The Storm

The storm has passed; its fury spent

No more for me the punishment

Of darkened view; of helpless terror

Of knowing my time was spent in error

The storm has passed; it could not win

Though I do know that I have sin

The storm has passed; it did not break

That which it sought to unmake

Helpless in the face of its might

Living through one long night

But now, my love, I stand with you

And watch the bright new day anew

The storm has passed; it failed to shake

I could not let it dictate

Its fury did rend my tortured soul

Its claws now dragged back to hole

But now the sun does shine on earth

And once again I feel my worth

The storm has passed; failed; in defeat

And in its place there now stands peace

No place for me on gallows hill

Set down for me is life’s pure thrill

This wind of change blows pure and clear

And music I can once more hear

Awakening

The awakening from the anaesthetic was a wonderful experience, to say the least, as was the entry into an alternative region induced by the anaesthetist.

She was a lovely Irish girl who kept using the term "craic." I told her the craic was good in Cricklewood. Or, at least, it was back in the day. Probably before parents were born.

The Irish anaesthetist laughed at everything; especially when I enquired about serious matters, ie  pain etc. "You'll be alright; just enjoy it," and "I'd love to have heard you blowing your sax."

That's what they all say, I thought. I'd told her about my playing for a couple of showbands in Kilburn, Camden Town and, of course, The Gresham in Upper Holloway. All, of course, in London.

These were Amor Alcis and The Showlanders under the management of Mrs Eileen Wagstaff. Then I was permanently booked under the Clayman Agency and the fantastic So Much Straw (later The 1879 Potato Famine) with Chips Vallely (lead guitar) and Nick Harrison (electric bass and electric violin) who went on to arrange for The Soft Machine. He ended up with a chauffeur driven Rolls Royce on the strength of his period with us. We played everything from rock 'n' roll (revival), modern (plus avant-garde) jazz, pop (Hendrix etc) and, oddly, ballroom (strict tempo). What an experience! I really learned on the wing, rather like my art, theatre, film work, and most everything else.

Who could ever forget The Gresham? That was the showband where our rhythm electric guitarist with the mad look in his eyes, staring out of a really red face framed by black hair, accompanied by a curious head-shaking mannerism, almost had me walk off the stage in case the men in white coats arrived. But I never did, and they never carted Dave Blackburn off. I liked him enormously, really.

"We really need you, †Seán, to play on these dates. The lads are depending on you," Dave said on the telephone when I had double-booked my dates. Thankfully, that particular conversation was taped, as anything concerning professional work always was. I was listening to it only recently.

The visual and the audio yesterday, as I drifted back into consciousness, matched what I experienced in the moments before the anaesthetic took over initially. A most pleasant experience.

There was the sound of Trane's Giant Steps, melding with waves lapping a recognisable shore, as Village Blues superseded, bringing a sense of slow motion, as I went under to a familiar vision.

It was Sarah playing on the seashore in the shallows, as she does. Dancing. Twirling. Laughing. 

Her presence is the most reassuring of things. I surely could not get through any of this without her. 

I bless the day I found her.

On 19/03/2020 13:51, Arthur Hill wrote:

> I have been catching up on my post and Email. So pleased to hear that

> all went well at St.Georges and how fortunate you were to get it done

> before ops were shut down.

> The results sound very positive and hopefully the news in two weeks

> will also sail in with a fair wind. So great news and isn't the first

> cuppa you get in recovery absolute bliss.

> Let me know when you buck up enough to have a jaw on the dog, best

> wishes to Sarah, it must be reassuring to have someone so supportive

> by your side.

