I never thought of my mother as particularly attractive to men. I never saw anything more than a smooch between her and my Dad, and I was really amazed when men seemed to be interested in her. This one gentleman named Henry really seemed ready to pop the question in the late 60s, and then there was a man from the community theater.... More about them later.

Iris Owen pointed out to me that when Harold Greenwood left Mom with a child at the tender age of 16, it must have really been quite a blow to her. Things were different in 1915 than they are today, and being a single mother was not as common, nor was it as acceptable. This must have placed a great deal of strain on Mary Anne.

I have no way of knowing to whom the following letter refers, since I never had the courage to ask, but it could very well be Greenwood. On January 26, 1967, Mom wrote to me:

. . . I remember when I was about 17 - I used to get awful infatuations on the most ridiculous people and I'd suffer dreadfully. Pa used to raise his eyebrows and try to remember who I was infatuated with that month.

At 20 I was saving the world. I could have run the whole world single handed and told the Lord how to run heaven.

Then I LOVED ONLY ONE - You have a long way to go to catch up with my sufferings - Laugh darn you. It wasn't funny at the time. But it was really. I saw flaws in my gods and it pained me - any person I loved should be perfect. But they weren't. How could they be?

So I would suffer. Then I would LOVE AGAIN. Vinny this is fun - don't you dare get snotty about it. . .

That letter was as close to revealing any details of her earlier life that Mom ever wrote. It was a very rare letter - very rare.

My mother did open up on a couple of other occasions and told private interviewers about the men in her life. She was quite candid with Iris Owen and Pauline Mitchell about how she felt toward Lionel Foyster. Her autobiographical sketch supports much the same feelings. In her private papers, Iris Owen concluded, "Marianne was genuinely very fond of Foyster. She talks of him affectionately even now, using nicknames and diminutives. She clearly enjoyed their life together, and in spite of her need of an amount of 'sexual relief' in her little flings, she never hesitated to return to him, and looked after him with devotion." As he grew older and more infirm, Lionel actually encouraged Marianne to look for a future husband after he died. Even though Trevor Hall wrote "she clearly had no affection"⁽¹⁾ for Lionel, other documents prove otherwise. There is no doubt in my mind that she used Lionel as the mold for the wonderful stories she told me about her beloved "father."

What about the other men in her life? By finding a clue here and a letter there, I have attempted to piece together as much information as possible about each suitor. Since all concerned have passed on, it is impossible to know which of the following men Marianne really loved. It would appear from all that is available, however, that many men loved her.

Henry Fisher apparently wrote to Marianne while she had the flower shop. They would meet in London and rent a hotel room. She liked him "as a sex partner" and was "afraid she might loose him," she told the private investigator. Lionel agreed to the relationship because of the mixup of his having baptized her. That meant their marriage in Canada was not valid. Foyster agreed to become "Voyster," Marianne's father. Fisher did discover the ruse, but continued the relationship.

She married Fisher because she thought he had money, and he married her for the same reason. Both were disappointed.

Fisher had been in a motorcycle accident while a youth. This left his mental health somewhat impaired. He had several mental breakdowns and a weakness for women.

Fisher met Marianne in Ipswich and "fell violently in love" with her. They moved to 4 Ancaster Road in July of 1935, after spending a few months at Borley.

Marianne blamed part of the breakup with Fisher on his mother and sister. They were "great trouble makers," she said, "and the start of it all."

"If matters had been different, I would have been happy to have Johnny's company again," Marianne told an investigator. "But his mother and sisters made it impossible. It wasn't Johnny's fault and it wasn't mine. His mother and sisters wrote such letters and all the rest of it. I didn't want them carrying out all kinds of threats."⁽²⁾

Henry's sister became suspicious about Marianne and eventually talked to Ethel Bull who explained Marianne and Lionel were married. When confronted, Marianne pleaded with the sister to consider the children. "Nothing was done about Marianne," Hall wrote, "presumably for Fisher's sake and to avoid a scandal, despite the fact that she had left him a penniless and broken man."⁽³⁾

The private detective Robert Swanson was ruthless in his pursuit about Marianne's love life during the March 1958 interviews. Supposedly on a hunt for truth about a haunting, his very first question - and many others - had nothing to do with Borley:

S[wanson]. Marianne, while you were at Borley Rectory and on your way to London one day, you met Francis Henry Fisher, whom you subsequently called Johnnie. You met him at the station?

M[arianne]. It believe it was either Colchester, or Marks Tey. We changed trains, I think it was Coldchester, but it might have been Marks Tey, it was one of those stations. I was en route to London.

S. Did you approach him or did he approach you, do you remember?

M. I didn't approach him. We met - I think that he asked me when the other train went the other way and I told him I didn't know. Then we got to talking and he asked me where I was going. I told him I was going to London.

S. At this time you were married to Lionel Foyster?

M. Yes, I was.

S. You were not having any sexual relations with him, because he was unable to?

M. Yes.

S. You made a date with Fisher to write to you at your flower shop or at Borley?

M. Yes, one of those places. I don't recall which one it was.

S. Then he corresponded with you?

M. Yes.

S. And you met him at a hotel in London, is that right?

M. Wait now - I - I did meet him at the hotel in London but I don't think that I - I don't think that I met - I do believe that it was the hotel in London that I met him. I don't think that I met him anywhere before I met him at the hotel.

S. Did you have relations with him at the hotel?

M. Yes, I did.

S. And you introduced Lionel Foyster as your father to him, is that correct?

M. Yes, it is.

S. What was the reason for that?

M. Oh, I don't know, all my life I have been given to glamorizing situations and propagandering; telling - as a child I used to make up stories that I was a princess, and all kinds of silly things.

S. Then you brought Johnnie Fisher to Borley Rectory?

M. Not while d'Arles was there; that was all over.

S. That was over?

M. Yes.

S. Johnnie Fisher was brought to Borley and introduced to Mr. Foyster?

M. Yes.

S. Mr. Foyster was introduced as your father?

M. Yes.

S. Johnnie never knew that you were married?

M. No.

S. You had told him that you were a daughter at the Rectory?

M. Yes.

S. After you had relations with him, you told him that you were pregnant?

M. Yes, I did.

S. Then what did he say when you told him that you were pregnant?

M. He said that he was very glad.

S. You were not married to him, so what was he going to do?

M. He was going to marry me.

S. You actually weren't pregnant were you?

M. No.

S. Why did you say that?

M. I don't know really, I don't know. So many things I don't know why I did them; they sort of happened. I just did them. I don't know why I did them.

S. Was it because you were afraid of losing him as a sexual satisfaction?

M. Probably, but I don't know. I wanted to keep him, yes, I did want to keep him.

S. What did Lionel think of the marriage between Fisher and you?

M. He said that I could get that annulled.

S. When did you husband Lionel first find out that you were married to him, Fisher?

M. I don't remember the date, but I know that I had a great period of remorse and I told him. He said that he wouldn't tell anybody.

S. Therefore, the three of you lived together, he knowing about you being married to Fisher, but Fisher didn't know about it at the time?

M. That is correct.

S. Then you advised Fisher that you were having a baby and sent him a telegram it was a boy?

M. I meant a girl. I had forgotten who it was; it was one of those Tey's or something and she told me that they had adopted a child and I was just crazy to have a child. I was just crazy to have a family. She told me that they had adopted a child. I forget who it was but she told me and it was the London Adoption Society and I went out to see them. They told me that you had to have references. I gave a friend who is a friend both of Lionel and me.

