Just as the Borley Legend refuses to "give up the ghost," so too all of us connected with it are destined to be haunted. Marianne was no exception.

That Mom thought she could keep that most famous haunting secret from me forever is beyond imagining. That she thought she could escape its influence was naive.

When she was in England, she was supposedly haunted by ghosts while at Borley. Whether any of the ghosts were real still remains a mystery. What is not a mystery, however, is the hauntings various parts of her life produced. Some of the ghosts were her own doing, others were not.

She was haunted by poverty from cradle to grave. Even while at Borley, the finances were insecure. Bill collectors haunted her wherever she went in America.

She was haunted by the memories of the men in her life. Whatever happened to Harold Greenwood? To Sarto I and Sarto II? Why did she need her incessant flings? Why couldn't she find a husband with no "hang-ups" who was financially secure? She thought Fisher was well-off, and he though the same of her. Both were wrong. Robert O'Neil continued to show up at our doorstep even after the divorce.

She was haunted by social standing. She invented a heritage of aristocracy to cover her true roots. All her life she yearned for the prestige and recognition of position. Still, because of the ghosts from her past, she had to refuse political office. She knew some opponent down the line would find the ghosts in her closet.

She was haunted by the children. Although it was very clear she wanted a huge family, she didn't know what to do with those of us she did have. That she wanted the best for all of us is very evident. That she had no skills in providing us what we really needed - a real home and love - is also very clear.

She was haunted by the researchers and the investigators. Even the well-meaning Peter Underwood must have caused her uneasiness when he found her and asked permission to publish Fifteen Months in a Haunted House. The extreme end of the snooping ghosts was personified by Robert Swanson, acting for Trevor Hall. As Robert Wood observed in his book:

Hall's investigation was unpleasant and threatening, leaving her with the feeling that for ever afterwards she was being watched - which she was. Her adventures at Borley have made her a cult figure for psychical researchers, and she must have learned that what, in her own words, 'starts off as a bit of harmless fun,' can have terrible consequences for its perpetrator. Furthermore, although she always looked much younger than she really was, she must have begun to feel her age not long after she arrived in the United States.⁽¹⁾

This incessant pursuit continues even after her death. In April, 2002, Edward Babbs was making preparations to publish Borley Rectory: the final anaylsis. He asked me, "We feel that in the interests of completeness we must discuss Marianne Foyster's marriages."
My reply was simple. "Why? What on earth does that have to do with the alleged hauntings at Borley? None. The marriage to Greenwood was long BEFORE she arrived in Essex. 1914 vs 1930-35. The marriage(s) to Fisher and O'Neil were AFTER she left Essex. 1930-35 vs 1935 and 1945, respectively. Whether she was married to anyone other than Lionel has NO BEARING at all on the legend of the nun, the monk, Marie Larie, Henry Sr., etc. It was none of her later acquaintances that threw things down the stairs, started fires in the baseboards, moved objects, or turned on lights. Why are people so d****** obsessed with her private life? Most of it is speculation and does not cover her time or her actions whilst at Borley - it is irrelevant. Trevor Hall was obsessed, and followed us to North Dakota in the person of private detective Robert Swanson. The interviews with my mother were supposedly about the hauntings, but the very first sentence Swanson blurted into the tape recorder was NOT about the haunting, but about her love life. I do not feel this needs to be covered at all." (Complete correspondance)

She was literally haunted by the voice of my father. "He's calling me," she repeated over and over after his death. "I'm next." Regardless of whether she had or had not been contacted by the dead previously, she was definitely haunted by Robert O'Neil.

Finally, in her later years, she was haunted by loneliness. It became extremely ironic that this lady who literally ran to escape the many ghosts pursing her over the years ended up alone. Oh, she wasn't friendless - that was never her problem - but having loved ones close by was something she was never able to achieve. She cried to be left alone, but then cried because her wishes were granted.

Above it all, however, she survived. She handled each ghost in turn and moved forward.

In the process of eluding her ghosts, she made one point very clear: The Borley Widow was not my mother - Marianne O'Neil was not the Borley Widow.

The Borley Widow was Marianne Emily Rebecca Shaw Greenwood Foyster (d'Arles) Fisher. When she left England in 1946, Marianne O'Neil left her other remarkable persona behind.

For all intents and purposes, Marianne O'Neil was my mother, albeit not my natural one. She functioned in that capacity to the best of her ability from November of 1945 through December of 1992. Even though I did not always agree with the way she handled our lives together, I now clearly see that she did the best she could under the circumstances surrounding her at the time. She would ask me if I expected her to go on welfare in order to care for me. I always wanted to answer, "Yes!" But there was no way my mother was going to go on welfare! She would walk all over town, teach dance and write stories to try and earn extra money, but she would never admit to being "down and out." That was beneath her. She tried her best to keep our heads held high and above water.

Whatever lives of deception and fraud she invented in England, were left behind in August of 1946. The mother I knew all my life was not the Borley Widow. Yes, she was afraid to die - she would now have to answer for all the lies and frauds. It was answering for those indiscretions that she feared judgement - not for a murder she did not commit.

