Memento Vitæ

Ecce Lucem

Ordo Sancti Graal

Extract from Seán Manchester's autobiography Stray Ghosts:

“But now in Christ Jesus you 

who were formerly far off

have been brought near by

the blood of Christ.”

~ Ephesians 2: 13

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On Good Friday 1973, along with eleven others, I founded Ordo Sancti Graal on the summit of Parliament Hill, at London’s Hampstead Heath. After three months of spontaneous organisation, we developed into a dispersed Order of disciples. By this point I was in minor orders with Ecclesia Vetusta Catholica, an autocephalous branch of the Body of Christ that seceded from the Roman Catholic Church on 15 October 1724 with the consecration of Cornelius Steehoven as the Archbishop of Utrecht. The succession reached these shores on 8 April 1908 with the consecration of Arnold Harris Mathew as the Regionary Old Catholic Bishop for Great Britain and Ireland. Proliferations followed bifurcating into traditional and liberal directions. 

The founding of the Order at Easter 1973 led to processions of the Cross.

Seventeen years later, I would take holy orders within Ecclesia Vetusta Catholica. In the interim ― notwithstanding pilgrimages, processions, preaching, healing and exorcisms ― I embarked on a number of quests. The Sacred Cup of the Last Supper was the first of these. A local newspaper assisted in this endeavour by quoting me: “In the autumn of ’77 I intend to embark upon a search for the Grail itself ― commencing from Glastonbury. … In brief the Holy Grail ― the vessel used in the Last Supper ― is believed to have been brought to Britain by Joseph of Arimathea some time after the Crucifixion.” (“Grail Searcher,” Hornsey Journal, 27 May 1977). The newspaper invited readers to contact me if they wished to assist. The outcome of the quest would not be recorded by the media; though I did agree to contribute to a Channel Four British television programme about the Holy Grail in February 1997, and a documentary film for America’s NBC Channel in early 1998 where I was filmed at Glastonbury Abbey in Somerset. These transmissions included the Nanteos Cup, the remnant of a wooden bowl thought by some to be the Holy Grail. The Rev'd Peter Scothern, who had access to the vessel for the purpose of immersing prayer cloths in holy water and chrism in the gnarled bowl to facilitate healing, was to become my acquaintance. The location of the Nanteos Cup is undisclosed; though Reverend Scothern and I were privileged to share that much sought piece of intelligence.

The Nanteos Cup.

Another item that became newsworthy was the search for an artefact known as the Glastonbury Cross. This occurred some five years after the 1977 Grail quest had begun. “The whereabouts of the lead cross, about eight inches long, are known only to [an] amateur archaelogist [Derek Mahoney] … who first found it in the grounds of Forty Hall. … The British Museum said it was either the original Glastonbury Cross which lay on King Arthur’s tomb or a 17th century copy. He refused to hand it over to Enfield Council who own Forty Hall, or the British museum and hid it. He also refused to comply with a court order to hand over the cross and is now serving a two year sentence for contempt of court.” I was quoted in the same article, saying: “We are most anxious to recover it as there is a terrible risk that it could be lost for a few more centuries. There is little archaeological evidence from that period.” (“Magic Cross Search,” Enfield Gazette, 3 September 1982).

The site of King Arthur’s tomb in Glastonbury Abbey.

The inscribed lead cross was allegedly recovered by Mahoney from the bed of the lake near Maiden’s Brook in the grounds of Forty Hall. A student on duty at the British Museum was allowed to photograph the artefact, but did not keep it for further examination. The mysterious cross was never seen again. Derek Mahoney served only half his original jail sentence of two years, became unwell, and later took his own life.

Ecclesia Vetusta Catholica was to provide a means to be in valid orders without compromising my position on the Church of Rome from which Old Catholics felt obliged to break from in 1724. The growing movement across Europe witnessed a sizeable number of hitherto Roman dioceses becoming Old Catholic for reasons not entirely dissimilar to my own. Jurisdictions beyond the Continent were to become predominantly autocephalous. I was, therefore, able to remain within the One Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church whilst still retaining that degree of independence necessary to remain true to what I believed. The twentieth century witnessed both Anglicanism and Roman Catholicism moving further away from sound doctrine. The contaminating influences at work are discussed in my work about Christianity. I conclude: “Whether institutionalised Churches are being eroded from within by Masonic secret societies or have been so steeped in apostasy for so long as to make no real difference, the volume and pitch of distressed humanity’s evocative cry set into motion the awakening of the Church of the New Covenant.” (The Grail Church, Holy Grail, 1995, page 72).