S. What's his name?

M. Santiago Monk.

S. You lived [at 4 Ancaster Road] as Mr. and Mrs. Fisher with your father, Mr. Foyster?

M. Yes, that's true. Johnnie was traveling for Harris's Cake. From there we went to St. Michaels on the Woodbridge Road. It was at St. Michaels that I got Astrid. I did not approve of St. Michaels because Lionel hated it and it was so difficult to maneuver in and out. By this time he couldn't walk and had to be helped in and out of the chair, in and out of the bath. He thought it would be better for him in the country, so we found a house that was 40 pounds a year, called Hill Farm Chillesford and there we went to live.

S. Where did you move from [after you lived at Woodbridge Road]?

M. To Hill Farm House, Chillesford. At St. Michaels it was very complicated to maneuver a wheel chair. Lionel didn't like it there anyway, because of the heavy and noisy traffic which annoyed him, also the bungalow was too small. Subsequently, both of us liked the country, so we decided to move to Hill Farm House Chillesford.

S. During this time, were you being satisfied by Fisher?

M. Yes.

S. Who was satisfying you when he was away?

M. Nobody, I had no relations with anyone.

S. . . . Who was Von Kiergraff?

M. It wasn't anybody, I just did it to be fancy. I had told Johnnie a lot of lies and I simply used this because it was a fancy name.

S. When you were in Canada, you told [Major Forbes-Mitchell] that your name was Von Kiergraff? [They met after a minor car accident.]

M. Well, he was telling fancies too. He told us that he was the son of an Indian Princess and a British high ranking army officer.

S. How did this name, Von Kiergraff, come into your mind?

M. I originally read it in a play.

S. And you liked the sound of this particular name?

M. Yes, I liked the grand euphonious sound.

S. When was the last time you saw Fisher?

M. Oh, that was quite a long time ago. I went down to the west of England, and I saw him not a great while before I came out of England.

S. Did he know you were married? To O'Neil?

M. No, we didn't discuss that at all. We hardly discussed anything except the war. We talked on this subject a great deal.

S. You were still man and wife?

M. We didn't talk about that, because it was over.

S. It was fortunate that he was not [at Dairy Cottage] when O'Neil was there.

M. He wasn't there at that time. He never was there while O'Neil was there. That had long been over with. He wasn't there for well over a year before this time.

S. When Fisher married you, he didn't know that you were married to Lionel Foyster. How long did you successfully conceal this fact?

M. I don't recall exactly, but he did know. He would have to be very stupid not to have known, since sometimes other clergymen called at the house and at that time, Lionel was well known in Ipswich.

S. What did he say when he knew?

M. He said that he loved me and that it didn't matter, but he wished I had told him. I agreed that I should have told him.

S. But you continued with sex relations with him right along?

M. Yes.

S. Where was Fisher during your stay at Snape?

M. He worked. It was during the war and all British males had to be in the Army or employed in factories.

S. He was only a short distance from you, why wasn't he coming to see you?

M. That wasn't possible, because in the first place he was all the way on the other end of England.

S. Now, do you recall when you told Fisher that you and he were through, that it was best the relationship should not continue?

M. Yes, I told him at Hill Farm House. I told him at Hill Farm House and I told him at Snape. He took some - and then he went to work in an ordnance factory - I'm not sure whether it was Helsford or Westbury, it was one of those two - and he was down at the Dairy Cottage, I believe once, and I told him again that we were through and then later on his mother was making a lot of trouble and I went down to see him and I told him that I was getting out of the country.

His sister lived with a man called Shaw. She was really Mrs. Harris, but she lived with a man called Shaw and I couldn't understand why she was so mad about what I had done because, after all, it was no worse than what she was doing. I told him that I was going out of the country, and he asked me to let him know where I was going and that he would join me. (Years after being told that they were 'through'?)

[This parenthetical question is unwarranted. If Fisher loved her enough to be so "emotionally scarred" by their breakup as Hall claimed, it makes sense he would want to continue the relationship. Dad lived with us more than 20 years after Mom divorced him, and she was extremely upset when he died.]

S. Now, how long before you left with O'Neil that you had seen Fisher?

M. I did not leave England with O'Neil, I left England by myself. I saw Johnny now let's see, what time - I don't even recall when I left. Now, let me see, I went to Tidworth - let's see, was it in, let's see, was it May time? I think I saw Johnny in April, or, I believe I saw Johnny the last week in April. [The trip to America was made in August, 1946.]

S. What was your conversation with him at that time?

M. I don't know. How could I tell? All we talked about was a lot of things and he said he wanted to get out of England too. He had been in Africa. He didn't get on well with his family and he had been in Africa, and he said he would like to get out of England too, and go to the colonies, and among other things he told me that his sister thought I was a spy - oh, a lot of things to amuse me. ⁽⁴⁾

The Hall papers indicated the former Frank Peerless was only useful to Marianne in bed. He did very little work at the flower shop. What he did do was incompetent. The shop was operated under the name Foyster, and she never pretended to be married, even though Adelaide and Francois Jr. were also with them. D'Arles may have told others he was her husband and may have given his name as Mr. d'Arles Foyster. They had separate rooms.

The couple did have sexual relations quite often, however. Neither loved the other, and Francois ended up taking advantage of her. "When he determined that she needed him he became unbearable," Swanson found out. Francois gloated "over the fact she needed his sex and that she could not get satisfied from a crippled husband."⁽⁵⁾

Francois also blackmailed Marianne. He "found out that Marianne was previously married to Greenwood and forced Marianne to do things for him which he desired. D'Arles also found out that Adelaide was adopted. . . but he claimed Lionel had the child by another woman and had to adopt her. D'Arles always threatened Marianne that he would write the Bishop about Marianne being previously married, that Lionel had a child by another woman, and that Lionel was sick mentally."⁽⁶⁾

Marianne described d'Arles as "a very evil man." Francois was thrown out and the shop closed when it failed to make money.

Marianne told Swanson about the stormy relationship:

S. . . . you told me a few moments ago that Lionel had suspected or that you told Lionel that you had relations with d'Arles?

M. Yes, I did.

S. What did he say when you told him that?

M. He said that I was a naughty girl.

S. But you continued to have relations with him, with d'Arles?

M. Yes.

S. The reason for having relations with Francois d'Arles was because Lionel couldn't satisfy you sexually and later he agreed to your relations with other men, is this correct?

M. Yes, well not with other men, it wasn't so crude as that; it was just (sigh).

S. With d'Arles?

M. Yes

S. Any other men besides d'Arles?

M. No.

S. This [next question] is in connection with Mrs. Wildgoose's employment at the rectory.

M. Well, I don't know whether her name is Wildgoose or not. I know her as Mary Dytor. I hadn't been well at this time and it was a very large house so I had to have some help. In those days it was common for a girl to go to the rectory for pocket money and sometimes nothing at all. She said she was engaged to a clergyman, but couldn't marry him because he had to put two boys through school. She was very unhappy.

S. Mrs. Wildgoose stated that prior to the time she came there, you gave birth to a baby. D'Arles stated that the baby you had - John Emery - was his child.

M. That is not true. He came from, I think, the London Adoption Society. I know d'Arles told Mary that, because Ian said he heard him telling her this.

