Prologue for the David Carpenter Tapes

In June of 1979 fourteen writers gathered at Fort San for a two-week retreat. This was one of the earliest writers’ retreats in the long history of Guild Colonies across the province. We gathered in a chalet known as Residence 29, the so-called haunted residence of Fort San Iore.

On the night of our arrival, some of us thought it might be fun to do a séance on a ouija board and so, led by Patrick Lane and Kate Bitney, we embarked upon our nightly sessions. After writing for the day, and after supper, we would gather in the common room next to the fireplace. The evenings were uncommonly chilly for June, so the fire was always going. A dozen or more writers gathered around a long wooden table. Pat Lane sat at one end, Kate Bitney at the other. They used an inverted glass ashtray for a censor. It took two sessions on consecutive nights before the Geiger counter, so to speak, began to tick. The moment of contact came something like this:

Anyone there?

Yes.

What is your name?

Tom.

What emerged from Tom—and some other so-called presences—was a tortured narrative worthy of Emily Bronte. Tom could not lie still in death because of the turbulence he felt over the loss of his wife Gertrude. The two of them had lived in Residence 29 while undergoing treatments for tuberculosis. Research on this disease was in its infancy, so some of the TB treatments were quite experimental. Gertrude died as a result of one of these treatments, and Tom could not forgive the doctors for taking her away, as he thought, prematurely.

To read the entire tortured narrative, one should consult the folklorist Michael Taft or visit the Provincial Archives and seek out his documentation of this bizarre encounter with the ouija board. Some of the most remarkable by-products of this experience are the poems and stories inspired by it: published works by Gertrude Storey, Lois Simmie, Edna Alford, Patrick Lane, Lorna Crozier, myself, and others.

Following are my recollections from this remarkable fortnight in Residence 29, during which time I kept a journal of the hauntings that arose from the ouija board sessions. I say “arose from,” because once we had all embarked on our nightly encounters with Tom and his people, collectively we must have opened a trap door in our psyches that ordinarily would have, should have, remained closed.

DCC, Saskatoon
May 1, 2002