Whatever her sins before she settled in America, I believe she made every effort to compensate for them during the second half of her life. She touched many people who loved her and respected her. In North Dakota and Wisconsin, she helped people in trouble get their lives back in order. She literally became a life saver.

Her abandoned children forgave her. No charges against her have ever been filed. It was Marianne O'Neil who received the Pope John XXIII award, not Marianne d'Arles or Marianne Fisher.

None of us lead perfect lives, and we all have done things we regret and would wish forgotten. My mother gave us a great example by using the last half of her life to help all those who came in contact with her. That is the way Marianne should be remembered.

After she died, I found a stack of letters from my mother that I had saved. Of all the scores of times she wrote to me, there were only letters from 1962-1968 when I was away in Utah to attend high school, and then college. I looked closely at those that were handwritten. I wondered if there was a clue to be found in her very peculiar handwriting - was it learned in England or in Maine? After learning about Borley I wondered - was it her handwriting on the walls? The first mystery has been solved but I am not so sure about the second.

While re-reading those letters, I found for the first time the intense love she had for me. Love I did not see when I read the letters originally. I cried when I read how lonely she was. I was positive that when I first read these letters, the loneliness never sunk in. I had read the words, but not the message. Thirty years later, they took on an entirely new meaning.

There were many clues in those letters about my mother's character. There were even a few clues to her background. Those clues gave substance to the mystery of "Who was my mother?" By discovering who she was, I hoped there might also be clues to my own identity.

Perhaps one of the most important clues I found in my mother's letters was that pertaining to our relationship. For example, she often started her letters, "My Dear Son," or "Dearest Vinny." I found it very significant that one of her letters started, "My Only Son . . . " Another time she wrote, " . . . I really love you. Despite all the suspicions you have concerning me . . . I love you. You are my son. I'm proud of you . . . " Twenty years after Borley, I had become the focus of her life. Over the years, I became her son.

She once told me that my Kennedy-inspired hairdo reminded her of an actor doing impressions. Then she added, "I'm sure you don't have to wave it, because both of your parents have naturally curly hair." She meant herself and Robert O'Neil.

She was amused with my captivation by the Kennedy mystique. Her reaction was quite different. On October 22nd of 1962 she wrote, "The news bulletin says that a Cuban ship is to be stopped. It sounds like war. I am worried. Every Democratic president seems to bring war or unrest to us. I'm glad you are in Utah. You ought to be safer there than anywhere else."

Although publicly she played to both parties, she prophetically told me in 1967, "I personally hope George Romney is offered the [presidential] nomination. We need such a good man to guide our ship of state. Percy might get the nomination, but if Nixon gets it - good bye Republican party."

A few months later she expanded on her political views:

Now as to Romney. I didn't think in the first place that the Republicans would have enough sense to give him the nod. They are too involved with that silly Dick Nixon. You say "party loyalty." So they will die with Dick.

If Johnson goes in, we probably will all be gripped in the vitals. Who shall say?

I'm getting pessimistic, but morally America is dead. Moral death is much worse than being poor.

Romney is out best hope - or don't you think so? Rockefeller and Reagan I will not vote for. They are both divorced men. Both were guilty of adultery. I'm not about to vote for such."

Mom would often refer to her Danish heritage. I assumed she was talking about her mother's side of the family. Years ago I had written down that her mother's name was "Anna E. Ast--- von Kiergraff," but I don't remember where I found that reference. In another place, I wrote her mother's name as "Elizabeth Woodyatt." She told me she had a stepmother, so I figured both names could be right. The name "von" is German, but as my search got serious, I could find no reference to the name von Kiergraff in any genealogy book.

In 1965 she wrote, " . . . You see Vinny, I know you quite well - you really are all right. Some times you get a little excited - that's the Irish in you. Some times like your dad you try to swallow the whole world at one gulp - but then there is the other side of you that stands firmly on steady feet, and this part of you takes hold and carries the flag . . . "

She would often ask me why the Irish was my only side; didn't I realize I had Danish blood as well? I assumed all the stalwart looking pictures of aristocratic people we carried around with us from house to house included more von Kiergraffs than Fishers.

A letter she wrote in 1966 included the sentence, "The secretiveness of the Irish is hard on Herring chokers, because the Irish are secretive all the time - just about what they decide to be secretive about." I believed "Herring choker" referred to Scandinavians, specifically Danes. Again, references to the two parts of my heritage.

Another time she told me, " . . . I'm thankful and happy that you are liking school. 'Blood tells,' and you have good blood . . . "

In 1966 she wrote, " . . . I really love you Vince. Even if I do sound a little critical at times. Actually it always troubles me that you have so much of Rob in you. I think that is what bothers me so much. The same airy-fairy way of looking at things. Me, I've always had to be careful and be the plugging work horse . . . "

Although Mom walked miles every day in Jamestown and Fargo, I don't recall when she was ever what I would call "healthy." As a child, I thought she had a cyst in her stomach area that resulted from shrapnel during the war - I had no idea where that image came from. She did have a hiatal hernia that made it impossible for her to stoop over without throwing up. That she would not have it corrected always bothered me.

