of Psychic Studies.

The very first leg of our journey was ill-fated. Everything was perfectly in place, but my wife Adie and 11-month old daughter Elliot and I found ourselves on a flight to North Carolina that suffered engine failure halfway there, and after the plane landed back in Austin safely, we whiled away the rest of the day waiting for the plane to be fixed as the window to our connecting flight slowly closed. So, we made it to London a day late, and had the extra joy of having to drive 3 hours to Dallas to make the flight. This also meant I had no time to settle in before my morning appointment with my friend Leslie Price at the College of Psychic Studies. I literally landed, went through customs, and taxied directly to the CPS, where I was welcomed by Leslie, the college's wonderful principal, Gill Matini, and their friendly staff. They could have kept me waiting all day in the front library and I'd probably have been just as happy perusing their incredible shelves of esoterica all day! The history of the venerable college is incredibly rich, and a veritable who's-who of Spiritualism--including William Stainton Moses and Arthur Conan Doyle, among many others--and I encourage you to delve a bit into their history to get a scope of their collection's significance.

I was visiting to document some fantastic artifacts in the college's holdings which I've long-hoped to photograph. I'm beginning here with a study of the CPS's incredible array of spirit trumpets. Unfortunately, trumpets are notoriously difficult to identify. Absent of boxes or packaging, very few carry any sort of maker's mark, and labels are unheard of. I've spent the last two years researching and cataloging every trumpet, manufacturer, and trumpet medium I can uncover, and even the resulting 65-page, 45,000-word timeline document doesn't really help answer that primary question: who made what? Of course, identifying trumpets with special provenance is even more difficult, but CPS had a few surprises in store for me.

Mr. Leslie Price in the midst of the William Stainton Moses archives.

I arrived prepared to document a staggering 11 spirit trumpets. This was Leslie's tentative observation, and backed up by a picture found online that showed about the same number of trumpets on display in a glass case--or, at least, the picture hinted at how many the case contained--even if determining what was what through the photograph was impossible. I was sure that we were dealing with at least some trumpets in multiple disassembled piece, however. Another picture of the collection I found on pinterest (see below) shows almost everything that was waiting for me when I arrived, and confirmed that thought--looks like there's just a couple of pieces missing from Leslie's count in this shot:

Photo of most of the CPS's spirit trumpet collection pieces at
http://www.pinterest.com/psychicstudies/pins/, which also has
some lovely shots of the college!

After my arrival and introduction to the William Stainton Moses archives and the wonders therein, a boxed, yet incomplete Two Worlds specimen was the first discovery. While the label was missing, the box was intact and matched the odd brown leatherette material of the box in my collection. But the box only contained the mouthpiece end of what presumably should have been a two-piece trumpet. While Two Worlds did produce a one-piece trumpet, the bell end was not rolled as it should be if it were a one-piece item. And though the 14-inch long section could serve as a trumpet as-is, without the bell section it would remain incomplete.

Part & Pieces, or, Two-and-a-Half Worlds: Unpuzzling what-goes-where with the
CPS specimens and putting it all back together. Lower left is the boxed mouth-
piece section, and above are the two loose bell-ends, with the middle picture
being the obvious match. At right is a complete specimen already assembled,
leaving one loose, unmatched, and lonely bell-end.

So, imagine my surprise as Leslie led me to another section of the archive housed elsewhere in the college, and there before me was a hodge-podge arrangement of more trumpets--the remaining 10, in fact. Without hesitation, I gathered no less than three Two Worlds bell-ends: one of which (likely the more tattered of the trio, which also displayed the old residue of luminous tape) would undoubtedly match the downstairs boxed specimen, making that our first complete trumpet. There was another match--the cleanest of the three was an obvious pair to another nearby mouth-end section, which itself held a loop of waxed cord running through it. Assembled, we had a second complete Two Worlds specimen to go with the downstairs boxed one, which left us, unfortunately, with an unpaired bell-end that had no companion, but made a third trumpet positively ID-ed.

The CPS's "almost-Eckel's" trumpet. Some differences in the company's standard-issue trumpet, but also carrying
some of the classic markers of an Eckel-produced product. Note lovely hand-print artifact in luminous paint.

The fourth close-positive ID after gathering and assembling the pieces was CPS's 3-section Eckel's trumpet. Well, maybe an Eckel's. Oh, hell, I don't know. It's a close match at first glance, but then the details start casting doubt on the ID. The bell-end, for example, is rolled over a hoop, rather than folded and crimped. The bell-end ribs that are always our first marker of an Eckel's trumpet are in the right place, but the main body crimp is not stamped with the expected "E.A. Eckel" or "Anderson, Ind." imprints. The section ends are missing their usual ribbed bumps, and are instead folded. And the rivets are not the same style, and close to the same placement, but a bit further spread apart, and there's a mid-section rivet absent on most standard Eckels.

Lastly, there's the curious addition of some sort of retainer or tension bar riveted where the sections come together, ostensibly to keep the trumpet from coming apart mid-seance. Whether they are original--a feature I've never seen on another trumpet--or a later aftermarket addition, is unknown.