My introduction to an acceptable alternative to the post-Vatican II Roman Church happened in the 1960s. I was rehearsing with a group of musicians in Stamford Hill when I felt like having a breath of fresh air, and took a walk. On that particular night, having walked for about ten minutes, I found myself in Rookwood Road where stood the Cathedral Church of the Good Shepherd, which belonged at that time to the Old Catholics. The wooden doors to the Cathedral Church, in common with most churches at that time, remained unlocked. Inside I discovered an atmosphere both sombre and spiritual. When I tentatively approached the dimly illumined high altar ― with its stunning depiction of the Last Supper ― nothing disturbed my contemplative mood. The fragrance of incense still lingered from any earlier rite. Other church buildings had not quite managed to provide anything as close to this experience. It was a sense of being outside time. Fifteen or so minutes passed. Perhaps longer. Time seemed suspended. Afterwards I retreated through the dark streets, and back to the rehearsal hall. Not being at all familiar with the district, when I tried to find the church on later occasions it completely eluded me. However, the communion with the divine felt in the Cathedral Church would be followed up in the next decade when I pursued the minor orders of ostiariate, lectorate, exorcistate, and acolytate. Two decades later, I entered the diaconate, followed by the priesthood, and the episcopate.

*       *       *

The girl I met in October 1986 over whom the powers of Light and darkness fought ― yet whose soul remained intact and heart was innocent has her story told in From Satan To Christ.

Sarah reading at the lectern in our church.

In the end, Light prevailed over darkness ― and the sacraments joined Sarah and I in sacred union. Her quality of childhood purity, which had allowed her so easily to drift into the enchantments of witchcraft, would also prove to be her salvation. What she thought was a dream had revealed itself to be a nightmare, and I am privileged to have helped her awaken from it. A cold and ominous shadow had briefly invaded her life, but now she stood in the warmth of the Light again. The pale creature with dark circles beneath her eyes, encountered by me on a chill October day, would soon transform into a beautiful young lady, abundant with health and energy. An innocent who went astray, and was now found, but also someone with whom I felt an immense affinity, recognised to be a soul mate, and, moreover, was in love with from the first moment. It was the same for her. Such moments seldom happen in life, and when they do they need to be held and treasured.

On Passion Sunday, April 1987, whilst staying at her parents’ rambling Wiltshire home, I asked Sarah to marry me. She accepted and the following week, on her birthday, I presented her with a solitaire engagement ring. Four months later we were married in Trowbridge, Wiltshire, at 11.15am. Sarah arrived in a vintage 1930s Roche-Talbot.

She made a beautiful bride. On the last evening together as single people we had walked in the moonlight at twilight in a wooded area close to her parents’ house. Bats suddenly filled the darkening sky, some swooping to touch us as we stopped to look at them. It was somehow fitting, symbolic of a last brush with a world we had both encountered from completely different perspectives.

The bride arrived holding a bouquet of flowers with a circlet of more flowers in her hair. I gasped at how beautiful she looked. Our vows were exchanged enthusiastically, and those present broke into spontaneous applause at the moment we were declared man and wife. The drive back to the neighbouring town for the reception, drinking champagne all the way, in the Roche-Talbot with its roof down, left us feeling ecstatic. When we arrived at the wedding banquet, held outdoors in the grounds of Sarah’s parents’ home, we cut the cake with a sword, which was followed by my eight minutes’ speech to the guests.

It sometimes happens that a man and a woman meet and instantly recognise the other half of themselves behind the eyes of each other. Such a meeting occurred between Sarah and I. From the first moment we met and gazed upon each other, our spirits rushed together joyfully, ignoring convention and custom, driven by an inner knowing ― too overwhelming to be denied. It is more than coincidence that, out of the whole world, Sarah and I should be drawn together at the appointed time. Through each other we found wholeness. For I did not know how empty was my life until it was filled with Sarah.

Wedding day in Wiltshire ~ 8 August 1987.

My new bride’s eyes brimmed with tears. I sat down. This was the happiest day of our lives without a doubt. The banquet continued all day with much merriment and music. My close friend and surrogate sister, Diana, stood in for my “best man,” who lost his way in Trowbridge, and waited patiently outside until it was all over, not wanting to interrupt or intrude upon the ceremony. It was a fortuitous delay because nobody could have matched Diana. 