S. After John Emery had died, did you ever see d'Arles praying over the baby's grave?

M. D'Arles never prayed in his life. The baby died and was buried in Borley graveyard. The Adoption Society sent the birth certificate because you had to produce it to the undertaker, which was so dumb.

S. What was your motive for adopting John Emery?

M. I loved children and wanted a baby to care for. I have always liked children. I would have a dozen now if I could afford it.

S. The household in 1932 consisted of four adults, including Mrs. Dytor [the nurse maid], the fourth person being Francois d'Arles. D'Arles actually lived at the Rectory cottage but spent most of his time in the Rectory where he took his meals. Mrs. Dytor stated that he had answered an advertisement by you in 1931, for a companion for your adopted daughter Adelaide. What have you to say in regards to this?

M. In the first place, he didn't take all of his meals in the Rectory. If I'm not mistaken, he had a mid-day meal in the Rectory. Francois certainly did live with us, but that was not how he - As I recall, he answered Lionel's advertisement which stated that he needed help at the rectory. He was a very competent floral worker.

S. How soon after he arrived at Borley that you had sexual relations with him?

M. I saw him once, then he went away. It was during that time that he talked about his child. As I remember, Lionel said, "Well, that will be good for Adelaide," because she was a very quiet and lonely child. D'Arles brought the boy down one Saturday, leaving him there. He didn't return for about a month or six weeks - I am not positive about the time. We became very attached to Francois (Jr.). I think that it was several weeks before we had sexual relations.

S. You felt that you liked him when he first arrived, right?

M. Not particularly, but I was kind of desperate.

S. You needed sex?

M. Yes.

S. While you were having relations with d'Arles, Lionel was usually shut in his room because he felt ill, is that correct?

M. He was always given to much waiting; even though he was very fond of me, he didn't like me disturbing him in there and he certainly didn't like Ian in there nor Mrs. Dytor.

S. When you told Lionel that you were sleeping with d'Arles and he said you were a naughty girl, was he still friendly with d'Arles?

M. He told d'Arles that he should be ashamed of himself.

S. But you continued to have relations because you had to be satisfied?

M. After is was started, I realized that I had made a mistake - because I didn't really - we fought like cats and dogs; that's quite true.

S. But it was sex satisfaction that was the urge there?

M. Yes.

S. On John Emery's baptismal certificate, the name of Evemond doesn't appear, but it is on the death certificate. Where did the name come from?

M. I had chosen it from a book which I had read.

S. Which book?

M. David Copperfield?

S. What was the purpose of choosing this name?

M. I thought it was a very pretty name.

S. While you were at the flower shop with d'Arles, you were known as Mrs. Foyster?

M. Yes.

S. Lionel Foyster visited Mrs. Fenton and gave her the impression that he was your father, is that correct?

M. Yes, that's correct.

S. What were the relations of d'Arles to you at this time?

M. It was a very stormy relationship. He was a very dictatorial man. Every time I spoke to Mrs. Fenton or conversed with her by telephone, he'd start an argument. It became so terribly unbearable that I went to Lionel's cousin, Bernard Foyster who was an attorney and told him whereby he and his clerk came and got rid of d'Arles.

S. While you were at the flower shop, you were still having violent sexual relations with d'Arles?

M. I did have, but not so violent. It was very seldom at that period. I was overcoming my sex urge for him. Towards the last, I had no relations with him at all.

S. You told me before that you were being blackmailed. What about this?

M. D'Arles said that he would have Lionel unfrocked. He said that he would tell the Bishop about me permitting d'Arles to live with me.

S. Did you say that he would also tell the Bishop about Lionel and the ghost in Borley?

M. That was part of it too.

S. That Lionel was responsible for the ghost?

M. He said he was.

S. You also said before that he said he was going to blackmail you by telling the Bishop that you were previously married?

M. Yes, he did. He also threatened to tell Lionel, who never knew.

S. Did he also threaten to tell anything concerning Adelaide? Did he imply that she was an illegitimate child?

M. I think he told Harry Price too, that Lionel was Adelaide's father by a woman he met in Denmark, but Lionel was never in Denmark. He told Adelaide this and other people as well.

S. Did you ever tell d'Arles that John Emery was an adopted baby?

M. Yes, I did.

S. What did he say when you revealed this to him?

M. He said that it was a God damn lie, and that he knew, he knew, he knew. He was always given to snapping his fingers and making gestures. [My mother hated exaggerated gestures and would become very upset if anyone mimicked a physically or mentally handicapped person. She would cringe and say such things made her ill.]

S. Did he imply that he was the father by such a remark?

M. No, at that time he was accusing me of a person who used to come to the rectory to visit Lionel, whom I only saw on very rare occasions.

S. What was his name?

M. His name was Reverend Bassett, rector of Foxearth. I had said he was a very nice looking man and d'Arles was always fiendishly jealous.

S. Lionel Foyster spoke openly to Mrs. Fenton telling her of your supposed marriage to d'Arles and later Fisher. Did you ever hear Lionel refer to you as his daughter married to d'Arles or Fisher?

M. No, I didn't.

S. Did the people near the flower shop or in the neighborhood regard you as married to d'Arles?

M. The Fenton's were the only people that I knew there.

S. You knew that they thought that?

M. Yes.

S. On the death certificate of John Emery, it is noted that the mother's name is Marjorie Ada Ruth Emery and [your ] name is Marianne Emily Rebecca. Noting that "M.E.R." appear in all three names, what have you to say about that, Marianne?

M. I hadn't even noticed this, as I did not have the birth certificate until the child was very ill. But if that is what you are trying to ask me, I was not Marjorie Ada Ruth Emery and have never posed as such.

S. (This question is obscure on the tape recording, but evidently was concerned with d'Arles' story of his first encounter with Marianne.)

M. I was never on a motorcycle in my life and I never had sex relations with d'Arles in a field.

S. Did you ever wear a wedding band indicating that you and d'Arles were married in the sight of God?

M. No, I did not.

S. Now, on page 90 of The Haunting of Borley Rectory, you have a notation along side the first paragraph which states, "There are indications also that, not unnaturally perhaps in view of her youth and physical attraction, she did not undertake with any consistent enthusiasm the prosaic duties of a country rector's wife. She seems, in fact, to have been in the habit of spending a good deal of time away from Borley and her husband." I notice you made a notation, "not true." Would you elaborate on that statement?

M. Yes, I will. Before I took the work on the florist's shop, which I'll explain later, I was away on only two occasions: once when I visited my people in Ireland - just before my grandmother died, and once when I stayed with Hilda.

S. Who's Hilda?

M. Mrs. Hanbury, Lionel's sister, and, oh, I think a few times I had a day trip to London. Once I met Hilda there, and once I met Barbara Foyster, that was Arthur Foyster's daughter, there; but it was just day trips, up on one train, and return in the evening, and as to the prosaic duties of a parson's wife, now what did they suggest that I did? There were a total of not more than 100 people - I don't mean 100 families, I mean 100 people in the entire parish, and then there were about 23 people that lived in a little hamlet called Rodbridge that wasn't strictly in Borley parish, but they used to come to church.

What did they suggest that I do beyond - I visited the people once in a while with Lionel whenever we went round. There weren't enough children in the Sunday School for me to teach Sunday School. You see Miss Byford always taught the little - there were three or four little ones and Miss Byford had always taught those, and then there weren't any more children except the older ones, which Lionel taught. So what was I supposed to do? There were no mother's meetings because - well, there just weren't. There never had been any mother's meeting. There wasn't even a history of mother's meetings.

