Robert Wood titled his 1992 book, Widow of Borley. In fact, Marianne was not living at Borley when Lionel Foyster died, she was living at Dairy Cottages, Rendelsham. To be precise, he would have titled the book, Widow of Rendlesham, but of course, that wouldn't mean anything to his readers.
In the 40's there was a sequel to the Frankenstein movie named, Bride of Frankenstein. In fact, the bride was for the monster, not Dr. Frankenstein. The marque would not have been as attractive if it bore the sign, Bride of the monster of Dr. Frankenstein.
When I learned of Borley, and the time my mother spent there, several people suggested the nickname "Son of Borley." I really didn't like it at first, but it stuck. As time went on, I came to enjoy the designation.
Until September 22, 1994, I was unaware of Borley. I was unsure of my heritage, but knew that Marianne treated me as her son. In turn, I called her "Mom." We were mother and son for 47 years, until her death in 1992.
After I learned that I was adopted, I discovered the given name of my birth mother, and will always refer to her by that name - Kate. When I use the words "Mom," or "mother," I refer to the only mother I ever knew - Marianne.
Some may wish to emphasize the fact I am not the blood kin of Marianne. Some believe she said some pretty nasty things about me in her later years. Some may even say she wanted to disown me. I would ask them to search for the truth inside the attached chapters. The complete record paints a different picture.
Since September 22, 1994, I have not tried to convince anyone I am blood kin of Marianne. I make that clear in several places. Indeed, all of my writings were initiated with the search for my actual identity. My whole story is one of how I discovered my adoption, and how I discovered Borley.
Regardless of bloodline, my mother and I were close. As with many mother-son relationships, it could have been better - I admit that. I admit I was not always a loving son and I admit I was not as attentive as I could have been. That does not mean we did not mean a great deal to each other. The more I investigate, the closer we come together. Now that I have walked where she walked, and been in the places she lived, the more kinship I feel for her.
We lived in different states until the last few months of her life, so I can not speak of anything she may have told anyone before she moved to be with me in Utah. IF she did say anything to discredit me, I wonder if her severe age (93) and strokes may have tainted her memory?
It is hard to believe she would say anything horrible about me, as her letters and actions travel the exact opposite path. Memories given to me from her friends do not support these negative opinions.
In my book Who Am I? The Mysterious Search For My Identity, I published many letters that my mother wrote to me over the years. At the time I commented how loving they were. I still have those original letters. They contain phrases like, My only son; how I miss you; thank you for your love; Vinny doll, don't ever forget I love you; liebling; God love you, I do; God bless my dear son; your loving mother.
A private detective named Robert Swanson tracked down my mother to question her about Borley. She talked to him only on condition her son Vincent not be involved. Parapsychologist Eileen Garrett convinced my mother to talk to her, again only on condition I not be involved. After the interview Garrett wrote, "She is evidently very fond of the little boy and I have told her that if she comes clean with Swanson and tells as much of the truth as she can remember, I would help her later on to get a scholarship for the child. She seemed to take great pleasure in this."
Researchers Iris Owen and Pauline Mitchell interviewed my mother, on condition I be protected. As Iris told me, "She had a very great love for you."
In letters to the private detective she wrote, "All that I ask is just to be left in peace to live out the rest of my life in quiet decency and in the serenity of the American way of life. I have friends, my child, and my work, here in America. Life is good, and above all, I pray that no hurt through me, will ever come to Vincent, and the many folks here. . .When I had your phone call, I had visions of all kinds of unhappiness, not only for me, but for many dear friends and my dear child Vincent."
Friends have written to me since her death with expressions such as "It may warm your heart to know she would speak of you often - 'my son, Vince.'" and "she was the one that gave you your home and made it possible for you to grow and to become the person you are now."
It was my mother who gave me the same last name as hers: Robert Vincent O'Neil.
It was my mother who signed my report cards.
It was my mother who wrote letters of love and encouragement.
It was my mother who wrote in her last official document - her will - "My child is Robert Vincent O'Neil. . .To my son Robert Vincent O'Neil. . . My son is not obligated. . . The residue of my property I give to my son Robert Vincent O'Neil."
This evidence may not be enough for those who wish it were not so, but it is enough for me.