Episode 7, The Casebook of Dr Miller- Case 3, pt3. Grace Meriwether.

Dr Oliver Miller returing to Borley in his search for G.M. finds himself in the presence of Grace Meriwether and at the end of his investigation into the Borley Drowning.

Written, narrated and produced by Charles Walker

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Transcript

Grace Meriwether

After my experience at Borley Rectory, I slept the entire night without waking and I am glad to say without any of the night terrors that I had experience previous to my travel to Ipswich, unless they are not remembered of course.

Possibly, it was the long day of travel the day previous, or the chill late evening sat just beyond the grounds of the rectory, I do not know, I am undoubtedly thankful for this small mercy.

My recounting of the events of that night may seem to be short, however there is a strange phenomenon I have found in that on the instance of very little happening over a long period, much can be said, when many events happen in a short period then there is little to say.

The encounter was brief and indistinct to say the least, lasting for a few seconds at the most. It was but a glimpse into another ‘world’. The mind I have found when it is confronted with situations as strange and mystifying as these, can only register and take in so much. The finer details are lost, it is only the grosser elements that are retained- that is to say, the most obvious and possibly the most acceptable that the mind is able to process.

I have also found in my experiences that if the mind cannot fully comprehend what it sees, then it ignores it, it is akin to a defence mechanism- essentially if events cannot be readily comprehended, then they are ignored.

It is my experience that when events of such phenomena are recounted to me, the recountings that are the most believable are the ones where the least is said about them. The more that is said and the more detail that is added I oft find to be the cases that bear the least credence. Too much time having been spent thinking the experience though, and it always smacks of either total falsehood and a well thought out tale, or possibly an actual experience but then embellished to make it more believable or sensational, more worthy of note and of the telling. Either way, neither is worth the investigating.

This, I understand, is the opposite of what one might believe to be true, and possibly it is why the least believable of ‘supernatural’ events are the ones that are published and believed the most. The more detail, the more proof of it being real and not fabricated. The press wants a good story that can fill so many column inches. The press is also biased, they play to what they believe their readers want, it is undoubtedly a good practice for business and revenue, but not so for the truth.

Now the handkerchief, that was something that the mind could comprehend. It was solid and undeniable. I also felt that it was traceable.

It was for this reason that I had, holding it in my hand on the carriage journey to our lodgings the previous night determined that I would visit Borley Church the next day to see if I could view the parish register of baptisms, marriages and deaths. The parish was small so I deduced that the register should be easily manageable in my search for the initials G.M.

There was a real danger in this course of action, that I could not deny, if I mentioned anything about the real reason for my interest then I could expect a long and detailed tale of the hauntings of the rectory. This I absolutely wished to avoid at all costs. I therefore decided upon a white lie. I would while keeping the existence of the handkerchief to myself, say that I was in the process of some family research and that the initials G.M. had presented themselves, and also the location of Borley.

I did not wish to make a habit of untruths, but I felt that there was little harm in this- it being a mild deception.

Accepting that I would not be returning to Ipswich this day, or possible the next, as I wished to see if the vision repeated itself on subsequent nights, I paid for the two rooms and stabling. I kept the receipt for the coroner's office to placate Edward and I then subsequently retained my own room for an indefinite stay but at the minimum, for a further two nights.

I enquired with the hotel proprietor as to the availability of transport back to Ipswich once my business was finalised, and I was assured that this could be arranged to my convenience. This done, I gave instruction and the receipt to the driver in the service of the Ipswich Coroner's office and instructed him to return and to inform Edward that I had decided to stay for a few days at my own leisure and expense. I also asked that it be relayed that I had not found anything of consequence to the case, but that I would inform Edward in the first instance of my finding anything that may have any bearing of significance.

In truth, I did not feel that anything that I may discover would be of the nature that I could relay to Edward, I was it would seem becoming somewhat of an accomplished liar.

I wasn’t entirely sure if my reticence to divulge my true intentions was to save my friend from confusion and possible concern over my mental state, or whether it was to avoid questioning or possible derision. I feel that it was a little of both.

I took the air on this morning, the 6th of March opting to walk the short miles to Borley and arriving at the church at what I deemed to be a reasonable time. Stepping inside I was pleased to see that there was a person, a young man I would presume in his 30’s, putting notices onto the board at the back of the church.

He turned and smiling wished me a good morning. I returned the greeting and asked where I may find a church warden or other of such position that may be able to allow me access to the churches register of births, marriages and deaths. To my extreme joy, he replied that he was one such official, being as he was a warden of the church.