But perhaps my favorite feature of the trumpet is the remnant of luminous paint on the bell. The ribs had a thick coat spread around their circumference, and there was a distinctive handprint--a thumbspot and fingers--wrapping around the bell. Its origins or purpose are completely unknown, but if it was put there by accident, it was never corrected, so it seems intentional. Just a lovely piece, all the way around, but, like so many other trumpets (and the remainder of those in the CPS holdings), impossible to positively ID. Maybe it's an Eckel's--an early or late production (I own at least one variant that's even more different than this one is from a standard issue Eckel's, for example)--but for now we'll give it a tentative Eckel's assignment in a sea of spirit-trumpet ID uncertainty.

An unidentified spirit trumpet. Professionally and stoutly made, but of unknown manufacture.

The remaining three trumpets, fortunately, were all one-section trumpets, so no more problems with missing pieces. But, since none were boxed, stamped, or marked, they cannot be ID-ed, and the college records no special provenance for them. There was a stout, sturdy, and heavy specimen that very nearly more of a tube than a proper cone, with a rolled bell and mouthpiece and a stout tack-weld holding it together at the seams. This may very likely be a handmade or locally-made specimen, which, like most single-section trumpets, would be a simple matter to produce, and always leaves us second-guessing one-off makers versus commercial manufacturers.

Though possibly a Two Worlds trumpet, it is most likely this is a Psychic Science Institute specimen, 1940-50s. Note luminous tape remains.

The two remaining specimens are lovely examples, and also provide us with an ID conundrum, and either or both could be either Two Worlds single-piece specimens from the 1930s, or 1950s Psychic Science Institute (PSI) trumpets. We know from a previous post's ad study that Two Worlds produced both one and two-piece trumpets, and either of these could be a contender. The first trumpet is a quite long single-piece trumpet with the remains of luminous tape on the bell and intact tape on the mouthpiece, which is quite wide. Its bell end is rolled similar to the known Two Worlds specimens, and the mouthpiece is folded outward. The crimped seam is very, very similar to the Two Worlds style, and I am sad to say that in the frenzy of picture-taking while at CPS, I did not do a direct in-hand comparison. The other remaining trumpet is very similar, though shorter, with a rolled bell-end, a crimped and similarly-wide mouthpiece, and intact luminous tape on its bell. There's no indication that Two Worlds produced more than one size of these single-section trumpets, so it is likely only one or the other will be properly ID-ed as being manufactured by them, though Part 2 of this series further discusses the strong possibility that one or the other of these were offered by PSI. Only time, study, and new discoveries will tell, and there are worse fates than future trips taken to confirm theories!  

Another possible Two Worlds or PSI single-piece trumpet. This one has luminous paint glommed over its wire-rolled bell-end.

The final surprise the archives held for me in the trumpet department was a curious wooden box. It looked not unlike one of those vintage wooden Velveeta cheese boxes, and had a hand-carved name and address on it:

While the CPS stored the box with the trumpets, there had not been an attempt to match it with a trumpet in years. Moreover, no one had really questioned the owner of the box or its place in the collection until I started making inquires, at which point Leslie immediatelybhad a "lightbulb" go off, and realized it was the property of H. Dennis Bradley, a trumpet medium famous in his day for direct voice mediumship, and a student and champion of another famous trumpet medium, George Valiantine. The address even matches Bradley's business in life. Bradley's personal accounts of his own trumpet mediumship are recounted in 1925's The Wisdom of the Gods, and may give some indication of the origins of CPS's trumpet:

"It was towards the end of July, 1924, that I made my first effort to obtain direct and independent spirit voices. When I suggested the experiment to my wife, she was amused, and declared that it would be absolutely impossible. So I refused to make any attempt on that evening. Two evenings later, however, the experiment was made. There were only three sitters: my wife, her mother, and myself. We sat in my study at Dorincourt ; a trumpet—a collapsible aluminium trumpet for amplifying sounds, which Valiantine had left with me on his return to America in March last—was placed on a table in the centre of the room. We got the raps on the table as before, and after twenty minutes or so the trumpet was lifted and each of us was lightly touched. Then a hissing sound was heard,  as if someone was endeavouring, under great difficulties,  to  articulate  something." 

Is Bradley's trumpet in the CPS collections the same trumpet he inherited from Valiantine? There's no way to know for sure, but it's a fun thought to inspire the look for further evidence. Of course, there's also the matter of which trumpet goes where. There's one size and style of trumpet that fits the box like a glove: the two-section Two Worlds trumpets, and there's two-and-a-half of them in the archives. Bradley's trumpet would have been well-used, and I have suggested CPS pair the more battered matching sections with the box for display.

Lovely collection, and a fascinating history on these items. I am incredibly grateful to the CPS for welcoming me and allowing me to document the items, and to Leslie for the incredible tour through their hallowed halls. Stay tuned, true believers, for a breakdown of the host of other artifacts I researched during my short stay in parts 2 and 3!