"...I have a date set with the doctor for September 11," she wrote from Fargo. "I expect I will have to lose about 50 pounds before I have that operation. I am not able to put it off much longer. Pastor B. [her boss] has arranged that I pay for it so much per month out of my salary. That will probably take forever, but I have been paying off other folk's debts for the past 16 years, I might just as well pay a few of my own. Maybe when you see me next I will be slim and pretty, not fat and horrid . . . God bless and write when you can." She never had the operation.

In 1965, she wrote, "I do hope that you will be well and happy. I am praying that I see you graduated with your BA before I have to go." Although she lived almost 30 more years, she often spoke of various illnesses and dying. Even if she was born in 1899, she would only be 66 at this point.

I was always convinced Mom came from an aristocratic background. She often spoke of class differences, and forbade me to play with this one guy (L.G.) whom she considered too far beneath us. She always asked me, "Why do you insist on seeking out the low life?" A few months after I moved to Utah she wrote, "I had to be hard with you at times, because if I hadn't you would have sunk to the lowest in society. I had a hard time keeping our heads above water, because Rob made it impossible for us to live as it should have been possible, with Mamma home and Daddy working. I used to get sick when you preferred [L.G.] and [others] company to the company of boys of our class. I died several times when you spoke of them as 'big shots.' So forgive my hardness - my strictness. I had no other way . . . I thought if I kept you away from hoods, that it would be all right."

Some of the time, I "felt" aristocratic, what with the distinguished pictures hanging on the walls, and Mom's erect countenance. She said it was no big deal to have royalty in ones lineage. She perpetuated the feeling by adding the roman numeral "III" after my name. Even after I understood I was not entitled to the distinction, I continued to use the number for many years. In one respect, I was the third "Vincent" in a row, but my Dad's father did not have a "Robert" in front of his name. I named my first son Robert Vincent O'Neil IV to carry on the tradition.

Just before I left for Utah in 1962, a young man I had been asked to befriend took me on a ride into the country. He introduced me to a farm girl, and the two of them introduced me to . . . well, certain intimate behavior. Mom wrote to me in Utah to tell me, "W.B. is in a home [for unwed mothers] in Moorhead. She states that you really fell for her. Fell for her - says I to myself, 'I doubt that.' She is not quite the type you would enjoy, for she is not clean in her person and not very intelligent. She further states that she hopes to snaffle B. M. Well that is his worry, but I doubt he is very interested in such a low class girl."

W.B. and B.M. introduced me to sex. I did NOT know what was going on - and the pregnancy was not caused by me. My mother counseled unwed mothers, and was shocked speechless when this girl showed up at Lutheran Welfare and told my mother she knew me. "I have never been so frightened in all my life as when this girl came to [my office]," she wrote.

As to my relationship with the girl? Mom silently handed me a book about the facts of life, turned around and left the room. She tried to talk about such things out loud only once, but that was a disgusting discussion in my mind. I grew up angry that she had not been able to tell me this stuff much earlier and in a way I could understand it. The cobbler's children had no shoes.

On the other hand, she once wrote, " . . . Background is something you make for yourself. If you want a thing, you work for it. It doesn't fall into your lap."

Her attitude toward worldly goods also seemed aristocratic to me. "It's only things," she told me after I lost a pearl necklace down a heat vent. "I do not care for expensive presents," she wrote. "But I do value a letter, or a home made gift." She actually hated store-bought cards because they were too easy to obtain and didn't take any thought. She hated cut flowers because they would soon die. Several people unknowingly incurred her ire by sending both.

While she hardly ever attended any church after leaving North Dakota, Mom often talked about her faith in God. "Trust in Him," and "Serve God," she would say. When there was a serious difficulty, she would quote Psalm 46, "Be still and know that I am God." Psalms were her favorite scriptures and she found great solace in them. "The Book of Psalms has been for me a book of directions, comfort, admonition, and sustenance," she told me.

She often repeated the phrase, "I believe in a guided life," and once told me in a letter, "The Lord will work for me, and [guide] me where I am to go."

Another time she wrote, " . . . I feel that whatever has happened to me has been my own fault. I have broken the first commandment. I have put others before the Lord. If I had served my God as hard as I have served my own feelings, I am sure it would have been another story.

"One thing of which I am aware of is this: I've had so much that no one can take away from me. Few people have been blessed with the joy of knowing God is. I love beauty. I appreciate the grass and the flowers and the trees - animals and all the other things of life which so many take for granted. I rejoice in the fact that I have a handsome son. He who was once my little baby. And remember this - God has held me inviolate from the scum and filth in which I once sojourned. So Vince, I will conclude that my life has been good and not wasted . . . "

At the time, I had no idea what she meant by "the scum and filth in which I once sojourned." After discovering her hidden past, I can only guess she was talking about her unsettled life between Borley and the United States. As she told Owen and Mitchell, "I have suffered much at the hands of sensationalists - I am the innocent victim."

"...Our enemy is the Devil," she told me. "He tempts us through that which we love most, and he causes our sufferings through those we love. But the Lord is strong and mighty and he gives us joy through those we love. If there is one thing in which I can be happy, it is the fact that God has marched at my side and sustained me."

