The Farrow Matter

Lest there be an elephant in the room, I shall deal with the Farrow matter and then forget about him.

He wrote what later transpired to be a bogus letter to a local newspaper in February 1970 in the hope of duping its readers into believing he had seen a ghost. He was not alone, and eventually roped others into his hoax so that their names and addresses could be used on equally bogus correspondence to the same editor. As with most things this man does, he chose a location already steeped in rumours about the supernatural, rendering his publicity stunt utterly pointless. He might not have genuinely seen a spectral figure himself, but plenty of others in previous years certainly felt they had. Farrow merely confused matters with his non-ghost, which doubtless was inspired by various tales he heard about supernatural phenomena at Highgate Cemetery in the pubs he frequented. 

Circumstances had reduced him to living in the coal cellar of an acquaintance, and this is where I first encountered him in order to ascertain what he had witnessed following his published letter in the Hampstead & Highgate Express. What immediately struck me was his shifty manner and scruffy appearance. Also, he had a pronounced stammer, slight nervous tic, and an obsequious demeanour.

He introduced himself as "Allan" (a name everyone knew him by), and proceeded to light a cigarette (a habit that would remain with him throughout his life) while stuttering and stammering some incoherent story about "a tall figure that hovered and floated" just inside the graveyard. He offered to show me the spot of exactly where it happened. By that time I had proffered my own viewpoint at the editor's invitation in the Hampstead & Highgate Express. Unfortunately, Farrow attempted to board what he clearly perceived to be a publicity bandwagon. He merely had a short letter published, while I was invited to the offices of the newspaper and given headline coverage on the front page. There was no mention in the article of Farrow whom I did not regard as a particularly relevant figure in all this. He was a local tramp-like individual who had a tendency to latch onto people wherever he could.

Following my revelations about the true nature of the haunting at Highgate Cemetery, Farrow insisted that he would take it upon himself to destroy the vampiric presence. This he announced on 6 March 1970 in the Hampstead & Highgate Express. I warned against such ill-advised behaviour in the following week's issue, and also on a television programme, Today, transmitted on the same day.

I was ignored, and the rest is history. Farrow was arrested around midnight in Highgate Cemetery by police who found him to be in possession of a stake, crucifix and rosary. He was held on remand at Brixton Prison. While there he wrote a bizarre letter in which he begged me to assist him:

speak for me. I don't know if they have [missing words, top line, below]

The Daily Express, 19 August 1970, reported that Farrow told the court: "My intention was to search out the supernatural being and destroy it by plunging the stake [found in his possession] in its heart."

I did not respond in writing, but I did visit Farrow at Brixton Prison to make clear that I would not countenance his shenanigans, nor did I appreciate my name being dragged into his publicity-seeking.

He soon discovered the press tiring of his lone cavorting, and found it necessary to embroider further his fraudulent claims to hold their interest. He ditched vampire hunting for black magic threats and nude rituals with nubile girls. When these involved mausoleums and satanic symbols the game was up. Farrow was found guilty of indecency in a churchyard. Two years later he appeared at the Old Bailey where he was convicted of graveyard vandalism, tomb desecration and the issuing of black magic threats in the form of witchcraft dolls impaled with pins. He was sentenced to almost five years imprisonment. Disreputable and down at heel as ever when he eventually emerged from prison, he went on to spend the remainder of his life in a dingy bed-sit situated in Muswell Hill from where he continued to spread malice and mayhem, self-publishing libellous pamphlets; attempting to regain his infamy of old. Those foolish or desperate enough to lend him credibility or assistance themselves became social pariahs. They never amounted to more than a handful of people, and, notwithstanding the inevitable tabloid hacks looking for some cheap sensationalism, comprised largely individuals with an axe to grind (especially against someone like myself), eg atheists, degenerates and diabolists.