I think that that's rather silly because when we were in Canada I did a great deal of work among children and have ever since so why I would want to ovoid it there, then take it up in Canada - and after, since I've been to the States I've been associated with youth and have done a great deal with them, so it doesn't seem to make sense to me.

S. Did you ever ride on a motorcycle with d'Arles?

M. Yes I did. He had a motorcycle, yes, that's quite true, I did. He had a motorcycle and I believe I went to Sudbury with him. In fact, I'm quite sure he had it. He had a side car and I went to Sudbury and got some groceries. Yes, that's quite true, but Lionel knew about it. In fact, it was he that suggested it, that d'Arles give me the ride.

S. Did you have sexual relations with him in a field while you were on one of your excursions with the motorcycle?

M. I never went on a field trip with d'Arles. I went from Borley Rectory to Sudbury and back and I certainly wasn't in a field and I certainly never had intercourse with anyone in a field.

S. Ian said that he saw d'Arles praying over the little baby's grave in Borley churchyard. He had seen this and he knows of it as happening on several occasions. What do you have to say about that?

M. I think if d'Arles ever said any prayers they were to the devil, and I think Ian is either saying a line or was drunk when he said it.

S. Marianne, you told me that the reason d'Arles and you had sexual relations at the start is because he more or less blackmailed you as he received information from Ian Shaw that you were married to Greenwood and that Ian was your son. Is that correct?

M. D'Arles and he used to have long conversations in French. Among other things, [Ian] told d'Arles that he was my son and d'Arles used that as a lever to blackmail me. He was always threatening to tell Lionel if I didn't (have relations with him). ⁽⁷⁾

In no other source is there any mention of anything between Marianne and Harry Price. No other source except Trevor Hall's unpublished Marianne Foyster of Borley Rectory. The five pages he devoted to discussing this possibility may have been one of the reasons he declined to publish his manuscript.

Hall based his theory on several interesting facts he managed to dig up.

First, Hall discovered that in 1938, Edwin Whitehouse asked Price for Marianne's address, which Price passed along - 102 Woodbridge Road East, Ipswich.

Secondly, in 1941, Dr. J.R.A. Davies asked Price for Marianne's address, which Price passed along - Dairy Cottage, Rendlesham.

Thirdly, some time after Lionel's death, Harry Price mentioned to a certain Mrs. C.C. Baines that Marianne "had become a G.I. bride." Mrs. Baines retold that information casually to Mrs. Taylor, the lady who had such disturbing news about seances for Trevor Hall.

Hall asked himself how Price could have such knowledge about Marianne when he lived 180 miles away from Suffolk. Hall's detective work indicated that neither Henry Fisher nor his sister Mrs. Shaw, knew anything about Marianne after she left Rendlesham in 1945.

Fourthly, Price did not possess the manuscript of Fifteen Months in a Haunted House when The End of Borley Rectory was published in April of 1946. Then he told Eric Dingwall on October 17, 1946 that he had obtained the original in Foyster's own handwriting.

Hall surmised Marianne had given it to Price between April and October of 1946, after Lionel had died. (Actually between April and August, since we left for the Unites States in August.)

Since Price had declared Marianne responsible for some of the phenomena at Borley, Hall concluded Price had no interest in Marianne from a psychical standpoint. What about blackmail?

The possibility existed that Marianne threatened to expose Price by publicly telling her side of the Borley haunting. Hall gave that idea short life since Marianne gave written approval to the testimony from Edwin Whitehouse regarding his experiences.

Then again, Hall found out later that Marianne may have had something more interesting to hold over Price:

He slobbered all over Mrs. Goldney. Excuse me, she was smiling up to Mr. Price all the time - very obviously. And he was kind of goofy towards her. They were, I think, in the throes of having a mild romance, I guess that's how you would put it. I think that is the reason that Mrs. Goldney took such a violent dislike to me.

[I saw them] behind the butler's pantry door, and he had his arms around her, and her dress was all hiked up, and she had pink pants on, the kind we used to call 'bird cages.' I was very much amused and sniggered, and I think that was the reason she disliked me so intensely.⁽⁸⁾

Hall realized that Price was gone from his home quite often, and so was Marianne. Perhaps they met in London. Mary Dytor told Hall that Price appeared at the rectory sometime in the summer of 1932 for a seance. Miss Dytor and the children were allegedly sent for a walk.

Since Marianne was known to dislike Price intensely in later years, Hall surmised they may have had a falling out over money. Marianne was not adverse to asking for funds, and Price may have come up short during the war. Price had promised £30,000 for his library at the University of London in 1938, but his entire estate was valued at only £17,000 when he died in 1948.

Hall concluded, "If Price himself was not unwilling, there is no reason to suppose that an affair did not take place."⁽⁹⁾

I found a postcard from Santiago Monk in my mother's papers. Hall did not have this scrap of evidence, which seems to support Marianne's statement their relationship was strictly platonic. It was addressed to Mrs. L.A. Foyster at 102 Woodbridge Road East, Ipswich:

Concepcion [Chile] January 13, 1938

Greetings from my native land, and renewed best wishes for 1938. After a stay in Valparaiso and Santiago, I am spending a couple of weeks with relatives here. I hope the winter - which cables report as severe in Europe - has heated up slightly. My health is still not satisfactory in spite of a fine summer. Kind regards and saludos.

S. Monk

During the Swanson interviews, Marianne confirmed the platonic relationship:

S. Did you ever have sexual relations with Santiago Monk?

M. I certainly didn't. Lionel and I knew him in Canada. He visited us while we were living in St. John, Canada, before we came to England.

S. How old was he?

M. He was 69, I believe at that time. When we returned to England, he was over 70. He also suffered from asthma and bronchitis.

S. Did he ever give you expensive gifts?

M. No, he didn't. He sent candy at Christmas and a handkerchief. He also sent a handkerchief from Portugal.

S. Information has been received that an old gentleman was coming to 12 Gippeswyk Road. Do you know who he was?

M. That was the man that used to come down to visit Mrs. Saunders [the landlady]. He was not coming to see me.

Santiago Monk died July 25, 1939 in London.⁽¹⁰⁾ Marianne could not have had relations with him after that date.

Dr. Davies met with Trevor Hall October 6, 1955. At that time, Davies told the investigator, "he worshiped the ground upon which his first wife walked and when she died of cancer in May 1941, he was prostrated with grief."⁽¹¹⁾

Sadly, Davies moved away from his home in Leamington for London. This was during the war when London was being bombed, and his decision supports his claim that he was suicidal.

He formed a friendship with Harry Price and after reading The Most Haunted House in England came to the conclusion Marianne "was the most powerful medium in the world." Perhaps she could help him talk to his deceased wife.

Price apparently wrote to Marianne, who then wrote to Davies and agreed to help. They met in about September of 1941. Marianne was then 42, but Davies described her as "an exceedingly attractive woman, looking not a day older than 34 or 35." She had "an excellent figure and most graceful movements." Her lips were "think and sensuous" and her eyes were "most striking." She was also "a witty and vivacious conversationalist on a wide variety of subjects, and spoke French fluently."⁽¹²⁾

On the other hand, Davies told Hall that Marianne had a "sly calculating look out of the corner of her eye," and Davies thought there was something "rather Satanic" about her.

