The Paranormal

Sailors Home from the Sea

Can an emotion be so intensely felt that it causes a profound psychic disturbance, so the an apparition of someone living or very recently dead can appear to cross whole oceans and land masses? As a recent example of this kind of occurrence, some will attest to the fact that they saw Terry Waite, the special envoy of the Archbishop of Canterbury, in the cathedral at the time when he was a hostage in Beirut.

How can that be accounted for? Did he yearn so deeply for the place? Was it always on his mind? Presumably it was, but plenty of others have yearned deeply for distant places. Perhaps there is a especially potent psychic power in some people that enables this to happen. And perhaps this also helps to explain the following two accounts.

There is no doubt from the report of the nightmarish sinking of HMS Victoria in 1893 off Tripoli that many of the drowning men underwent a terrifying experience. Was it the intensity of their terror in these circumstances that led to one of them appearing in his home in Broadstairs on the day of the disaster and at the moment of death?

The Times carried a series of graphic reports of the disaster. They tell how, manoeuvring off Tripoli, at five o'clock in the afternoon of 22nd June 1893, the Admiral's flagship, HMS Victoria, was in collision with HMS Camperdown. Within fifteen minutes the Victoria sank in eighty fathoms with the loss of three hundred and seventy officers and men. The scenes were horrific. As the ship went down hundreds of crew members desperately fought for their lives in the water.

'Another moment and a new horror was visited upon the struggling men,' says The Times. 'The powerful engine, deep down in the heart of the ship and enclosed in the watertight compartments, kept throbbing and working, and the formidable steel flanges of the twin screws whirled round and round, at first high up in space and then gradually they came nearer and nearer to the surface of the water until the ship descended in the midst of the mass of human beings struggling for life, and then as it disappeared the suction increased until it became a perfect maelstrom, at the bottom of which these deadly screws were moving like circular knives, gashing and killing the poor creatures who had battled vainly for life ... Shrieks were heard and then the waves and the foam were reddened by the blood of the hundreds of victims. Arms, legs wrenched from bodies, headless trunks, were tossed out of the vortex to linger on the surface for a few moments and then disappear.'

The Times went on to report that Admiral Sir George Tryon, whose error had been responsible for the catastrophe, had stayed on the bridge to the end when the ship turned over.

Back at Broadstairs on that same afternoon Mrs Kingston, whose son was an Able Seaman aboard the Victoria, was startled by what she thought was a gas explosion. Well, she told herself, you were always hearing about such things these days. But his was only a fleeting thought and Mrs Kingston had no time to pull herself together for there in the corner of her bedroom was a strange orange glow. What next? Was it fire then? No, certainly not, for within seconds there was a change of colour and more oddly a change in its very shape for now it stretched upwards and then, all of a sudden, assumed what undoubtedly was a vague human form. And then the details filled in, the clothes of a sailor, the features of a young man. Mrs Kingston's own son stood before her in her home. But how?

The young man smiled. 'I'm safe now, mother. Don't worry. I'll see you soon,' he told her. Odd, wasn't it? Strange, that incident in a Broadstairs house on 22nd June 1893. And some days later, on 3rd July, Mrs Kingston received a telegram from the Admiralty expressing regret that her son had been drowned with his ship, HMS Victoria.

It is of course very rare that ghosts actually interact with the living in the manner described above in the case of Seaman Kingston. The occasions when ghosts speak are infrequent but the are some recorded instances. At Chartwell, for example, Randolph Churchill allegedly had a lengthy conversation with his late father, Sir Winston. At Canterbury in 1705, Mrs Bargrave is said to have spent two hours in the presence of a friend, Mrs Veal, who, unknown to her, had died the previous day in Dover.

In the following account the interchange was brief. Nevertheless, it falls into that category where there is some interaction. Did the dead boy, thousands of miles away from those who loved him, in some way manage to project his spirit across the Atlantic to a house where his mother had been recently working?

Pick up this story in Greenwich late in the evening of 8th September 1866. There had been a knock at the door of a most respectable house and the housemaid, Emma Mann, did not like such late callers. Eleven o'clock at night was no time to be knocking at doors and expecting answers. Who on earth could it be? This time of night folk ought to be in bed. Such was Emma Mann's opinion as she made her way downstairs and across the hallway.

The mistress was up in bed just as you would expect of any Christian soul and if the master was not yet abed, well at least she had no doubt he was doing something worthwhile in his study. Emma laid the candle on the floor as she struggled with bolts and locks and eventually the door was open. She did not know whether to be surprised for she had not known who to expect. But there on the step was a sailor lad. Couldn't be more than 17, 18, she thought, scrutinising him in the dim light of the candle. Handsome young chap, though, even if he was a bit on the pale side. And would you believe it, he had no shoes on him.

'Mrs Cooper,' said the lad speaking up in a clear voice. 'I wish to see Mrs Cooper.'

'There's no one here by that name,' Emma told him. 'We haven't no Mrs Cooper here.'

He had put his hand to his brow as though in distress. 'What shall I do?' he asked. 'And you also are strange to me.'

At which the young sailor turned on his heel and went off into the dark.

Emma closed and bolted the door and turning saw the mistress in her wrap-over at the top of the stairs. 'Who was that, Emma?' she asked.

Just a sailor lad, mum. Said he was looking for a Mrs Cooper. I told him there wasn't no Mrs Cooper here.'

'What did he look like?' Mrs Hammond asked.