That night Sarah and I repaired to an Old English manor house to begin our honeymoon where a heated swimming pool, and just about everything anyone could want was waiting. But all we wanted to do was climb into our four-poster bed and relax with a couple of mugs of drinking chocolate after taking a long, relaxing bath. Sarah switched on the television at the foot of the bed, as room service brought us our drinks. It was a little after midnight, and the film that came on was Brides of Dracula.

We laughed, and I explained that this was the first of that genre of Hammer Horror Film I had watched as an adolescent at the Essoldo cinema in London. Those days now seemed so many years away. The England I had once known had practically disappeared. Little did I realise that by the end of the century it would be unrecognisable in terms of the Christian values that had held it in good stead for millennia. But right then I only had eyes and thoughts for my new bride.

Sarah had placed everything connected with her dark past on a fire in a field near our cottage in Hertfordshire. Acrid fumes billowed from the pyre until everything was consumed and reduced to ashes. She came home and took a purification bath as a symbolic relinquishment of the Left-hand Path. Only then could we make preparations to have our union blessed by Father Charles Owen in the Lady Chapel at St Joseph’s Catholic Church in Highgate. Sarah occasionally made cakes for Fr Charles, which he shared with his fellow priests. He was to become a good friend, but even he would become depressed by the deterioration of life in his parish. His church frequently suffered vandalism and theft. There was also a sharp increase in drug related crime. Diana attended St Joseph's Church for the Latin Mass that was made available to those who wanted it.

In 1993, my father asked to be baptised at our private oratory in Hertfordshire. I had entered the priesthood on my birthday on the feast of St Bonaventure 1990. “An interesting observation was made [as reported in The Visitor magazine]: ‘During the anointing ceremony, at which time Come Holy Ghost, Creator Come was being sung, a shimmering light hovered over the head of the candidate being ordained. This was noticed by a deacon and also appeared on some photographs. The phenomenon remains unexplained save it being the presence of the Holy Spirit.’ There were three photographers present and the inexplicable golden illumination (appearing to descend and enter the rear of my head) was recorded on several of their independently taken pictures. Four of these photographs were later published in our Church magazine.” (The Grail Church, Holy Grail, 1995, page 94).

My ordination was not received well by everyone. It proved to be a catalyst in many ways. Certain people, including some who considered themselves allies, cooled. While my parents welcomed this calling to the priesthood, others were less able to cope. Sarah's mother contacted Westminster Cathedral. The cardinal’s spokesman was exceptionally supportive and understanding. I was even asked by him whether I would consider becoming a Roman Catholic priest. There are some married priests in the Roman fold, but their duties are limited and low key. There are also those already in holy orders elsewhere who convert to Rome. I had been a Roman Catholic in my youth. Sarah's parents and siblings did not welcome me with open arms largely because I am considered to be "out of the ordinary," which Sarah thought was a good thing. Indeed, Sarah was "out of the ordinary," for which she was made to feel an outsider by her own family even before she met me.

The miscreant David Farrant discovered Sarah's parental address by looking for our wedding certificate via the public records office. Consequently mail was received from him at the Wiltshire home of her parents. Some of it was addressed for me. None of which we were told by her parents. My mail from Farrant was opened by her mother. Sarah much later discovered the contents in a draw in the house. It comprised malicious pamphlets in which I am ridiculed and defamed by Farrant. Sadly, this would provide ammunition to use against me in the mind of her parents, ergo I became a convenient scapegoat, who were already wary of me due to my published works and appearances on television. They were essentially country folk, and suspicious of what they considered to be a sophisticated person from the capital with an artistic bent. All the things that brought Sarah into conflict with her siblings long before she knew me, eg her artistic nature, her university degree in the performing arts, applied one hundredfold to me. But that, of course, is partly what attracted Sarah to me.

Sarah made a chance discovery in 2017 that annual dividends from her father's company, paid annually to her four brothers, Philip, Stephen, Mark, Paul, and sister, Ann, excluded her. She asked her eldest brother, Philip, who handled these matters on behalf of her father (and, when he died, her mother), why she had not been told by any of her siblings about this, and, moreover, why she had been left out? It was explained it is due to her being my wife. The sum her siblings have received to date amounts to millions of pounds. Sarah was shocked that nobody thought to inform her, and that her parents acted so normally in our company. When her father died in 1996, her mother continued signing over everything to Sarah's siblings who happily share Sarah's portion on top of what they are already receiving. This disloyalty of her four brothers and sister, plus the behaviour of her parents, naturally upset Sarah, but the money itself did not bother her in the slightest. Nor I. For, joined as man and wife, we have found riches beyond imagining or earthly things.

