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

W

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.

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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.


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