It was while acting as medium for Davies that Marianne supposedly embraced Davies while she was in a trance. It was only the memory of his dear wife that prevented Davies from giving in to Marianne.

Marianne apparently told Davies that she was born in Ireland. Her only relative was an elderly husband who was an invalid. Davies told Hall that Marianne "spoke rather cynically of Mr. Foyster whom she nicknamed 'The Lion' with the rather uncomplimentary remark that he had no growl left in him."⁽¹³⁾

Davies claimed Marianne was intent on knowing his financial circumstances. Six months into the relationship, Davies ran out of most of his capital, whereupon Marianne ended the relationship.

Davies had apparently given Marianne all his former wife's clothing, which she returned all knotted up. Insulting messages were attached, and Davies told Hall, "I'm sure that she intended to put a curse on me."⁽¹⁴⁾

During the 1958 interviews, Robert Swanson talked to Marianne about Dr. Davies:

S. Marianne, do you recall Dr. Davies?

M. Yes.

S. Did you ever have sexual relations with him?

M. No, I did not. The matter never came up in any way. On my first interview with him, he told me that I was a dead ringer for his wife, he said that her name was Tweatie and she died of cancer. He described how his father had seen ghosts. I thought at the time that he was mentally retarded, due to the recent loss of a beloved person. The second time I saw him was at the Grosvener Hotel. I had lunch with him. At this time he suggested that we go to a medium in Hampstead Heath that he knew of, but I refused. That sort of thing always makes me feel ill.

S. How many times did you meet Dr. Davies?

M. Not more than twice. The third time I did not meet him; I was in London and he wanted to see me, but I said no. He was very angry about this and said that he wasn't going to write me anymore and he didn't.

S. Did he write love letters to you?

M. Oh yes! He used to write all kinds of love letters to me.

S. Did you write love letters to him?

M. Oh, yes, definitely!

S. He sent you some clothing, did he not?

M. Without being asked, he sent a very expensive pipe for Lionel and a pony skin coat, which belonged to his wife and I did not wear it. A few weeks later he demanded it back.

S. Did you send it to him then?

M. We decided (Lionel and I) that the Red Cross at Woodbridge should get the benefit, so we told him we would send the things back if he would agree to send 10 pounds to the Red Cross, which he did.

S. Then, did you send the coat back?

M. Yes, I did, and that was the last time I heard from him.

S. What happened to the love letters that Dr. Davies sent you?

M. I burned them. They were silly. [She always urged me to never write love letters because I would never knew who might read them, or how foolish they would make me seem years later.] ⁽¹⁵⁾

Trevor Hall believed there was more to the relationship with Dr. Davies than Marianne told Swanson. He was inclined to believe Dr. Davies' account of the relationship, including the doctor's claim he would have married Marianne after her husband died. Hall decided Davies had a "fairly fortunate escape."

Marianne denied having met Dr. Davies more than twice, to which Hall wrote in his unpublished manuscript, "I could not be more convinced that this is a lie." Hall was told by the secretary at the Society for Psychical Research that she had seen the couple walk "arm-in-arm" during a visit to the Society. They were "obviously on the best of terms," according to the secretary.

With this in mind, Hall concluded, "If Marianne would lie about one liaison, there is no reason to suppose that she would not lie about another, and I think it extremely probable that the elderly Santiago Monk, who described himself as he 'spiritual godfather,' was also her lover. I think that he was the old gentleman of 12 Gippeswyk Road, and a source of financial support from time to time."⁽¹⁶⁾

With that conclusion in mind, Hall extended his theory to Borley. He decided that since "her word is not to be trusted," about the men in her life, therefore, there was "no significance in Marianne's statement that she was not responsible for the phenomena at Borley."⁽¹⁷⁾

This is one of the most important conclusions in the entire Hall collection.

Hall was absolutely convinced Marianne "made an attempt" to seduce Edwin Whitehouse. While unable to substantiate his belief, he was told by Lady Whitehouse that "Edwin was sweet on Mrs. Foyster." She described Marianne as "man-mad," and claimed she "set her cap at every man she met." Lady Whitehouse told Hall that Edwin's father "forbad him to visit Borley again." Hall decided it was the pressure of his relatives on one side and Marianne on the other that caused Edwin to suffer a mental breakdown after leaving Borley.⁽¹⁸⁾

During the Swanson interviews, Marianne recalled her relationship with Whitehouse:

S. When Edwin Whitehouse was at the Rectory, did you have any special desires for him?

M. No, I did not.

S. Did you have intercourse with him?

M. No, I did not. Edwin was usually praying and wanted everyone to join him or expounding theory. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to be a spiritualist or a Roman Catholic. He did, however, become a Roman Catholic.

S. Would you tell me about your sex urge?

M. I used to go months without any sex urge at all, then it would come suddenly and sporadically; with sort of an overwhelming vehemence.

S. You had to have someone at that time?

M. Yes.

Hall was unable to verify other claims about Marianne's love life in Suffolk. There was a rumor that she had a "stormy affair" with the curate at Snape. There was also a claim that the father of one of the evacuees - Sgt. Albert Jack Downing - "spent so much time at Dairy Cottage that his wife had commenced divorce proceedings."⁽¹⁹⁾ No proof of either story was found by Hall, but researcher Alan Roper discovered that, "When Lionel left one of his parishes, he was given a watch inscribed on the case. After his death, Marianne gave the watch to Sgt. Downing." Roper heard about the watch from Downing's family. This story has never been previously published.

Ian told Hall that Marianne's mother was upset about a young farmer in Suffolk. Mrs. Shaw was visiting in about 1938 or 1939 and accused "Marianne of behaving badly" toward the man. On another occasion in 1940, a man in Army uniform stopped by to see Marianne while she was visiting her mother in Ireland, much "to her mother's annoyance."

Iris Owen went with Trevor Hall as they inquired about Marianne in England. These visits were made in the 50's and memories of Marianne were still fresh in many minds. "They all described her as charming," the villagers said. She was "striking looking, with lovely eyes. Her hair was auburn, and her skin creamy." An attractive woman, still.

Additionally, someone who had been living next to Marianne at Snape told Owen, "She was so utterly charming, you couldn't help believing everything she said, even when you had suspicions that it was not true."⁽²⁰⁾ Owen decide Marianne's photos apparently did "not do her justice."

Whatever their early history together, and whatever horrible things he threw at her when drunk, Mom was shaken badly when Dad died. However, it seems possible she did not love him when they were married. Apparently she was only using him to get to America. On the other hand, he clearly loved her, as his sole remaining letter to her attests:

Jan 30 - 46

Hello Honey,

I had a good day today, I got two letters from you. One the 19th and the 24th. Mail seems to be coming better now.

I guess the baby is like me in his ways too Hon. I gather from the conversations that I had a strong voice and was pretty good at staying wet.

Isn't mommy a 'fuzzy wuzzy' anymore? I'll bet you look 'sharp as a tack.' Papa will have to watch Mommy or she'll turn into a "wolf." but I'll still have a larger tail.

Of course I don't mind if you go to Ireland, my dear. You know I want you to be happy and I'll feel better to know, that you wont be so lonesome. time passes more quickly when one travels. I'll bet you'll have your hands full with Jr. I wish I could go with you. I can assure you that I would be equipped with a rubber apron tho. I would love to see him Hon.

