Brussels Artifacts: Christian Chelman's Surnateum

In 1996 I left my small hometown and moved to Austin to gain my degrees from the University of Texas, and began working at a small shop called Lone Star Illusions--previously a hologram store that had morphed into an eclectic gift shop. There was a magic counter there, and as the new guy, I was assigned to learn all manner of cheap red-plastic S.S. Adams tricks to perform to cajole customers into buying them. I embraced it, and before long was in charge of ordering better quality stuff, and getting better as a magician while performing to larger and larger crowds in the shop, where the small magic counter started to dominate sales. It was pretty neat.

But I soon discovered and embraced another form of magic, what I've always called the red-headed stepchild of the magic community: bizarre magic. Heralded by godfathers like Tony Andruzzi, Eugene Burger, Charles Cameron, and Doc Shiels, bizarre magic focused less on 'watch me trick you' and more on 'let me tell you a story,' which were invariably darkly and almost always occult-themed, with surprise twists and subtle magic effects that just synthesized all the life influences I had had up to that point and focused them into an intense interest in further explorations of occult history.

Surnatéum's incomparable curator, Christian Chelman.

I quickly discovered Eugene Burger's Spirit Theater. Scott Davis' Séance magazine (both available from my friends at www.hocus-pocus.com). There were Mary Tomich's amazing Thaumysta Magic Company effects. And Steve Bryant's great Little Egypt Gazette.  But the English translation of Christian Chelman's Capricornian Tales was it for me, synthesizing the storytelling aspects of bizarre magic with genuine antique artifacts in a way that played to my own antiquarian aspirations and the types of resonance I wanted with audiences. It changed everything. Before too long, I was corresponding with Christian and other practitioners and deep into developing new routines with some of the antiques that were quickly piling up in my small flat. And I acquired my first old, worn Ouija and Selchow & Righter 'Scientific Planchette' in a then-new marketplace called eBay, for use in effects for my séance-inspired show of haunted antiques. 

Earliest origins, circa 1997.

It's been a fair number of years since I retired the haunted antiques show, stopped practicing my Elmsley Count and Ascanio Spread, and left performance behind me. But the love of old, resonating objects and the desire to accumulate them--a trait inherited from my father--took hold, and my collection--particularly of planchettes--grew over the years. Which is what brings us here, isn't it?

So, all these years later, with the opportunity to again call upon my old friend after many fallow years, I took a train to Brussels at the close of the conference in Utrecht, and made my way through the haunted streets and ethereal alleyways there to Mr. Chelman's immaculately curated Surnatéum: The Museum of Supernatural History.

But one wing of the remarkable Surnatéum.

The draw was the unique set of artifacts in the museum's holdings. The profuse number of sacred and profane objects on display the Surnatéum would take many more blogs to cover than I am capable of producing, and many of the more important artifacts are on display in the digital galleries. No, what drew me to Christian after all of these years was something very special indeed.

We've talked about the earliest origins of table-tipping here before. It's something that my colleague Marc Demarest and I have been mapping out for some time now. The summer of 1853 was when the phenomenon hit France, and after a brief flare of popularity in the 'everybody's doing it' vein, the tables tournantes returned underground to a set of specialized enthusiasts. And we think from that body, this incredible item may have emerged.

Discovered first in a Parisian flea market then brought to Brussels by a dealer familiar with Mr. Chelman's esoteric interests, the table appears quite old, and custom-crafted as it stands--it is most certainly not a piece of ordinary furniture modified for spiritual use. It stands just under 32-inches in height and is carved of oak. The top rotates freely and comes off with a gentle tug. Christian notes that the central column is carved in the likeness of an Acanthus leaf, which symbolizes immortality via death and rebirth--an important Spiritist doctrine. While the top appears at first to be some leather overlay, it is actually an intricately-carved lace pattern on a solid piece of oak. The three small insets contain the words "Spiritisme," "Christ," and "Moïse," (representing a trinity of Spiritism, Christianity, and Judaism) and the 3 columns contain a letters and numbers correspondence system with a lowercase alphabet. The first column, for example, reads: "a-1, b-2, c-3, d-4, e-5, f-6, g-7, h-8, i-9." Curiously, the continuing alphabet on the other two columns restart the number sequence at "1," and run 1-9 for j-r and 1-8 for r-z. We'll get back to that momentarily.

The table may be a variation of what Kardec termed a "Table Girardin" in his 1861 Le Livre des Mediums, describing a type of alphabet-engraved turning table employed by the medium Madame Emile be Girardin:

"This instrument consists of an upper movable stand, of from thirty to forty centimetres in diameter, turning freely and easily on its axis, in the manner of a roulette. On the surface, and at the circumference, are traced, as on a dial, letters, figures, and the words yes and no. In the centre is a fixed needle. The medium resting his fingers on the edge of the table, this turns and stops when the desired letter is under the needle. Notice is taken of the letters indicated, and thus words and phrases are rapidly formed. It must be remarked that the table does not slide under the fingers, but the fingers, remaining on it, follow the movements of the table."

The medium Madame E. Le Roux at play at the tables
tournantes, 1909. Note ghostly face over shoulder.

Mr. Chelman's table has many--nay, most--of these characteristics: it turns freely on its axis and contains the alphabet, though not arranged as a dial. From previous investigations of pictures of the table, I had expected the top to contain a central housing for a missing needle or index, but after seeing it in person, it is obvious that isn't how it was designed to be used--the central inset that looks deep in photographs is just a shallow lathe depression. And in any case, the alphabet columns do not lend themselves to proper pointing by an index--the letters would need to be arranged dial-like, as on a true Table Girardin, rather than stacked as they are.