When Emma told her that he was pale, Mrs Hammond shook her head. No, it could not be Tom Potter. He was anything but pale. Tom was ruddy complexioned, always fresh and healthy, young Tom. And anyway, Tom was away in the West Indies. Still, she was uneasy and she sought out her husband.

'Tom Potter at the door?' Mr Hammond said. 'Ridiculous.'

'I shouldn't have got up,' Mrs Hammond said, 'but I heard the voice. I was sure it was Tom.'

Mr Hammond shook his head. How could it be Tom.

'But he asked for Mrs Cooper,' his wife persisted. 'We don't know any Mrs Cooper.' And then she added, 'He was in navy uniform, just like Tom. It must have been him. But why did he not ask for us?'

'More like one of his shipmates. Tom's mentioned that his mother was here last year and has assumed she is still here. This young fellow's on leave and Tom's asked him to look her up. Perhaps the chap made a mistake with the name.'

That might be the answer, Mrs Hammond grudgingly allowed. But before she fell asleep she determined that the next day she would try to get to the bottom of this matter.

The Hammonds had good reason to be concerned. They were devout Catholics, living in a very comfortable house, St Mary's Lodge, on Croom's Hill in Greenwich. They had moved in there eight years earlier, in 1858, glad that their home was near to the local church, St Mary, Star of the Sea, and even more delighted that the house next door to them was a Catholic boy's orphanage run by Dr William Todd, a distinguished theologian. In their eight years at the Croon's Hill house, the Hammonds, still relatively young and active, became deeply involved in the affairs of the orphanage.

Mrs Hammond went there daily and so encouraging and helpful was she to the boys - there were about sixty of them - that many of them came to regard her as their mother. The Hammonds were allowed to nominate boys for places at the home from worthy families which were in reduced circumstances. One such boy was Thomas Potter whose father had died when he was about ten years old and whose mother was finding life a struggle. She was concerned that her son would never to do well in life. He was a lively enough boy but there was no one to take him in hand in Camberwell. He was a perfect candidate for the boys' home to which he was introduced by Mrs Hammond in 1860.

Tom Potter turned out to be a good, decent lad. Not too perfect, of course. He was in boyish scrapes from time to time but nothing to worry about. In fact, he seemed just right for a place in the Navy. And so, on 12th December 1863, Tom Potter, just under five feet in height, joined his first ship, HMS Fisguard, as Boy 26. Just the place for a lively lad they might have thought. Lad of spirit, he couldn't do better than join the Navy.

But he hated it. The Royal Navy, which the Hammonds and Dr Todd might have thought would suit young Tom to a tee, just did not suit him at all. At the end of his first voyage he ran away as did three other first-time sailors.

And Tom ran straight back to the home and to Dr Todd and the Hammonds. But Tom, they said, with all the collective patience they could muster, it is a fine career for a young fellow like you. Give it another chance, do.

He could see their point. Good career for a chap who stuck in, who did his best. And the first trip was always a trial for young boys. The old sailors plagued them but it was all in the spirit of fun, of comradeship. He would see that when he went back.

But the punishment for desertion was the cat. He couldn't face that. The cat, the stripes across his back. He'd seen a man punished so in front of all the crew. He was a big strong carpenter and he had fainted with the pain. 'Well, then, Tom, I'll see what can be done about that,' Dr Todd told him. And he did. And Tom went back to sea, promising to stick it out, to give the sailor's life another chance.

In December, 1865, now sixteen tears old, Tom came home on leave from HMS Impregnable. He had settled down and done well. He was to join his new ship, HMS Doris, with a compliment of four hundred and seventy seven, in early January. It was a good leave. His mother had been taken on temporarily as an extra maid over the holiday period. It was from here , at St Mary's Lodge, that Tom said goodbye to her. He was bound for Jamaica where there had been civil disturbances. And he was now classified for men's service, signed on for ten years.

And in bed, after the mysterious call from the sailor lad, Mrs Hammond remained uneasy. Had Tom run away again, she wondered. She suggested that to her husband who dismissed the idea out of hand. Hadn't they had a letter from the boy only two or three days ago? And hadn't that been sent from Jamaica?

But Mrs Hammond could not get it out of her head that this was Tom and that he was in some sort of trouble. She sent for Dr Todd who had some photographs of the boy. He showed them to Emma. Yes, that was him, she told them. That's the lad who was at the door last night.

Perhaps he was in Camberwell with his mother. That was a possibility. So off they went, Dr Todd and the Hammonds. But no, Tom's mother had not seen her son since Christmas. But they did note her change of name. She had recently remarried. She was now Mrs Cooper. And that was the name the sailor lad had asked for the previous evening.

The solution, if thats what it was, came a week or so later in a letter from the Admiralty. Seaman Tom Potter had fallen from the masthead of HMS Doris on 24th July. He had been taken to Port Royal Hospital where on 6th September he had died of his injuries. During his last days he had called frequently for his mother. She had written to tell him of her remarriage.

On the evening of 8th September 1866, Emma Mann had grumbled her way to the front door of the Hammonds' house where only months before Tom Potter's mother had worked as a temporary maid. She had spoken to a boy who had died in Jamaica two days earlier. And he had spoken to her.

Perhaps it is worth suggesting that this projection over such distances almost at the time of death is the consequence of a deep wish, a longing, and which certain personalities can achieve as a consequence of some powerful psychic quality. That is not to say that they are aware of any power that enables them, merely on the strength of their yearning, to make appearances far beyond their present physical situation. Certainly, Terry Waite was unaware that he was seen in Canterbury Cathedral. But sometimes both living and dead can most certainly appear simultaneously in places far apart.