Another time she wrote to express how grateful she was I had been able to go to Utah, and not to reform school. "I was sick with fear at times," she said. "I petitioned God until I am sure that He got tired of me. Now I have to thank Him and Thank Him and THANK HIM. He has been so good to me. I know that He will be just as good to you."

We had religious discussions from time to time, mostly about polygamy and cremation. Several times she told me she was sure the lost ten tribes of Israel were living under the earth. Maybe not in a hollow earth, but definitely in caves and tunnels under the polar ice. When three astronauts died in 1967, she told me it wasn't appropriate for man to attempt space travel. "I think it is dangerous to monkey with the heavens," she wrote.

Her reflections on faith are contained in one of her poems:

Mom always despised people prying into our lives. She once told me how very upset she had become when people at church started pumping her for information. I often thought this was one reason she didn't attend meetings very often. "...I went to church last Sunday," she began one letter. "I walked most of the way there, but I managed to get a ride most of the way home. I came home and read a Psalm to calm myself down. 'Out of the depths I have called to Thee - Be Thou mindful to the voice of my supplication.'

"What did I 'supplicate' for? You'd be surprised. I asked, 'Cool me, Oh Lord,' and He did. It is not my pride that does not desire to be quizzed. It's just that I do feel it is impertinent to ask another personal questions, and I think it is impertinent of others to ask questions of me. What business is it of others where my husband is, and if I am in good relations with him. They haven't the slightest intention of doing anything about anything. All they want is a juicy tidbit. Well, I have news for them - and all other curious people - It's not the slightest bit of use quizzing me: I'm quiz proof.

"You know Vince, I never have tolerated bad manners. The fact that these are fellow church members doesn't make it any easier. It's not necessary, and it's plain bad form. I cannot remember Robert Murphy ever asking an indecent question - though I am sure I told him a great deal more than I ever told anyone else." Murphy was the LDS missionary serving in North Dakota about the time she joined that church.

Perhaps her attitude toward prying and gossip is best summed up by one of her poems:

Our home life together seemed to provide some clues about her attitude toward others. "You have wasted so many years being friendless," she once wrote. "I always hoped my son would bring home crowds of kids to the house, to make up for those I didn't have." We both planned an elaborate party for my sixteenth birthday. I invited everybody in each of my classes. Not one person showed up.

I never encountered any prejudice in my mother. In fact, I think she enjoyed meeting people from all over the world. Two of her poems seem to agree:

Despite my unhappiness with our home life, it is clear she believed she was doing the best she could with the cards we were dealt. Once she wrote to me, "Say, what's this bit [in your last letter] about my bringing you up in such sad circumstances. Get off the water wagon my boy and fight your old lady - you never went hungry, by gosh. You ate chicken and steak and all the cookies and cake you wanted. You had good clothes, a warm, clean bed - as many toys as you could stuff in your closet. We were respected members of the community and I swear I was never arrested for any crime - so how come I dragged you up in underprivileged circumstances??? You were one of the first kids to have a TV set, which incidentally is the biggest mistake of my life. This I regret and will ever regret, for that TV set didn't do a thing for you. Now that we have that out of the way, what else is news?"

My mother had dreams that were never fulfilled. She once told me while I was staying on a farm, "So you [are in charge of the calves]. I like calves, and I like cows." She also liked chickens, goats, horses and mules. She wanted one of each on her retirement home. On another occasion she wrote, " . . . All I have ever wanted in life has been a home and children; a garden, a pet and church work. This was my first [wish]. I have never attained it. I know now that I never will . . . "

Another time she wrote, "I'd like a small place where I can have a garden, and where I can not see cars, Muscovites, and odd-looking bi-peds. I want just two rooms - one lined with books, and the other lined with closets and drawer space - oh, and of course, a kitchen."

She often wrote to me about how this or that plant was doing. She once brought a tomato plant indoors after the regular season and gave me progress reports. She had one table overflowing with African Violets, and every window had at least one green plant in it. She latched on to the fact I had a Venus Fly-trap one time, and bought me another one, even though I was not in the state. In one of her letters she told me, "I do miss you, and often go into your bedroom to water the cactus just to say 'Hi, Vinny!'"

She enjoyed being outdoors, even if that only meant sitting in a chair and watching the ripples on a lake. Surprisingly, she enjoyed fishing very much - and was quite good at it. More than once she dreamed about vacation weekends with me where "we can just do nothing much but fish and fool around."

Her dreams of having a large family, lots of books, and lots of animals never did come true. They were replaced by hard work and the constant dodging of old memories. As she told me in 1967, "I am breaking the sound barrier! It has been so hard for me to even think of writing to you. Not because I don't love you, but because the sledding has been so tough and I hate to write when I am so morose. . . I've written to no one. One does not write of failure and unhappiness. . .I'm crawling an inch for the general - I'll make it to the end of the mile though. I'll try to keep on writing - I get so depressed and then can't write."

As I was poking about, I remembered that Mom used to shrug off thoughts about dying. I remembered how Mom and I both used to panic when Dad was drunk and mad. He would speed around curves and weave all over the road. She said she was more afraid of being scarred than she was of dying. At that point in her life, she claimed she had no fear of death.