Yes Dear I've done a bit of farming. I know its hard work and a big gamble, but I like it. one is more independent and you work for yourself. My Uncle has spent all his life on a farm, and he and I get along well. The place I have in mind is next to his and we would work to-gether about 500 acres in all, of course quite a bit of the land is woodland and pasture. We would have our own place, house and all outbuildings. We wouldn't build a new house yet a while. The most of the money invested would be in machinery, tractors, plow, cultivators, etc. About $4000 in all, including the reserve.

We would have to 'fly low' for a while, until things get on a paying basis, but I think we would come out all right. Are you sure you would like to live on a farm? I'm thinking of your happiness as well as my own. I don't want to be selfish My Darling. I want everything I do to have your O.K. There isn't much time left before the spring planting begins so we will have to get started rite away, if that much money is available and can be sent over without to much delay let me know, so I can make arrangements to purchase the necessary equipment I think the money can be transferred thru the Bank of England to my bank here in Caledonia. I'm afraid that's another thing I'll have to leave up to you.

Mother hasn't come home yet. I think its more the new baby, that keeping her busy.

Darling, I'll send you some magazines tomorrow. I don't think you need to buy anything over there. Women's clothes are quite plentiful over here and you don't need coupons or 'black market.' You can take time to shop when you get here, it will be more fun. When you get to the States, get a ticket for LACROSSE, WISCONSIN, when you get to LaCrosse just call (long distance) to the Robt. Malay Farm at Caledonia, and 'Katie clear the road' someone, me I hope, will be there in 20 minutes. be sure and tell us where you are calling from, so we can find you. Boy! will that be a happy day. Well honey you can come to bed with me now its 11:30.

Daddy

I love you My Darling

The reference in Dad's letter to "the baby is like me" surely sounds like a proud father talking about his own flesh and blood; looking for hereditary clues as all parents do. The talk about being either "fuzzy wuzzy" or a "wolf" sound like references to a lady who is no longer pregnant regaining her shape. He obviously thought I was his own.

Trevor Hall asked Ian about Robert O'Neil. Marianne was apparently ill one day when no doctor was available. An American G.I. was dispatched to the Martlesham address to see what could be done. Robert supposedly fell in love at first sight and proposed on the spot. He was assigned to the 563RD Postal Unit of the 390TH Bombardment Group. A report on the tragic accident of Mission 179 by John D. Amess describes how "Sunday invitations to tea are still popular; these typical English country homes form a delightful setting for a quiet Sunday afternoon. Approximately 25 men visit these English homes each week." My father was obviously one of those 25. The Amess report also recounts a visit from Glen Miller August 23rd 1944. Perhaps my parents-to-be attended? In November 2000, I was fortunate enough to talk to two former members of my father's unit. Neither gentleman could remember my father being so frightened by the war that his hair turned white. This was a story my mother told with relish - often in front of my father - so it is curious as to why she invented this memory. She also told me how he boldly "liberated" eggs and milk from a delivery truck by boldly acting as if he was supposed to be doing so. There was no confirmation of that story, either.

Marianne took me to see her mother in Ireland late in 1945. Mrs. Shaw told Ian in a letter that since I was much too old to have been conceived after the marriage, Marianne "had been up to her tricks again."

Robert O'Neil probably never knew about Borley. The children may have been explained away as being evacuees from the bombings. This was a common occurrence, so Robert had no trouble believing her.

When they were married, Mom lied about her age out of "vanity." She chopped 16 years off her age because she doubted Dad would marry her if he knew how old she really was. Apparently, Dad never did know for sure how old she was. At the time of the Swanson interviews in 1958, she asked the detective if he thought she could pass for 45. She would have been 59 at the time.

The other errors on their marriage certificate were just mistakes - not an attempt to deceive anyone. Hall, however, thought the worst. He visited with the man who was superintendent registrar at the time the certificate was filed. He made much of the fact there was no such place as 229 Ranelagh Road as my mother had volunteered. The registrar told Hall "if he knew where Marianne was he would now be bound to prosecute her for giving false information under oath."⁽²¹⁾ Iris Owen pointed out to me, "Although false particulars on a birth or marriage certificate are a technical offense, if not done to cover up a crime it is a very minor offense and would only lead to a small fine. In fact, it is a frequently committed offense, and was much more so in those days. With regard to details of occupation, etc., people frequently 'upgrade' their status in such circumstances."

Borley researcher Alan Roper agrees with Owen: "I have examined a large number of birth, marriage and death certificates over the last 30 years. It's amazing how many have incorrect information. On Pearless' death certificate, [his] name is spelled wrong. When Marianne married Harold Greenwood, they left out the word "deceased" under his father's name - I think he died in 1907," (seven years before the marriage of Harold and Marianne).

Hall then located James and Blanche Benneworth, who had witnessed my parents wedding. Mrs. Benneworth had been working in an adjoining building and was asked at the last minute to help out. The witnesses did not know my parents. The account Mrs. Benneworth gave Hall did not match the particulars my mother remembered:

O'Neil had not yet arrived and Marianne, who seemed downcast and anxious, did not know whether he was bringing any witnesses or not. The time for the wedding had been fixed for 2:45 p.m. and was the last for the day, for the office closed at 3:00 p.m. If O'Neil failed to put in an appearance during the next few minutes the ceremony could not take place.

O'Neil arrived at 2:57 p.m. He was in rough outdoor clothes including a leather jerkin, and Mrs. Benneworth recalled her surprise at his muddy boots. He hardly spoke a word beyond those required of him during the wedding, and it had not occurred to Mrs. Benneworth that he was an American. Mrs. Benneworth said that he was noticeably younger than Marianne, who was so pleased at his last-minute appearance that she gave both the witnesses and the registrar a pound note after the ceremony. Mrs. Benneworth said that Marianne was visibly pregnant.⁽²²⁾

My mother remembered that Dad came dressed in a tweed coat. In later years, my mother denied she was pregnant, or that she even attempted to look that way. "I have always had high stomach," she explained. Hall ran with that false clue into several dead ends.

Mom talked about my Dad with Swanson during their 1958 interviews:

S. How did you meet [Robert O'Neil]?

M. I was introduced to him by someone else. Lionel had made a collapse and I had gone to get the Army doctor who came and administered temporary measures until I could get Dr. Kerr, our regular physician. I think this is how I met him, then two regular soldiers who used to ask me how Lionel was - and that is how I met Robert.

S. Did he stay in the cottage over night?

M. Yes, he stayed there two or three times and we did have sexual relations.

S. At this time Fisher was away and you had a sexual urge again?

M. Yes, I did.

S. How long were you at Dairy Cottage before Lionel died?

M. Two or three years.

S. Did O'Neil ever meet Fisher?

M. No.

S. Did he know that you were married to Fisher?

M. Yes, because people had told him. Then, too, I was called Mrs. Fisher.

S. Marianne, have you always had a very peculiar and very strong sex desire, is that true?

M. Yes, it comes upon me - and it's almost overwhelming, but it is sort of sporadic, if you know what I mean.

S. At those times you have to have a man, is that true?

M. I don't suppose that I should say that I have to, because you don't have to do anything, but I am desperate during this period.