Entering holy orders was a pivotal moment, as I always knew it would be, and led to my eventually accepting the precious mitre on the feast of St Francis of Assisi on 4 October 1991, and later being installed as the Bishop of Glastonbury. Sarah and I felt a strong affinity with this ancient place of Christian pilgrimage ― it was such an obvious location. Once we were away from London and the dark shadow of the past, Sarah seemed to blossom like a beautiful flower and find herself. It was wonderful to behold.

"Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth

and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal:

But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor

rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal."

Sarah dancing in the fields ~ Glastonbury Tor can be seen in the background.


*       *       *

Finis tantum principium est

"Where the beginning is, there the end will be. Happy is he who stands at the beginning: he will know the end and will not taste death."

Vera ecclesiae

Extract from Seán Manchester's autobiographical works:

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Having not been baptised as an infant ― my parents wanted to leave such an important decision entirely up to me ― I was “first baptised at the age of eleven in the Anglican Church and given conditional baptism in the Catholic Church at the age of twenty-two.” (The Grail Church, Holy Grail, 1995, page 56). When I joined St Luke’s Church as a choirboy, it came as something of a shock to the vicar when he made discovery of the fact that I had not been Christened.

The Reverend W A F Lee was a very large and somewhat humourless man who rode around on a twenty-eight inch wheel, outsize bicycle. He duly baptised me, appointing himself my godfather, as I continued in the choir and also in the Boy’s Church, which had special outings and field trips, sometimes in the company of the Boys Scouts, to the Hertfordshire countryside and, on one occasion, to Dover Castle.

Along with a school chum, I attended the regular functions and evening scripture lessons at the Boy’s Church, but, following the vicar’s invitation, joined the choir alone and under my own steam. This was a happy time for me; especially when I succeeded David Stump as head choirboy. Stump and I had a falling out about something unrelated to my promotion. It erupted in the vestry one Sunday evening before the service, and could have easily turned into a scrap. I have no recollection of what it was over, the incident itself was quickly forgotten, and life went on as before.

After a couple of years, Edward Keating succeeded me as head choirboy. This decision was hastened by two factors, neither of them to do with my prowess as a boy soprano. Keating had joined with his younger brother ― whose name escapes me ― and usurped me. This perturbed me slightly for, as I grew to know him better, Keating’s distinctly dark side revealed itself. He smoked, despite his young age, introduced cigarettes to the choir vestry, and proved himself to be manipulative on some occasions. I came to quite dislike him after a while. In the interim, I had found some new friends, who invited me to attend their church service ― a Mass.

The Rev'd William Alexander Frederick Lee

Peter and Pauline were twins who were about the same age as me. Aware of my passion for visiting churches when services were not in progress and, irrespective of the denomination, enjoying the atmosphere, sacred surroundings, architecture and music if the organist was practicing, the twins invited me to their church, where I experienced my first Roman Catholic Mass. It was still then the Old Rite, known as the Tridentine Mass.

Vicar Lee somehow learned of my clandestine attendance at a Roman Catholic Mass, and was less than pleased. The vicar and his no less gargantuan sister, who was installed in the vicarage as his housekeeper, had come over from Northern Ireland before the war. He did not approve of Roman Catholicism, and consequently the writing was on the wall as far as my future in St Luke’s choir was concerned. Coupled with the aforementioned factors were debates in the Boy’s Church every Tuesday evening at 6.00 pm, after hymns and study. One of my frequent debates was the just war theory. I found it incompatible with Christ’s teachings. It was only a decade after the war had ended, but I opined against Britain declaring war on Germany. This was a view I have held throughout my life. I have opposed all wars ― most vocally both Gulf Wars, actively campaigning and speaking against the actions of various UK governments have taken in this respect.

The vicar asked me where my ideas were coming from, and enquired whether my father was a Communist, which even now I find an extraordinary deduction to make. My ideas are found in the New Testament where it is explained that those chosen to follow Him “out of the world” are “not of the world” and will be hated; the commandment not to kill is upheld; moreover, expanded so that we are required to turn the other cheek. And, of course, in so far as we did it to the least among us, we did it to Christ.

On reflection, my replacement by Edward Keating, and subsequent expulsion from both the choir and Boy’s Church, was an important lesson. I learned how wrong it is to make favourites. Much later on, when someone I came to know socially joined the lifeguards, and failed miserably to carry his weight, expecting everyone else to absorb his duties, I sacked him. No favouritism would exist, or be seen to exist, whenever I was in charge. This person was astounded by my action, but, in the long term, it did not affect our friendship ― which remains to this day as strong as it did all those years ago. One or two of the lifeguards sometimes found me too disciplined, and told me so. They had received an easy time at other establishments. Now they were obliged to do their duty. Those who criticised me most were the very ones who years later made a point of telling me that I had been right. One in particular had learned a lot from my regimen, and went on to be in charge himself.