The alphabet system has long since lost any highlights that would make the letters readable. To capture them, we
resorted to corn starch to fill them in for documentation.

So what to make of its use? Christian has long theorized that the table would be used in conjunction with alphabet-calling or spirit rapping, with the table turning autonomously to the proper column, and raps indicating by number which letter the spirits wished to choose. It's certainly the most reasonable possibility, if a touch convoluted, particularly compared to normal alphabet calling, as it hardly seems a more expedient method to arrive at communications. Mr. Demarest has some theories of his own that I'll try to persuade him to post, revolving mostly around the lack of a "0" binary and the resulting problem that the table can't actually signal any numbers without spelling them out, since numbers equal letters on this table. But I can't think of any other way it might be used.

Christian--who is a well-versed Spiritualism historian, mind you--has an interesting theory: one born of the mind of a true magician. The spindle and central housing for the table's top has a recess--a significant gap between the spindle's resting point and the tabletop. Christian believes this may have once allowed a small horistonotus uhlerii--a click beetle--to be secreted away there on its back to continuously produce the necessary raps. Since the upside-down beetle wouldn't be able to right itself without enough distance to flip, chances are it would keep trying and keep clicking, which is what the ones that sneak into my house do on our wooden floor. It's an interesting theory, and while there's no evidence I have seen that such beetles were ever exposed as the cause of spirit rappings, and there's no way to control those raps to ensure a comprehensible communique, it is an intriguing suggestion.

Might this recess once have housed a click beetle to produce mysterious rappings?

Another deduction by the Surnatéum's curator is why I think Christian is singularly-qualified to be this artifact's caretaker. Christian spotted a series of deep, smooth grooves in the tabletop's underside. See the picture below. We know that fraudulent table-lifting was often accomplished through the use of wrist-strap contraptions or hooks used to leverage the table while the medium or magician kept their hands on the tabletop, fingers outstretched and seemingly free from undue influence. While such contraptions were typically reserved for larger and more imposing furniture that seems by its sheer bulk to be too large to lift independently, it could have presented an incredible climax to a séance if the evidence means the table was indeed used in this manner. But there's also the problem with the table's top popping off fairly easily, and hardly being heavy enough to impose the pressure to wear down such grooves, so it may be damage totally unrelated to that idea. There's just no way of knowing.

The mysterious worn grooves on the table's underside. Lower right, Dunninger
displays table-lifting apparatus that may be responsible.

The opportunity to have this table in my hands is something I have looked forward to for a very long time. It has so many fascinating aspects, and poses as many questions as it answers. It's true age is anyone's guess, as are its origins, though it is undoubtedly French. It could date as far back to the early 1850s, or sometime well past the turn of the century. To wager an educated guess, however, and given the vogues of spirit communication in France (and the downturn of rapping as a communication medium), the 1850s-1880s is the most likely span of dates for the table's construction. If it is what we believe it is, it is just a singularly incredible artifact, and, to me, the cornerstone of the Surnatéum's holdings. 

The Surnatéum's fabled curator holds his prize.

The tour of the Surnatéum's archives was far from over for me, however. The collection and library is incredibly vast, and covers multiple stories. Within, I beheld one of the most amazing and convincing fiji mermaids I have ever seen, and one of the world's very few genuine vampire-killing kits. In fact, Christian's collection of first-edition vampire lore may be one of the most extensive privately-held collections. There's an entire wing of native fetishes and fortune-telling devices from several continents. I could have persisted there, like a stubborn thorn, for days. But with only a few spare hours, I trained my eye on the remaining spirit-related devices.

The pictures will mostly speak for themselves. Christian owns a number of glass slides similar to my own, which portray spirit photography or scenes of ectoplasm production and séances in progress. The collection also contains an ingenious set of small slides complete with a portable viewer, with film slides featuring the trumpet and physical mediumship of Leonard Stott, among others.

There was an entire folder of automatic writing and seance reports, some Spiritualism-and-fortune-telling-based games from Europe, and a ghost-hunting kit from a Belgium reporter who indulged in psychical research. A complete early Fuld Ouija on a high shelf as well.

There were at least two specimens of rapping hands, the Thayer specimen complete with a Victorian mourning ring.

And, last but not least, and sure to thrill readers who are also talking board fans, there's an amazing hand-crafted "Oui-Ja" board out of France. It is a massive specimen that could easily be a tabletop, and in fact could be made from one. The planchette is a beauty, mounted with a carved skull. The piece has a matching end table that holds the planchette, which seems an intentional companion piece. Another flea market find, nothing else is known about the item, though Christian believes it is post-war.

I could continue with the Curator's array of first edition Spiritualist texts, the massive library of esoterica magica, the room full of African tribal fetishes and sap oracles, the strange biological specimens, and the massive assemblage of occult items, but I'll leave you free to explore to the mysterious and mist-shrouded halls of the Surnatéum's digital incarnation.

I want to thank Christian not only for his long friendship and correspondences which I have not maintained as well as I should, but also his fellowship and hospitality. I can honestly say that without both his work in magic and the occult, and his guidance through my long-gone days as a young bizarrist, my interests would not have been so severely cultivated, and I likely would not be here talking about esoteric topics to the wide audience I've achieved. A million times, "Thank You." Una lingua numquam satis est!

I can think of no better coda to close this series recounting my European tour. We'll return to our regular smorgasbord of posts shortly.

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.