S. Was it a matter of sex desperation when you first met O'Neil?

M. The first time that I relations with Bob I was under the influence of too much to drink.

S. Did you see an opportunity in O'Neil to plan to come to America?

M. Yes, Lionel always said that I should go back to America, and I promised him that I would. Lionel said that O'Neil and I seemed to get along well together and one day he said, "When I am dead, why don't you marry O'Neil and go to America?"

S. When you married O'Neil, there was a report that you were visibly pregnant at the time, how do you explain this?

M. I can't tell you because I didn't do anything to make myself look that way, if that's what you mean. They also said that he came in a leather jacket, which was untrue; he wore a blue tweed suit.

S. Would you describe your physical appearance at that time, which may have misled even someone who knew you quite well into believing that you were pregnant.

M. I am not very tall and I have always had a high stomach also I put on a lot of weight, therefore they could have thought if they had such in mind that I was pregnant, but I don't see how they could.

S. In order to marry O'Neil you told him that you were pregnant?

M. It wasn't a question of marrying him but he wanted to wait until he came back from overseas. I didn't want to wait, because I was afraid he wouldn't come back to me from Europe and I wouldn't be able to come to America.

S. So you told him that you were pregnant?

M. And he said, "Well, we'll get married."

S. That was a few months after Lionel had died?

M. Yes.

S. After your marriage to Robert O'Neil, he went overseas to France and you planned to adopt a boy to prove your pregnancy?

M. No, not really.

S. Just a minute now, before, you told me that you planned this.

M. Yes, I did plan it - I did plan it.

S. It is noted on your marriage certificate that you had given your residence as 229 Ranelagh Road, which you say is the house owned by Mrs. Saunders. It is also noted that Robert gave the same address. Did Robert live at this address and if he did not, why did he give this address?

M. He did not live there, but as I said it was war time and there were certain regulations in regards to marrying an American soldier. Sometimes, it would take from nine months to a year to marry an American and the regiment was moving and we wanted to get married, so we left out the fact that he was an American soldier.

S. I noticed that it was stated that he was an engineer's erector, which was not exactly true - he was an American soldier.

M. I think that he was employed at the plant. In fact, lots of American soldiers were doing this and other types of work on their leisure time. As to my being a high school teacher, that was put on just for background, and so were the other things.

S. Marianne, I'd like to know something about your religious beliefs. In your conversation with me there's some indication that you're an ardent Roman Catholic. Now, with such a background how do you account for the fact that you married Fisher in a Roman Catholic Church, and then O'Neil in the Registrar's Office?

M. Oh, I don't know. I don't know. If I hadn't married O'Neil in a Registrar's Office we wouldn't - I wouldn't have been able to come to America. That's for sure because he was working in France and then from France he would go on home to the States. He went up through France into Germany and then home.

S. Was there any reason why you married Fisher in a Roman Catholic Church?

M. Well -

S. Now, also we notice that the Roman Catholic Church was used for the baptismal of your adopted children.

M. Well, doesn't a person have a right to choose to have her children baptized the way they want them?

S. Yes.

M. And what's wrong with that?

S. Well, having a Roman Catholic background and a bigamous marriage with Fisher in a Roman Catholic Church, it certainly is contrary to all Church beliefs.

M. And that proves?

S. It doesn't prove anything, but I just wanted to know something about your beliefs.

M. I don't propose to go on a theological discussion at this time because it only gets deeper and deeper and deeper and I don't want to bring any discredit on Holy Church.⁽²³⁾

My mother told Swanson in 1958 she did not love Robert when they were married, nor did she love him while we were living in Jamestown. My Dad was not the most attractive of men, and he was uneducated. Perhaps it was the geographical isolation of his rural home in middle America that attracted my mother? The rolling hills of Minnesota would have seemed a perfect hiding place from all the ghosts pursuing her in England.

Whatever the initial attraction, it was obvious to me that something must have "clicked" in later years. She told me many times Dad was to be pitied for his fatherless childhood, and that he really was a "decent man when not consumed by alcohol."

In 1962, years after they were divorced, Mom told me in a letter, "He [says] he loves only me. I am the only person he has ever loved. . ." While she was very upset by his constant requests for money, and by his continuing need to be bailed of trouble, she still cared. "I am sorry for him," she once told me, "but I just can't go through with all that again. Even when he visits, it's like agony until he has gone. I am wondering just how much I will have to dig up and what misery I will have to face. We need to pray for him. It is no use saying he has had his chance. He hasn't. His mother kept him down and smothered him. She filled him so full of biases and prejudices that he is incapable of thinking straight." Divorced or not, he essentially lived with us from 1964 until his death.

When Dad died November 8, 1981, Mom was visibly shaken. I reached his bedside just in time, and Mom kept telling me how he had made his peace with God. That was really important to her. For the next few days, she was very pale and obviously distraught. At times, she would shake. "He's calling me," she repeated over and over again. "I'm next." She heard my father calling her from the grave, and it frightened her. In retrospect, I realize she was afraid his ghost would appear. Perhaps I might see him, and then what? All those memories from England would surface. She really thought she was going to die. When she didn't die right away, she sold the big house they shared for the last years of his life. She could not wait to get out of that house.

"He was a good man," she told me. "When he wasn't drinking he was a really good man." She really loved him, and his death affected her more than I could have guessed.

An uncle of my father had given up his burial plot so Mom could be buried closer to Dad, but she only seemed to take some solace in that. His grave seemed so cold to her. "He always hated the cold," she told me over and over. When she died, Mom left orders that she be cremated.

In January of 1987, Mom met one of Dad's school mates while attending a funeral. Harold Leary told her "Rob was always well liked." He told her, "drink was the downfall of so many - but there were many worse faults." To which my mother replied, "AMEN."

It took me a long time to find out who "Sarto" was, but I knew about the following love letters from him to Mom for many years. They raised all kinds of questions in my mind.

Sarto
568 Main St.
Saint John
New Brunswick, Canada

To: Matt O'Neil
Hokah, Minnesota
July 10, 1948

Dearest: -

A week has passed during which I have mechanically performed my various duties as - John Citizen. I do not know now more than I did, when I greeted the early morning air and walked in a trance to church that Sunday morning. Had the hours been real or had time turned back to a day when? All through the spanning years you many times crossed my life of thoughts but now you have entered firm, clear and conquering. The realness of your absolute possession amazes me. I just can't come down to earth. I'm living in another sphere entirely.

The past week has been a busy one endeavoring to settle my family in the country...

...tonight I am alone in town. I have made tea and am sitting here writing you my sweet. I feel that you are right here by me. Your hair, eyes, and laugh haunt me. The movement of your hands - your little expressions.

Really Maureen, you have completely revolutionised my life - but what to do about it.

When I again reach my faculties I may be able to come to earth and think clearly once more.

With all my love. I am enclosing myself in this note to you.

My own: -

Just pulled this paper from the ledger and decided a note at least or else my heart must starve. You last letter was beautiful! ...It breathed of another world - yesterday or tomorrow. Yesterday a rose crushed in the bud - tomorrow - who knows?

Mother took a very serious turn in her illness and requires constant attention...yesterday she seemed quite improved - we talked from 4 a.m. 'till 5...A recent visitor of some 20 years back had sweet and admirable commendation - I do love you Sweet.

I wrote you one nite by Mom's side - but I couldn't begin to send the note along. I meant every word, but it all seemed so beyond this sphere! Some day, some where, I do hope we shall find deep peace together - so much has been lost in these past years...