Eleven years after my baptism at St Luke’s, and much soul-searching, I was baptised again by Father Keane at the same Roman Catholic Church where I had experienced my first Tridentine Mass. He was often present at some of the dance hall venues where I was engaged to perform as a musician (tenor saxophone) for a showband called Amor Alcis. Showbands very often placed as much importance on performance as on the music itself. I would later be confirmed at London’s Westminster Cathedral.

Father Keane was not the obvious choice during my months of intensive study to become a Roman Catholic. His consumed copious amounts of alcohol, was sadly a Modernist, and had little time for what he described as “hearts and flowers” priests. He was also a prison chaplain, and no doubt did some very good work, but I sometimes wondered why he ever became a priest. He was not especially popular, despite his apparent holding of the record for celebrating Mass faster than any of the other priests at Our Lady of the Sacred Heart. Yet Modernists like Father Keane would multiply in the years ahead, as the older Traditionalist priests became an endangered species.

Father Keane

I found a sense of discipline and special devotion in the Roman Catholic Church at that time, which was not apparent in the Church of England. Yet, when finally received into the Church, the torrent of change ushered in by the Second Vatican Council had already begun. Father Keane welcomed “opening the shutters” to the outside world. I was less certain. Many of the landmarks were being swept away. The old ways were becoming obliterated for the sake of change ― the signposts blown down. The beautiful Old Mass was replaced with a liturgy, at best, uninspired and, at worst, banal. The New Mass left little time for meditation. It had transformed from a private devotion between the communicant and Christ into a communal service. I missed the atmosphere of solace for worldly pain so evident before. Disillusionment set in, as the Vatican appeared to throw the baby out with the bath water in its rush to catch up with the modern world. Its attraction for me had been the fact that when I first became acquainted with Catholicism it was to provide a much welcome escape from the corrosive effect of modernity in the latter half of the twentieth century.

My multifarious discussions with Father Keane over months of instruction for preparation to enter the Roman Catholic Church left entire areas unresolved. “Would God allow His Church to be misguided in this matter?” seemed to be the stock answer to virtually all my difficult, searching and challenging queries. The doctrine of papal infallibility was a hurdle I never surmounted. “Well it makes sense when you think about it,” is the response I was given. “If that’s all that you have a problem with, we’re not doing too badly, are we?” was another reaction from the priest. He asked for my trust. I gave it, and became a Catholic in the mid-1960s.

However, the Second Vatican Council reforms took away the discipline and devotion that distinguished Roman Catholicism from the Anglican Communion I had just quit, but, as I pursued my religious studies over the years, I became increasingly aware that the foundation of my new spiritual home was not so much Jesus Christ as Imperial Rome ― the very imperialism emulated by men who were very much "of the world." The Roman Catholic Church owed its existence to the Emperor Constantine in the fourth century who perverted Christianity when he included it in the empire’s extant pantheon of pagan cults. It was Constantine, not the Bishop of Rome, who ruled the “Christian” Roman Empire from the year 312. In the introduction to my published work on Christian history, I observe:

“When Constantine made Christianity a tolerated religion inside the barbaric Roman Empire, the Faith of the early Christians became seriously distorted. They ceased being pacifists and beat their ploughshares into swords. Previously Christians would neither be allowed, nor want to be, in the army. In 416, however, by an edict of Theodosius, only Christians were allowed to enlist. Tertullian had written two centuries earlier: ‘The world may need its Caesars, but the Emperor can never be a Christian, nor a Christian ever be Emperor.’ The emperor’s title, Pontifex Maximus, would later be assumed by every pope, but for now it was the emperor, not the pope, who was the head of the Church. The Bishop of Rome was obliged to prostrate himself and pledge his loyalty to Constantine who delayed his own baptism until he was on the point of death and, even then, was not baptised by a Catholic bishop or priest, but by the heretical Arian Bishop Eusebius of Nicomedia.” (The Grail Church, Holy Grail, 1995, pages 11-12).

I qualify my disenchantment on the same page by noting that the Roman Catholic Church has still produced the likes of St Francis of Assisi, and other mystics. However, St Francis “observed the incompatibility of the Church with the life of Christ and His apostles.” Furthermore, I remark: “No saint would provide greater inspiration for the work ahead. Like the Celtic Christians, St Francis appreciated the beauty and wonder of Creation and he was certainly no stranger to supernatural experience. It is therefore not too surprising to learn that in his youth St Francis sought the Grail itself.” (The Grail Church, Holy Grail, 1995, page 91).