Mom said she had a drivers license in the past, but I didn't recall ever seeing her drive. In later years she talked about getting a license again, and a small car, but she never did. To her, a car was four wheels to take her places. If a car wasn't available, she rode in whatever was offered, including a garbage truck. If no vehicle was offered, she walked. In Jamestown she walked everywhere.

As I continued to dig, I remembered that she was always extremely generous. Almost all of those letters asked what my needs were and asked if I had enough money. As an adult, whenever I visited, it seemed she could not let me out of the house without giving me something - anything. There were times when I visited unannounced, and as I left she would hunt around for something to give me. In the 80s she contributed backing to a liquidation store I owned. Not only did she give me items to sell, but in less than five years she contributed more than $16,000. She gave me her "funeral money," several times. She loved the store, and went on buying trips with me. We were very happy together during these times.

Except for her last year in Utah, I never knew Mom when she wasn't working. I resented her absence when I was younger, but rereading those letters gave me a new appreciation of just how hard she struggled to keep us together. "...At work I have been busier than I have ever been in my whole life," she once told me. That was the rule rather than the exception. I don't have many memories of her first job while we were living in Hokah, Minnesota, but I did remember that she taught elementary school. Images of a one-room schoolhouse in the rural area of Bangor, Wisconsin floated through my mind. This small town was probably 20-30 miles away, and the name was significant because Mom told tales of her youth near Bangor, Maine.

We moved to Jamestown, North Dakota about 1951. She worked there as a newspaper reporter. We moved to Fargo, North Dakota in about 1958 where she worked as a counselor for Lutheran Welfare, dealing with unwed mothers. She also taught English at North Dakota State University in Fargo. Many of her students were immigrants, and I am sure her grasp of languages helped her tremendously.

I never doubted that she was well educated. I still have a graduation gown and cap I found in her trunk. The names "Marianne" and "Emily" were written over another name. I always figured this was her gown from Cambridge, and the cap does have a label from that town. The gown, however, was made in New York.

The next letter I looked at was written just a month before Mom was hired as a social worker for the Family Service Association in LaCrosse, Wisconsin. "I am going down to LaCrosse to interview for that job," she told me. "It now depends on whether I can get a house and if I can hold the old man [Dad] off . . . Keep your fingers crossed. I will have $400 take home pay each month, maybe $425. The gross pay is $550 per month . . . "

Later, while interviewing for the position as coordinator for the LaCrosse Committee on Aging, her boss, "brought to the attention of the Department on Aging that my education was done out of the States. This looked as if I would be passed over, for at the present time everybody is crying, 'America . . . '

While her boss tried everything to prevent her promotion, community leaders did just the opposite. "Now here is where I want you to pay attention and glorify God," the letter continued. "[The] divorce commissioner; [the] First District Judge; [a] circuit judge; [a] State Senator; [the] head of the State Relief Department; [a powerful newspaper columnist]; [an] alderman; [a] former mayor; [the] present mayor; [a representative] of the Bar Association of LaCrosse; [the] president of the LaCrosse Association for Retarded Citizens; and many more have all sent recommendations for me.⁽²⁾ It's been terrific, and even if I don't get the job, I shall have memories that will be a fine warm shall to shelter me from the cold.

"[A local religious leader]⁽³⁾ has labored unceasingly [in my behalf] and as is still at it. He even went twice to [the state capital in] Madison."

She was given the new job in March of 1966. She was very excited when she wrote, "The job is mine and I start next Tuesday, the 15th of March . . . Mr. K. did his best to get me ousted, but God was with me . . . The job is a pilot project and the first in Wisconsin."

Although she did not train any dancers or produce any stage shows after we left Jamestown, she did manage to find time to promote arts and crafts of senior citizens in LaCrosse. She organized talent shows of all kinds, and had weekly sessions for organ lessons and a senior citizens band. Everyone was supposed to play in the band, even if it was a paper and comb. In 1967 she wrote, " . . . Tomorrow my senior citizen's violin group goes on t.v. Naturally I am playing with them, and I also will be singing with the Scandinavian quintette. HA HA HA - We are singing 'Hilse der hjemme for Mig.' Greet home for me."

Mom loved to hear me sing. Her favorites were an obscure version of "Wagon Wheels" and the spiritual "Joshua Fit de Battle of Jericho." I sang to her while she was in her last coma.

In addition to always having a piano around, she also had a splendid accordion. She played it quite well, as I remember, which shocked me. I don't know why I thought it was peculiar, but I couldn't see Mom playing the accordion at all, for some odd reason. In later years she also had a console organ, but could never get the knack of playing it smoothly.

She also never stopped writing. She would try to find time to churn out "potboilers" - stuff that would sell to trade publications. She never had enough time to write as much as she wanted to. In LaCrosse she did manage to take a correspondence class, however: "...I have started to write a story and it is shaping up quite well. Regarding the writer's course I am taking: do you know what, when it comes to facts I score 100, an A. But on the fiction I do not seem able to score anything higher than a weak B or a C plus . . . But I am learning to write in a more modern American style. It plays hob with one's style though."

As opposed to an English style? "Hob" is an English word for a hobgoblin or elf; mischief or trouble. Many people told Mom she had an English accent, even after we had lived in the States more than 40 years. I never paid much attention.