He proved to be a friendly young man, and to my shame I cannot recollect the name he gave, however he led me to the front of the church and bade me enter a small vestry. As one may expect there was the usual paraphernalia of the church, a large wardrobe which through an open door I could see the vestments, the black cassocks, white cottars, Alb and Cincture - some more ornate than others for specific events in the church’s calendar. The smell of incense was strong- the rich, sweet, and somewhat spicy aroma of Frankincense, and I spied the thurible, the metal censer suspended from chains, in which incense is burned during worship services, hanging from a hook in the corner of the room.

Of most interest to me was the writing desk and undoubted where the sermons were written and the rectangular ledger that had now been placed upon it. The record ledger was rather thicker than I had envisioned, and I wondered how many names there may be in there, however my fears were allayed on the opening as the majority of the pages proved to be blank. This ledger would last the parish for some considerable decades I warranted.

Informing the warden of the initials- GM, and upon a moment of inspiration the year of 1835 or 1836 or at least in the region of for the commencement of our search, I having reasoned that the lady in my vision was in her early twenties, he turned the pages to births.

The births for the parish not covering many pages it took only a short while to realise that there was no joy to be had here. Without my prompting the warden moved onto investigating the deaths and again there was no sign of a G.M. This was I must admit somewhat of a relief to me, I cannot explain why, as I had not known the lady- but something about the endearing scene that I witnessed for just a moment had made an impression on me. It also struck me that a few pages turned could move time from birth to death, and how short in the overall scheme of things our lives are- to eventually become a mere line on a page.

Our final hope was in the marriages, and thankfully this proved to yield the information that I so desperately wanted to find. There was dated on the 23rd March 1857 the marriage of Grace Meriwether and John Caldwell. This was of the most wondrous news to me. The record also noted that John Caldwell was of the parish, Miss Meriwether and of course now Mrs Caldwell was not of the parish, explaining her absence from the births.

The warden now looked rather pensive and turning the pages once again to the deaths simply pointed at entry detailing the death of John Caldwell in the following year- 1858. He said that he was sorry. He hadn’t recognised the initials G.M. as he had only been in the parish for a few short years and therefore he did not recognise Grace Meriwether whereas he did know of Grace Caldwell.

This was both a matter of splendid news to me and then also instant regret of my feeling in that I realised, the name not having changed in the ensuing years, that Grace Meriwether had obviously not re-married and had spent the best part of her life as a widow. By my reckoning she would now be in her early sixties. I asked if the address was known, and if it was not too much of a presumption on my part, if it was, could the whereabouts of the Meriwether, I corrected myself, Caldwell house be provided to me.

The warden replied that he saw no harm in this and undoubtedly Mrs Caldwell would be most pleased to find that she potentially had an as yet unknown relative.

Directions were provided to me along with expressions of good luck and for me to pass the wardens best wishes onto Mrs Caldwell, I in return thanked him for his graceful assistance and gave assurances that I would pass his best wishes on.

The directions given, I took my leave and it being as described only some half a mile and the area not being too populous the house was easy to find I found myself walking at a brisk pace eager to reach my destination.

The small cottage, painted in the ubiquitous Suffolk Pink (although officially being in Essex, but so close I suppose the boarders and influences were somewhat blurred) made for a homely countenance. Its roof had been recently re thatched, and a trail of smoke emanated from the chimney. A small white picket fence delineated the property from the surround land. After my eagerness of wishing to find G.M. and the speed at which I had covered the short distance to the end of my search, I now found myself unable to open the gate. I simply stood there, taking in the cottage and remembering the detail of the sad turn of events just a year after what undoubtedly must have been a very happy day for the then Miss Meriwether when she became Mrs Grace Caldwell.

There was however nothing for it, I had had the good fortune to so easily find the object of my search, and unless I wished to give up my investigation, I had to speak to Mrs Caldwell.

I do not remember opening the gate, knocking the door or entering the house- it all has become a blur such was my inner torment as to what memories I may raise for, as I will now call her, Grace.

I do not remember what words I said to gain entry to that perfect cottage, I believe I mumbled some along the lines of I may have something that belongs to you or some such.

I do remember sitting in a rather cosy front room and the kind gentle lady that sat across from me. I also remember offering her the handkerchief and the momentary look of surprise, and then joy and then sadness as a tear formed in her eye.

When she spoke, it was with a tenderness not anger or regret, she simply stated my John gave this to me the night he proposed. We were married the very next year, and were cruelty separated by the most permanent of means a little under a year hence. He died in a shooting accident. She did not elaborate any further.

There was a long pause which I did not want nor to dare to break. Finally, breaking the silence and raising her head, her gaze came to rest on me. She asked, how did you come by this? It is as fresh and new as the day John gifted it to me- you see the ring, she raised her hand, it was wrapped in it. I lost the handkerchief the very same day, the ring I still have, my John I do not- except in my heart.