It became clear, as I would publicly state in 1988: “Simply calling oneself ‘Christian’ and subscribing to what can only described as ‘Churchianity’ is to no avail. The Church in the past was far too eager to make ‘Christians’ of everyone and not followers of Christ as perhaps exemplified by Francis of Assisi who founded his Order outside of the Church.” I also observe in the same book: “The emergence of a satanic revival, stronger than anything seen since the Renaissance, is taking place worldwide.” (From Satan To Christ, Holy Grail, 1988, pages 5-6). Subsequent events have more than served to confirm what I wrote back in 1988.

*       *       *

Though we should strive for perfection, I am well aware that we are all sinners and imperfect, aspiring to achieve something higher by facing the right direction in life. We tend to forget that St Francis was exquisitely dressed as a young man, spending such large sums on fashionable costume that his Perugian captors took him for the son of a gentleman rather than a merchant. He also had the ability to ignore unpleasantness. Physical ugliness repelled him to the degree that he really had to force himself to kiss a leper. The conflict with his father was never resolved, and he came to despise materialism so much that money made him feel sick. He acted with panache, even after conversion, and was never less than dramatic in all he did; being prepared to cast himself into a fire before the Sultan al-Kamil on one occasion. Visions and mystical experience were commonplace to him. It is not difficult to see how many in the 1960s, who felt themselves to be on a mystical path, could easily identify with this medieval aesthete who eschewed all the trappings of glamour and wealth for his Lord.

My own mystical experiences commenced when I came into contact with the Light. When barely five years old, my bedroom one night filled with a dazzling light. I lay very still, sensing all that was happening around me. Then I heard the name “Jesus” ― as if someone was whispering it directly in my ear ― but nobody was in the room apart from myself. I told my mother the next morning about the incident, and she just smiled. Years later she shared some of her own unexplained experiences. The most striking was her hearing shots and seeing flashes, like gunfire, on the night before the assassination of President John F Kennedy in Dallas, Texas, in November 1963, just before she fell asleep. She rarely talked about such experiences. In later life she never spoke about them.

I find that I am most sensitive where an affinity with a person or place becomes apparent. Then I pick up all sorts of intelligence whether I want to or not. This is not especially uncommon for people of the requisite sensitivity. It is nothing to do with the supernatural, and certainly nothing to do with being in touch with spirits etc. It is extra “sensitivity” ― not “power” of any sort — and many people harbour it wittingly and probably also unwittingly. It happens most when relaxed and in a spontaneous frame of mind. Such sensitivity belonged to St Francis of Assisi, plus the mystical experience of stigmata which, of course, is supernatural.

St Francis of Assisi in the grotto of our retreat.

Unholy Bond

Extract from Seán Manchester's autobiographical works:

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Graham Bond, a promising and clearly talented rock musician, was born in Romford, Essex, on 28 October 1937. John Pope aka “Therion” (who would later give himself a host of satanic titles) was born in north London on 11 July 1953. David Farrant was also born in north London on 23 January 1946. These three individuals came to be linked by one single factor — rivalry within the transparently satanic religion of Thelema that had been concocted by Aleister Crowley before any of them were born.

Crowley, born Edward Alexander Crowley in Warwickshire in 1875, was the self-proclaimed “Wickedest Man in the World” and the “Great Beast 666.” He also considered himself to be the “avatar of the Age of Horus” which was supposedly a 2000-year-old aeon, beginning in 1904, that would supplant Christianity with “Crowlianity” — the false religion of Thelema. Crowley had rebelled against a strict religious upbringing and was thus initiated into the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn in 1898, after leaving Cambridge University. He left the Order after a row with its founders and then travelled to Mexico, India and Ceylon, where he was introduced to yoga and Buddhism which replaced his interest in the occult until an experience in Cairo in April 1904. Crowley was asked by his wife, Rose, to perform an esoteric ritual as an experiment. During the ceremony, she entered a trance-like state and became the medium for the words of a communicator. “They are waiting for you,” she said to Crowley. “They,” she said, being Horus, the god of war and the son of Osiris, according to the beliefs of ancient Egypt. The communicator told Crowley to be at his desk in his hotel room between noon and one o’clock on three specific days. He agreed and in these periods he wrote, via automatic writing, a document called The Book of the Law. This tome spoke of a race of supermen and condemned traditional Christianity, pacifism, democracy, compassion and humanitarianism. The foundations for Crowley’s bizarre tenets of Thelema and much of modern Satanism were laid.