> art xx

Disambiguation

Friday 13th March 2020 marks the fiftieth anniversary of the largest vampire hunt ever to take place in the British Isles. It occured at Highgate Cemetery on the evening of 13 March 1970, following reports in local and national newspapers, plus a television interview with various witnesses earlier on a programme called Today, Thames Television. I made an appeal on the Today programme at 6.00pm requesting the public not to get involved, nor put into jeopardy an investigation already in progress. Not everyone heeded my plea. On the Today programme, 13 March 1970, I warned one particular enthusiast, who had appeared on the same programme as one of several witnesses, to leave things he did not understand alone. Apparently he had received “a horrible fright” a few weeks earlier when he allegedly caught sight of something by the north gate of Highgate Cemetery and immediately wrote to his local newspaper about the experience, concluding with these words: “I have no knowledge in this field and I would be interested to hear if any other readers have seen anything of this nature.” (Letters to the Editor, Hampstead & Highgate Express, 6 February 1970). In the following month he revealed to the media that he had seen something at the north gate that was “evil” and that it “looked like it had been dead for a long time.” I warned that this man’s declared intention without the proper knowledge went “against my explicit wish for his own safety.”

The Hampstead & Highgate Express, 13 March 1970, under its title The Ghost Goes On TV, reported: "Cameras from Thames Television visited Highgate Cemetery this week to film a programme ... [Seán] Manchester [said] 'He goes against our explicit wish for his own safety we feel he does not possess sufficient knowledge to exorcise successfully something as powerful as a vampire, and may well fall victim as a result. We issue a similar warning to anyone with likewise intentions'."

The mass vampire hunt on the night itself was not attended by the man in question who spent his time in the Prince of Wales before repairing home to an Archway Road cellar provided by a friend.

The symbolism of Friday the thirteenth had taken on a momentum of its own, and the event itself, recorded comprehensively in my book The Highgate Vampire, was in many ways pivotal; especially as this was my television debut, and the end of any possibility of a private life thereafter. I had valued my privacy a great deal prior, and still did in many ways, but circumstances overtook me, as one television and radio interview, film documentary, public appearance after another crowded in.

The darkness of March 1970 would soon be eclipsed by the light of April 1973 when I ascended a hill on Hampstead Heath in white, along with twelve others, to found Ordo Sancti Graal before a large assembly of public onlookers. Once again, it was Friday the thirteenth, which that year happened to fall on Good Friday. The occasion is covered in detail in my book The Grail Church. This began a pilgrimage which would be marked by further ascents, more hills, and ultimately Glastonbury Tor.

People could be found who still believed in the miraculous and the supernatural back then. The expression of such beliefs all these years later renders me "unhinged." It is no longer fashionable to believe in anything outside of the material universe. It is no longer acceptable to be a spiritual person if that means anything beyond contemplation and prayer. I was, of course, active as an exorcist who cast out demons. Moreover, I was also an operative vampirologist/demonologist.

As well as entering holy orders, I was also an artist, musician, composer, photographer and poet. 

When they asked me when I was very young what I wanted to be when I grew up, I responded: 

"A child."

Hence many of the things I did appealed to a child, eg magician (conjurer), actor (theatre with a London Shakespeare troupe at the age of fifteen, later in my twenties and thirties to feature in art house films), performer (saxophonist and keyboards) in various bands. I was also a photographer. I began as a portraiturist with a London studio and a small staff. I photograph the sky these days.

Pablo Picasso's ambition was to paint as would a child, but he had long since lost his child-like innocence, and painted as a worldly, albeit technically adept, artist who never achieved that ambition.

What lay ahead for me in the wake of that initial Friday the thirteenth in March 1970 would unearth an external supernatural reality, albeit darkness personified. Its bright opposite grew ever close.

"His true teacher was nature, and he devoted himself to his own pursuit of poetry, music and painting. 'I've always been a bit of a bohemian, a bit of a poet, a bit of a wandering minstrel,' he said." (Rosemary Ellen Guiley, Vampires Among Us, page 113, Pocket Books, New York, 1991)

Either the miraculous and the supernatural exist, or they does not.

For those who see nothing, I suppose, there is nothing; or, at least, their vision holds nothing.

For young men will see visions, and old men will have dreams.

Definitely Maybe Not

In exactly five months we hoped to be celebrating our thirty-third wedding anniversary. However, due to the coronavirus pandemic, we are obliged to announce to whom it may concern that invitations have now been cancelled.