One thing I know - our bond sealed many years ago did remain dormant, but today lives and binds with a love that breathes of fury, rapture, and of its nature, Love...

I wonder if I can go these last years without you. I just can't wait for the mittens and shawl.

Your own, Sarto (as only you can say it.)

Darling: -

...Mom gracefully left us August 10th...

So another link has been lost from our chain of dear ones and once more we move along...

Your two letters came as gifts from above. I did so want just some lift and after all these years you were the one to give what I so needed. Alices pictures, your sweet thoughts - if I could only have reached out and grasped the real you! To hold you and know that you were there would have been such a steadying influence. Some day these wrinkles in our cloth of time may be happy for a little while again.

I still hold your two letters - (grave risk) - the pictures will always remain a part of me - and you!

I did not intend a note tonight but I love you so it is difficult to let a day go by without in some form or other expressing myself to you.

All my love my sweet
and living and ardent hopes.

Your own Sarto.

Mom used the name "Matt" on many of the stories she sent to magazines and such. She knew a woman did not stand as good a chance of getting published as a man. Except for his full name, there is no other mention of Sarto Edmond Foley in any of the research material. I have no way of knowing who he was or how and when he first met Mom. All I could ask myself over the years was "How can he be so smitten with my dumpy-looking Mom? I have never thought of her as the romantic type. It seems clear they knew each other before, but when?"

How did they come to meet again? Perhaps she accidentally bumped into him on one of her trips. I could never imagine my mother hanging out with a married man! She actually wrote to him and knit a shawl and some mittens for him? I was incredulous.

In 1960's America, Mom didn't like having people over because the house was always so messy. Then, there was always the chance my Dad would stumble in roaring drunk. With all this in mind, however, she still wanted to invite home this one young guy whose name I can't remember. In the late 60s she threw caution to the wind and even cooked chicken for him - I think he was connected to the media in some way. It was the first time she ever invited a man to our home, and the last. What made it even more remarkable was the fact she hated cleaning chickens with a passion - it made her sick.

While living in LaCrosse during the 60s there was a man named Henry who seemed very close to asking my mother to marry him. I think he was a lawyer, but was far too conservative for Mom. Apparently I pushed the idea of their getting married, for Mom wrote:

Why are you so all fired set on my marrying Henry? Haven't I had enough trouble? I like Henry. He is gentle and kind, but he has kids and he surely isn't exciting. I think it would be hard to take - listening to him [talk about his children]. He sent me a baby picture of [his child] and I am sure she was a nice little thing, but jeepers, I can't get excited about her.

I do not know if I would accept him even if he did ask me. After all, he does have a family, and I don't know if I could be a good stepmother. I know that you would always be first [with me] and he might want [his daughter] to be first, and OH BOY....

Henry I can talk to. He is a nice man and I like him very much, but here again - I would not mind his kissing me good night, though I am not sure I could stomach going to bed with him. This summer I must try to discover if I could stand him to kiss me.

That is frank talk, but it is true. I am not sure I could share myself with him.

Send your letters in which you refer to Henry to [my work address]. I don't trust [your Dad]. I'd prefer he didn't know about Henry at this time.

I don't know why [you think] it would mean security. Right now I am not doing so badly and I should hate to have to ask Henry for every penny I spent. I don't need a man to make my happiness. I don't think Henry would be happy with me. He is so quiet and so pouty. Lord God Almighty, I've suffered enough in my life without risking another bout with pouters.

I look forward in life to being on my own and free to die in peace. Free to do all the little poking in the garden and little safaris into town without having to rush back. And free to read until three in the morning if I want to. Free to play music and to sing hymns without driving someone else to drink. I look forward to being a person on my own account.

Besides, it is manners to wait until one is asked. And I don't believe that Dear Henry has the faintest intention of asking me to be Mrs. M.

Your loving mother

One day, she did get a proposal, but it wasn't from Henry:

October 7th 1965

Dear Vinny;

...You will have the shock of your life when I tell you [a man from the community theater]...came out to see me last Sunday. He said, "Marianne, I don't know how to say this, but I mean it sincerely and honestly."

I thought he was going to say something about the play, or the theater, and was not really paying much attention to him, so you can imagine the shock when he said, "Will you honor me by becoming my wife?"

It's been a long time since I was so disconcerted. It never occurred to me that he would even dream of thinking I might be interested in him. I thanked him sincerely and kindly, but as I told him, "I would not make a good wife, since I am not a good housekeeper, I am interested in too many outside activities, and physically I am cold natured."

...I got such a shock that I called my boy attorney and asked him if he felt like loosing at bowling. We didn't bowl, but we went to a show and ate at [a local resturant].

The "boy attorney" was not Henry, but another gentleman who enjoyed dining with Mom and having intellectual talks with her. The gentleman from the theater went to the west coast "doing night club acts," and returned to propose. My mother always referred to him by one of the parts he played in LaCrosse - Lord Brockhurst. He told Mom she could "be Lady Brockhurst any time." She asked me how I would "like to have him for a father image?" She explained that I "would have a kind person to look up to," and that he was "kind and I am sure he would be faithful." Mom declined.

The only other time my mother actually talked to me about a possible relationship was also in 1965. "I had a visit recently," she told me, "from a Jamestown man. He was pastor at the Baptist church. He is a Canadian, and is a very handsome man. When I was in Jamestown we were quite friends. He took me out to lunch and I quite enjoyed it. I am sorry to say he is a married man. Yes, I would have been tempted to chase him a little, for he really is intellectual and not as old as Henry."

My mother always told me that "Violent flames soon die." She was trying to tell me not to get to emotionally involved with any one person, but to take my time to culture a relationship. Perhaps she was thinking of one of her poems.

There may have been other men in my mother's life that I don't know about. Ian claimed she had many affairs after Harold Greenwood left. Ian claimed there were more scandals in Canada. A pastor who substituted for Lionel in 1933 told his friend Trevor Hall that Marianne was "a woman of considerable physical attraction."⁽²⁴⁾ She definitely held the interest of several men after Borley, and she was quite popular after she came to America. I am quite sure that once in the United States my mother was not intimate with any of the men she met. That she charmed many men, however, is a totally different story.

1. Hall, Trevor. Marianne Foyster of Borley Rectory. Unpublished, 1958. Vol. II, p. 77.

2. Ibid, Vol. V, p. 53.

3. Ibid, Vol. I, p. 72

4. Ibid, Volumes IV and V.

5. Ibid, Vol. IV, p. 66.

6. Ibid, p. 70.

7. Ibid, Volumes IV and V.

8. Ibid, Vol. V, p. 60.

9. Ibid, Vol. II, p. 81.

10. Alan Roper.

11. Ibid, Vol I, p. 61

12. Ibid, Vol. I, p. 63.

13. Ibid, Vol. I, p. 64.

14. Ibid, Vol. I, p. 65.

15. Ibid, Volumes IV and V.

16. Ibid, Vol. II, p. 49.

17. Ibid, Vol. II, p. 49.

18. Ibid, Vol. IV, p. 86.

19. Ibid, Vol. I, p. 66.

20. Owen, Iris. Private papers.

21. Hall, op. cit. Vol. I, p. 9.

22. Ibid, Vol. I, p. 10.

23. Ibid, Vol. V, pp. 1-48.

24. Ibid, Vol. I, p. 2.