Aleister Crowley

Ordo Templi Orientis, once headed by Crowley, today boasts a membership of three thousand in forty countries, half residing in America, and there are many more rival organisations describing themselves as the OTO. All but forgotten at the time of his death as a poverty-stricken heroin addict in a run-down Hastings boarding house in 1947, Crowley was rediscovered two decades later by drug-crazed hippies of the 1960s counter-culture, and was also popularised by Jimmy Page of Led Zeppelin who bought Crowley’s home in Scotland. From 1973, Crowley was imitated by “Therion,” whose belief in Crowlianity was absolute, and David Farrant who believed only in his own desire to court publicity and the achievement of same. Farrant and “Therion” supposedly attempted some of Crowley’s more notorious demon raising ceremonies, including the “raising of Pan,” which led to both being charged with arson. “Therion” described himself as the “spiritual son” and “successor” to Aleister Crowley. Farrant offered his own description as merely “high priest of witchcraft.”

"What do witches really do?" was the question posed by Robert Kilroy-Silk on 21 June 2001 on BBC television’s Kilroy programme. Farrant sat in the studio audience. He had been invited as a self-styled “high priest of British witchcraft” along with Kevin Carlyon who claimed an identical description. Neither are recognised by other witches or pagans outside their own virtually non-existent covens. Briefly interviewed, Farrant placed much importance on being properly initiated into wicca. Carlyon, apparently subscribing only to “self-initiation,” felt that any initiation by others was unnecessary. Questions nonetheless arose over Farrant’s own “initiation” and whether or not he is a witch even by his definition, because headlines in national newspapers some three decades earlier describe him as a “phoney witch.” Michael Fielder, for example, writing in The Sun, 4 July 1974, titled his article about David Farrant: “Phoney Witch Sent Out Dolls of Death.”

These days Farrant claims the year 1964 for his initiation into witchcraft. But when asked about this matter in interviews given throughout earlier decades, he invariably told reporters that he had been initiated by his mother as a minor. The age of thirteen was occasionally proffered. This age wavered in the telling to different reporters, but any “initiation into witchcraft” was obliged to remain prior to 1959 (when he would have been thirteen) because this is the year his mother died. Farrant nowadays says that he was initiated by a woman named “Helen,” but fails to confirm the identity of “Helen.” Such conjecture becomes academic for those who are familiar with his story, as they would be more than aware that his “wicca” is merely a publicity ploy.

Farrant married his first wife, Mary, in a Roman Catholic Church in 1967 where they had the full nuptial blessing. This is a strange choice for a “high priest of witchcraft.” When Mary appeared as a defence witness during his Old Bailey trials in June 1974, she affirmed that she had no knowledge of his interest in witchcraft and the occult. His Highgate Cemetery antics were described by his wife, under oath, as being nothing more than a bit of a laugh and a joke. In the early months of 1970, when he began his pursuit of publicity, he was frequently photographed in disingenuous attitudes of prayer before Christian crosses. He posed for photographs wearing crucifixes, rosaries and even holding holy water. He was still doing so in August 1970, six years after he was supposed to have been initiated according to the latest date on offer from him. A photograph taken in 1970 shows him holding a wooden stake in one hand, a bottle of holy water in the other, and wearing a silver cross around his neck. It can be found on page 54 of The Vampire Hunter's Handbook (1997). Strange accoutrements indeed for a witch. There is no doubting from autumn that year, however, he turned to something altogether more diabolical to hold the media’s interest. Dr J Gordon Melton records: “In the summer of 1970, David Farrant, another amateur vampire hunter, entered the field. He claimed to have seen the vampire and went hunting for it with a stake and crucifix — but was arrested. He later became a convert to a form of Satanism.” (The Vampire Book: Encyclopedia of the Undead by J Gordon Melton, Gail Research, 1994, page 298). My own view is that opened himself to manipulation by dark forces because he was an empty vessel waiting to be filled. His being more ignorant than the ordinary man in the street about the occult made this far easier. He took a sinister delight in malicious pranks, which, coupled with having little imagination, little intelligence and scant education, made him an ideal candidate for whatever possessed him.

Graham Bond in the early days of his career.