The part about not doing well inventing fiction is fascinating under the circumstances. While Mom has been described as being able to tell a grand story from imagination, I am firmly convinced when grilled by others, she was trying to tell the truth as best she remembered it. It used to drive me up the wall when she consistently forgot how to pronounce people's names, or constantly reversed their order. "Is it David Patrick, or do you now call him Patrick David?" she asked over and over about one of my sons. The name Cleora became "Eldora." How she managed to keep everything straight during the Suffolk years escapes my imagination.

I wish I had been in better health financially and physically when she moved to Utah in 1992. I would have gathered up far more papers out of her collection and maybe even found the Borley material. Mom had so many papers, it is no wonder I glanced over key documents during my searches. She claimed to know where everything was, and was most annoyed when people came to help during our many moves. After I left for Utah in 1962, she moved once again, and wrote, "I think the next time I move I will personally pack all my papers and move out with them before I call in any other help, for it would appear that men have a rooted objection to manuscript papers, and helping women hate them still more." She dreaded having anyone help her clean. As a writer myself, I could appreciate the dismay of having different drafts mixed up, but I never dreamed what secrets those papers held.

In North Dakota, she taught the literature classes in the ladies auxiliary of the L.D.S. Church, and also taught adult Sunday school. She received many high praises for this work, including these words from one "sister"⁽⁴⁾: "Your mother is doing a splendid job." One of the "brothers" told me, "She is surely doing a fine job in Sunday School as a teacher."⁽⁵⁾

She taught "bone-head" English at North Dakota State University. Some of her students were immigrants, and many were engineering majors. All of her students loved her, and she enjoyed the work. One fellow became a life-long friend and looked us up in Wisconsin.⁽⁶⁾

Years later, she would be an occasional guest instructor at the University of Wisconsin LaCrosse. Among other subjects, I believe she taught a few writing classes.

Every job Mom had from Jamestown to LaCrosse was a professional position. Each required an excellent education. It was not fashionable to hire women for important positions during her work life, yet she succeeded most admirably. The annual progress report from Lutheran Welfare in January of 1963 pictured 15 positions, only three of which were women.

If her diploma from Cambridge was a fake, no one ever caught on because of her immense and accurate knowledge. How could she possibly fool all these different people in high positions if she didn't really have an extended education - from some institution of higher learning? I obtained a transcript of credits from Mt. Allison in New Brunswick, Canada and discovered the only record for Marianne Foyster is one Freshman English class taken in 1928. If she did not take any other formal classes, it is evident she learned much from the books that became an important part of every house she lived in, from Borley to LaCrosse.

Mom not only met, but was friends with governors and senators. I ate breakfast with her and Lillian Carter - President Jimmy Carter's mother - in the governor's mansion in Madison, Wisconsin. There were similar high points, but it was mostly a struggle for her. Just before Christmas of 1965 she wrote, " . . . Sometimes when I would come in from work I felt like a cow that had been chased all day and at last had arrived at the slaughterhouse door, but before I could be finally killed I had to work a few hours on the treadmill."

It was during this time period that she wrote the following poem:

Andrew Clarke is a clinical psychologist and educator who lives in Pentlow. I have been positively delighted to have him share his keen insight on the Borley Legend and my mother. As he explained in one e-mail message, "As regards understanding your heritage, I'd repeat my assertion that an understanding of Marianne's father's family, the Shaws, will answer a lot of mysteries about the way Marianne conducted her life. The fierce pride, her lapsing into 'poetic truth', her independence, unconventionality, resilience and her charm. So un-English, but very Anglo-Irish. Of course it means spreading the net wider, but the Anglo-Irish were a very close community and there is a huge literature. What happened at Borley may have made her famous, but it tells us little about her as a person, her beliefs, and so on."

During our many Internet conversations we discussed my mother and some of the trials she endured. At one point, I told Andrew, "I think part of her stress was self-imposed. She was constantly performing, if you will, and desperate to keep up appearances. The Guy Woods cottage is pitifully small, and overcoming poverty was one of her riding forces. Unfortunately, it never happened. She attempted to raise me as if we were aristocracy, and though it failed miserably, her upper lip was very seldom weak. (I would like to say "never weak" but there were times of physical abuse, but, those were the only exceptions. Even when she was ailing she most often had a cheerful outlook.)"

Andrew replied, "Fascinating, and illuminating. You will find that this is typical of the Anglo-Irish. (Yes, my family on my father's side is Anglo-Irish). It is said that the Anglo-Irish learned how to cut slices of meat so thin that one could feed a regiment on a ham, and one could see through the slice. Anglo-Irish furniture has a VERY thin veneer over the cheapest possible wood. The Shaws were typical (James Joyces' upbringing was typical). Anglo-Irish society had to keep up the appearances of wealth and comfort on a pitiful income. My own father was crippled with guilt about spending money. Even though he was affluent, he would unbend old nails and reuse them, eat only the cheapest cuts of meat, and, like Marianne, undertake painful economies. He would wear out clothes until they fell apart. In the market, they used to give him the rotten fruit because they felt sorry for him. Marianne must have soaked up the art of gentile poverty from her father."