I looked at my feet not knowing what to tell her, but I could not lie and so decided upon the truth. I told her the events of the night before. How I had sat on the tree stump at dusk and witnessed for the briefest of moments their walking in the grounds of the rectory and of the handkerchief dropping from her sleeve and somehow, I could not explain falling to ground in the here and now. I explained my visit to the church and the help or the warden in finding her. The reason for my visit, the finding of the body, although I guessed she must have known of the event, I did not mention. It felt as though it would have sullied the moment.

She did not look surprised, or incredulous, or indeed show any great emotion. She just held my gaze. Eventually, she said, “I saw you. I have always had a good memory for faces, and that day there for the briefest of moments was a was shadow cast just across from the rectory, yet there were no clouds in the sky. For a moment I saw a distinguished gentleman sat in that gloom, and then the shadow lifting, he, or as I now am sure, you, were gone.

She continued, I have never mentioned this to anyone, and in truth the joyful events of that day and the plans we made while walking drove everything else from my mind. When I had a moment to consider what I had seen, it was then just an indistinct memory, half forgotten, half real, and I put it down to a trick of the light. But it was real, and it was you. How can that be so?

I answered that I had no explanation and no proof beyond the handkerchief she now held, pristine, yet decades old.

She paused and then asked, “The man, the one they found in the grounds, was that coincidence or something else”? She trailed off as there was no explanation or words to describe the ‘something else’. I replied that no, I could not see how he had anything to do with these events.

I lied, there was a link somewhere, but I could not sully the moment by linking the two events together. Edward having told me that he was not going to include any reference to the pawn ticket in his report, as such I could be sure that he had not mentioned it to anyone other than those of us that he contacted by letter. There was no reason that Grace should ever know that I now suspected that it was not only her handkerchief that had found itself inexplicably transported through time.

Grace asked me to walk with her, and we walked to the Rectory, where on arriving she asked me to show her the tree stump that I had sat on the previous night and for her experience of events some forty odd years ago, and so we sat for some short while in companionable silence. As strange as it may sound it was although I had always known Grace and I feel that it was the same for her. I had seen her once, not yet twenty-four hours ago, but I had seen her in her youth. She had seen me only once, but she had known of me for over forty years, although she knew not who I was.

We parted at the tree stump, and in parting she stepped forward and hugged me and thanked me for in some way bringing her John back to her, for now it was many years ago but also, she said in a strange way only yesterday and John was alive- for that was how it had been for me. I shall only add that even though the face and hands may have aged, in that moment her eyes shone with the pure light of youth and the deepest love.

I returned to Sudbury and informed the proprietor that I would only be staying two more nights, and two days later I left Borley to never return.

I had intended to visit the same spot for a number of nights to see if the events I witness unfolded again, so I could solve the mystery, or at least make an attempt to do so. Now I did not wish to, and I returned only to remember the lady that I had sat there with on that second day in Borley. To wish to see the events unfold again now felt somehow wrong and disrespectful, and in my heart, I knew that the moment that I had witnessed should stay as it was and not be repeated or examined.

I shall not jump ahead for now to include knowledge gained since, I shall only say that I left that place with no more knowledge or explanation than upon my arrival. I could recount the ‘facts’ if they can be called that, of mine and Grace’s experiences, but that would not be an explanation of what had happened, only a description.

I informed Edward by letter that I had not found anything in Borley that could shed any light on the case. I did not stop my journey in Ipswich, rather I headed straight to the railway Station catching the first available train back to London, and so I did not allow the time to visit my friend. Upon my return to London and for several days after the pawn ticket just sat on my writing desk, unattended and unobserved.

The case and my interest started out as that of an unexplained body, it ended as that of a sweet, sweet lady, of tragic circumstances and of a life half lived, yet with dignity and grace- and the former interest seemed to only serve to sully the memories of the latter.

That was not something that I could be the cause or the merest part of.

I am forever grateful to Grace Meriwether, to Grace Caldwell- for she showed me the light, the endurance, the indisputable courage of the human spirit in the face of the unknown, pain, adversity and loss. It is this that gives me hope when I witness the darkest of happenings.

The human capacity to endure, to recover, to hope, to dream, to hold onto that which is good, gives hope for us all, no matter what is to come, and I believe that we will all need those admirable traits.

The coin that I have kept on my person at all times since it was gifted to me by another stranger in an act of kindness and bravery in the darkest of circumstances, now sits in my top pocket, wrapped in the handkerchief bearing the initials G.M.

The handkerchief that had once held an engagement ring tenderly wrapped in it’s folds, the handkerchief that Grace Meriwether had pressed into my hand on our first and final parting.