Graham Bond was an orphan, adopted from the Dr Barnardo’s home, who came to prominence in 1962 at the Marquee Club in London, as a featured musician with Alexis Korner’s Blues Incorporated. In 1963 Bond formed a trio, then a quartet, before founding in 1964 the Graham Bond Organisation. It was during the following period that he took an unusual interest in the occult and the works of Crowley. He was not alone in that respect. David Bowie and Mick Jagger both became fascinated with Crowley’s writings, and the singer Sting apparently used to read Crowley’s books when touring. Yet Bond went even further and became a practicing Thelemite himself  from which moment his fate seems to have been sealed. He renamed his band the Graham Bond Initiation; its final appellation being Holy Magick (adopting Crowley’s spelling of the word “magic”).

In the early days Bond was noted as being a silent, humble figure with a plastic alto saxophone; always on the outskirts of what was going on, never part of it. The thing about him was that he was not noticed. This would change. The versatile keyboard player and saxophonist, who also did some vocals, developed an obsession with the occult, especially the brand of Satanism devised by Crowley, known as Thelema. Like his mentor, he also became seriously addicted to drugs and alcohol. According to the posthumous biography The Mighty Shadow, written by Harry Shapiro, Graham Bond sexually abused his stepdaughter. “Therion” would claim to be Crowley’s “spiritual successor” — employing the title “Son of the Beast” — but Graham Bond went one better. He claimed to be an illegitimate son of Crowley. In the Left-hand Path world of the dark occult nothing is too sacred or taboo for exponents of Thelema.

On 8 May 1974, Graham Bond fell, or perhaps jumped, in front of the wheels of a London Underground train at Finsbury Park station, and died. In the previous year, he had been called in by another rock star, “Long” John Baldry of Muswell Hill, London, to help in a so-called “exorcism,” as the media insisted on describing it. Baldry had been receiving threats and curses from David Farrant, who confirmed this to be the case in repeated boasts published in his local newspapers at the time, eg front page headline story of the Hornsey Journal, 28 September 1973. Baldry had reason to believe that his missing cat Stupzi had been sacrificed by Farrant in a witchcraft ritual. Whilst not denying the ritual sacrifice of cats during this period, Farrant maintained that the one he killed in Highgate Wood was not Stupzi, but a stray. On one occasion, Baldry and Bond arrived at Farrant's bed-sitting room in Muswell Hill Road to confront the sender of voodoo threats, but only found “Therion” whom Farrant had been using to deliver the clay effigies with accompanying menacing poems (as confirmed by “Therion” in later interviews). Farrant himself was out at the time, or possibly in hiding. When the rock star met with his unfortunate death, “Therion” immediately claimed that he had killed Graham Bond with a black magic curse, which he reiterated in a tape recorded interview.

Graham Bond in the Daily Express, 26 June 1974.

Mystery has always surrounded the untimely demise of Graham Bond and many commentators in the media have looked for simple answers, sometimes erroneously describing Bond as a “white magician.” There is nothing “white” about the magic that springs from Crowley’s Thelema. I spoke to Baldry in person, following a live television programme we both appeared on about on occult dangers, and assured him that Farrant was phoney and “Therion” was demented. Yet he  grew ever more terrified of the curses he had received and quit England for Canada, never to return. Farrant issued threats to all manner of people throughout 1973 at which end he was arrested by Scotland Yard detectives, who discovered an occult altar with black candles below an image of the Devil in his small bed-sitting room. Farrant was held on remand until his trials at the Old Bailey in June 1974, resulting in a four years eight months prison sentence. “Therion” remained free to pursue his undisguised brand of Satanism despite being found guilty of sexual assault on a minor. 

Graham Bond died a month before Farrant faced his own fate in front of a judge and jury at the Old Bailey..

“Therion” intended to “form a new coven that will rule the world” and “abolish the system whereby children are forced to learn Christian worship,” according to an interview he gave to Reveille magazine, 21 November 1975. When this failed to happen, he became increasingly unstable, declaring direct blood descent from the Patriarch of Judah, Jesus Christ, actor Bela Lugosi, the outlaw Robin Hood and the still unidentified Jack the Ripper. Farrant would frequently refer to this sole supporter behind his back as “that silly little imbecile.” 

“Therion” took to providing “horror tours” to paying voyeurs who want to see the haunts of Jack the Ripper in London’s East End where “Therion” resides in the flat of his late uncle (William Binding) flat. The tour included the house of the serial murderer Dennis Nielson, which is located just around the corner from the Muswell Hill attic bed-sitting room occupied by Farrant since his release from prison on parole in late 1976. Highgate Woods, once the scene of their mutual displays of theatrical Satanism, is also on the tour’s agenda.