The Creationist at the Séance Table: A Young Earther Visits Koons' Spirit Room

Work continues on the big talking tables book. For the last few months, the wheels have been spinning in the sand of 1853. It really is amazing just how much this year changed the entire dialogue of Spiritualism. 1848 will always, of course, get all the credit as Spiritualism's birthday, but it is 1853 when things truly start happening. The Year Ghosts Broke, as it were. 

The tables tournantes phenomenon hits Germany in March, then France by the summer, making tipping tables a bonafide worldwide phenomenon. The bandwagoneer mediums without the talents for rapping start finding mechanical means to circumvent their shortcomings.  For the tech-junkies, it's also the first year we have real cooperative-communication apparatus: Wagner's Psychograph, Hornung's Emanulector, and Pease's Spiritual Telegraph Dial. Dr. Robert Hare starts to make his turn toward Spiritualism. The planchette is born. John Murray Spear tries to spark the Second Coming with his New Motive Power. And, of course, Jonathan Koons and John Tippie construct their spirit rooms, which birthed entirely new species of phenomenon--dark séances, physical manifestation and spirit-speaking through trumpets--as well as their "Spiritual Machines" in the spirit-designed tables used as conduits for John King and his tribe of discarnate entities (King himself being another enduring "first" to be put to use by subsequent generations of mediums. The remaining phenomena were also liberally borrowed by the Davenports).

While trying to figure out a good narrative flow for a smorgasbord of events that all pretty much happen at once, I ran across an interesting snippet from the Ohio Spirit Rooms' waning days. Found in the November 19, 1855 Cleveland Leader, the account provides an interesting paradox, and is particularly fitting given the recent and widely-viewed evolution vs. creationism debate between Bill Nye and Ken Ham. In this case, the correspondent is only designated as "G," and while in Athens County on private business, sought out the Tippie spirit room to experience the reported phenomenon for himself.

He wasn't impressed. In fact, he found the Tippies wholly unprepared to host his party, being told that "the spirits had left" to the extent that no manifestations would be forthcoming that night. Something did manifest in G's quarters on the Tippie farm that evening, however. Fleas. And bedbugs. Armies of them. So, the following day, after a "breakfast fully in keeping with their lodgings," off to Koons went G, intent on seeing his manifestations at one farm or another.

Koons was able to deliver. But the agitated party of Mr. G. came prepared with skepticism, though he claimed he was not previously "prejudiced toward Spiritualism." After a thorough criticism of Koon's fiddle "hoe down" and the other presented phenomenon--Mr. G. keenly compares the distances most physical manifestations involved, measured against the length of outstretched arms of mediums perched on a centrally-located table in the room's small confines--Mr. G. turned his ire toward the spirit guide John King himself. His skepticism was either voiced in mid-seance or merely palpable: his party was not allowed to touch the manifest spirit-limbs, and one or more may had been hit on the head with a floating tambourine. Once the tin "dinner-horn" began issuing the "sharp, shrill" voice of John King, the spirit informed the party of his usual biography--that he was 14,500 years old--and became somewhat hostile toward the sitters themselves:

Koons: "Why King, you have a band of very mischievous spirits with you tonight, have you not?"

King: "Yes, mischievous spirits for mischievous folks."

Spectator: "That's right! You've hit it, you're some!"

King: "Yes, we're some, and here's at it."

And it's here that the focused retort to King's posturing reveals an interesting Creationist in the midst of the Spiritualists.

Mr. G: "Grave conversation for an individual who professes to have existed 8,500 years before an account given of the creation of the world in an old, attenuated, dilapidated, and superannuated book called the Bible..."

It is striking, I think, in its specificity. By the numbers, Mr. G believes in an Earth only 6,000 years old, putting him firmly in the Earth-Age-Calculation-by-Genesis-Generations camp. Given the current state of American news media, the exposure of such Creationist views these days are fairly well-known. But in 1855, Young Earth theories have largely disappeared with the onslaught of the scientific revolution, which among Protestants largely pushed the theories toward more reasonable Old Earth Creationism that relied on Biblical metaphorical interpretations. We still have around 60 years before George McReady Price's The New Geology shows up on the landscape, 45 years before the early 20th-century rise of Christian Fundamentalism marked by the opening of Riley's Northwestern Bible and Missionary Training School, and over 100 years before Morris' current-zeitgeist-shaping The Genesis Flood and subsequent Institute for Creation Research rose to cultivate the current generation of fundamentalists' thinking. 

It isn't that Young Earthers were extinct during the period, or that adherents had yet to evolve toward that belief. But they were exceedingly rare, and Mr. G's appearance there in Ohio is noteworthy and deserves observation. It isn't particularly telling of anything in particular, but it is interesting, at least, and so we put it here, tiny web-based bookmark in place, to let you do with the information as you will.

Stay tuned for much, much more on the Koons and Tippie spirit rooms. I've initiated an ambitious  project to seek out the original locations in order to visit and document the sites, and have been blessed with the kind assistance of two branches of Koons descendants to aid me in the search, with some startling revelations along the way. The dialogue--and the credit that Koons and Tippie deserve--is shifting back to their favor, and I intend to cement it there, the best I can, in the pages of my book. Eyes ever open, dear readers.