Andrew and I have also had long conversations about Trevor Hall. I was shocked to learn that not only did Andrew and his father know Hall, but they were friends. At one point, Andrew observed, "One thing that never came out in Trevor Hall's writing was the admiration that Trevor had for Marianne. When I talked to him about her, it came across strongly. Of course, he had a rather censorious attitude to her occasional misdeeds, which is unsurprising from a Yorkshireman of his time and upbringing, but when he spoke to me, it was apparent that it was her intelligence, resilience, resourcefulness and personality that fascinated him."

During our conversations, Clarke seems to have an uncanny knack for understanding and appreciating the nuances of what makes people tick. For example, he once told me in reference to my mother, "She was quite different to the others involved in the business. I feel very sorry for her. She made no profit from the Borley Rectory affair, nor attempted to; She was not responsible for the publicity; She did not exploit the situation; She was a devoted partner throughout her marriage to Lionel. What she did in wartime must be understood in the context of the times (and should have been forgotten afterwards). She does not deserve the publicity she has suffered.

"On the other hand, her own account of her life at Borley is fascinating. It seems quite possible, on re-reading We Faked the Ghosts of Borley Rectory, that Louis Mayerling could have got a lot of his material from your book. If only Trevor Hall had taken the trouble to get Marianne's confidence, and had resisted ferreting around, investigating her private life where it was irrelevant to Borley, he would have had all the leads he would have needed to tease out the true story of what really happened. An opportunity lost, and years of worry for poor Marianne."

As we tried to understand why my mother gave conflicting testimony to her various interviewers, Andrew pointed out, "Marianne did rather better than Mrs Smith, and some of the Bulls, in terms of consistency. Any psychologist will tell you that ALL witness statements are flawed and cannot be relied on without corroboration. There is a vast experimental literature on the subject. As I've already hinted, there were reasons for Marianne's spectacular 'porkies' (Cockney for a lie) in her youth, which, I think, made them almost involuntary. I think that they embarrassed and handicapped her more than they confused and upset others. (an obvious parallel is 'Gilles de la Tourette Syndrome' which is even more bizarre) Obviously, you're the expert on Marianne, and I never met her but I've seen some people in treatment with very similar 'symptoms' and there is a definite common thread. Certainly, if there were no external stress factor, the symptoms ceased. The game for a psychologist was to find the causative stress factor rather than attempt to treat the symptoms.

"Trevor Hall didn't do this, but he ended up realising that she was by far the most resourceful and interesting of the participants of the Borley saga, as I've already said. This is why he eventually stopped and didn't publish. He couldn't face it. I think he'd lost the 'killer instinct' altogether as far as Marianne was concerned. By the time I met him, he was full of benign admiration for her. I think he mellowed with age! He'd also got very diverted by the 'higher criticism' too, and could not face tackling the re-write."

When an article by David Britland was published in November 2000, it referred to Hall's five books of notes on my mother. In discussions with the author, it was suggested a third copy of Hall's notes may exist. Andrew was very kind as we talked about this startling discovery. "I must extend my sympathies to you. It must be a nasty shock to find out another copy of Trevor Hall's notes. I can understand Eileen Garret being given a copy, as she did so much of the work, but the existence of other copies is a surprise to me. It must have been horrible for you to find this out. I hope I did not cause you any further upset by suggesting that Hall may have deposited copies with the national libraries. I was surprised when I found that Trevor Hall had PUBLISHED Glanville's 'The Locked Book' (I guess five copies) and there is just a chance that he did the same for his notes (he didn't tell me he'd done either). Whose copy did Robert Wood use for Widow of Borley? [photocopies at the Harry Price Library] The last time I published a book, I had to send off three copies to the national libraries in the UK, but Hall seems to have included Australia when he distributed the Locked Book. He was terrified of material being lost forever, but given the context of the times, (post-WWII fears of nuclear war) it was understandable. I'd repeat that public access would be very difficult to all but determined professional researchers. I know of no more secrets to come from Marianne's life; Well, Trevor gave me a good summary, and all, and no less, came out in the 'Widow' book. One minor point. As far as I'm aware. it was not fear of libel that prevented Trevor from publishing. He never mentioned the possibility of legal action to me at all, and it would not have frightened the stubborn old Yorkshireman anyway. He was absolutely determined not to publish until after her death, but he would not elaborate on the reason to me. But I believe it was sentiment, not caution."

Andrew would be the first to admit he bears the title "skeptic." However, this identifier for him is in the classic sense, not the modern interpretation. For him, a true skeptic is one who still agrees with Webster that "true knowledge or knowledge in a particular area is uncertain." As Andrew puts it, "Believe me, if I could find an incident that was genuinely paranormal at Borley, I'd be the first to cheer. When Trevor [Hall] and I discussed Borley, what he objected to was not the belief in spirits, but the unsystematic and unscientific way that Borley Rectory research was done and statements were made. Trevor liked to cross-check everything. His training as a surveyor always emphasised that precision and accuracy was everything. This, rather than 'scepticism', is what caused the split in the SPR. There were members who wanted to study so-called paranormal phenomena scientifically. Price and his cronies did not even understand the scientific method. They seemed to be playing at science, using the trappings of science to bolster their prejudices. A whole group at the SPR were trained scientists and were horrified by what was done at Borley, even down to the casual way that Price took witness statements.

"The Borley Rectory business was too important to make into a Halloween stunt. On one hand, if it was real evidence for a 'spirit world' then we should study it until we are completely confident about what happened. If it was nothing but a series of hoaxes, then we should know about it. "If one reads all the way through your [Internet web] site, one will find enough indications and material there that Harry Price misled his readers. It is not a matter of bias at all, the facts speak for themselves. Your mother's testimony, in particular, is most valuable. The more we know and understand about Borley Rectory, the less likely we are to be 'taken in'. Your site is therefore most valuable, and the more source material you can get hold of, the better it will be. I do not see the site as biased at all."

We both agreed with my original purpose for starting the borleyrectory.com web site. The more people who learn of my search, the more likely I am to turn up information. "Actually, the more important stuff would be the letters Marianne wrote to friends in the UK such as the Foysters, where it impinges on Borley. My guess is she didn't want to talk about it and would have filled her letters with small-talk. However, there must be a huge amount of material sitting in attics somewhere, waiting an avid researcher."

When We Faked the Ghosts of Borley came out, our attention turned toward this Luois Mayerling effort. "There is an ethical or moral dimension to publishing fictionalised accounts of the behaviour of real people. In the case of Marianne, he portrays her in a rather unkindly light, particular emphasising her alleged promiscuity (which didn't exist in real life. I think, reading between the lines, she was rather poorly off for cuddles, by which I mean real, genuine, physical affection from her partners, for most of her life), and generally portraying her in a rather negative way. Because he dresses it all up as fact, people are going to believe it. Marianne comes across from Louis' book as rather a cardboard-cutout. It does not convince. She may not have been a saint at all times, but she must have had a huge energy and personality. Louis' contribution is fascinating; he has made a valuable contribution, but not in the way he planned."

As I was digging through her letters for secrets and clues, I was overwhelmed by the immense feeling of love a mother had for her son. Typing some of her intimate feelings was emotionally quite difficult. Each time I read them, I saw another message I missed previously. It was not easy to look at them and reflect on how selfish I had been.

One of our North Dakota acquaintances wrote to me in 1962 and said, "Any day now, [your mother] will explode with pride. When she talks about her handsome son she just dances." Unfortunately at the time, my heart did not register what my eyes read.

Many, many times she told me after I had left, "I'm not happy here all alone." She put her feelings for me in verse once:

The lonely mule in her own mule pen
Will be so glad when
Pennies she has enough to take her there
Out to Utah, to see her horse, or bear.

She told me several times she wanted to find a job and move to Utah. As early as 1962 she said, "I will try to look for a job in Salt Lake City when I am out there [for your high school graduation]. I don't know what at, but probably there will be something for me to do. . .I need not tell you how much I would like to be with you this Christmas. It would make my world."

She didn't manage to get to Utah for 30 more years. When she finally made it, there was no way it could fulfill her vision of the old west. The children and the grandchildren she desperately wanted around her never materialized in the way she envisioned they would either. Although she adopted several children in England, and although she had six grandchildren in America, none of them ever seemed able to fill that particular void. As with the children she longed for in England, once she obtained grandchildren, she didn't know what to do with them. The final ghost of loneliness settled in over her shoulders.

Even though she had friends galore, and former clients begged her to spend her last days with them, she never found just the right place to be comfortable. As she told me in 1967, "Since you left I have made a nice Afghan for my own little self. I stitched a lot of lonely minutes into it. But you know, that is life. You start alone and you end alone."

She may have been thinking of the following:

The longer we were apart, the harder it became for her to observe Christmas. When I was a child, it had been important to have a gaily decorated tree, and a light in the window for the Christ child. She always managed to have a splendid gift for me, regardless of our poverty. In later years, however, the tree became an abhorrence, as did Christmas cards and greetings. Christmas had been a family affair, and since she had no family. . .

After her death, I missed her so much. For several months after she died, I caught myself reaching for the phone to call her. Even now, I sometimes try to talk to her in my mind and reflect on how she might respond to certain situations. While she was alive, I pretty much ignored her advice - now I apply her wisdom to almost every decision.

She touched so many lives and made them better. Regardless of what went "before," and regardless of the ghosts that haunted her all her life, she helped scores of people - even me.

1. Wood, Robert. The Widow of Borley. London: Gerald Duckworth & Co. Ltd., 1992. p. 163.

2. "Mr. Gansen, divorce commissioner; Judge Toepel, First District Judge; Judge Neprud, circuit judge; State Senator [Raymond] Bice; Mrs. May Bellerue, head of the State Relief Department; Marguerite Lienlokken, [powerful newspaper columnist]; Kenneth Niebaldski, alderman; Milo Knutson, former mayor; Warren Loveland, present mayor; George Pappas, on behalf of the Bar Association of LaCrosse; George Metcalf, president of the LaCrosse Association for Retarded Citizens..."

3. Monsignor Dahl.

4. Leslie Halden.

5. Paul Adams.

6. "Gordie" Kankelfritz.