When David met Skully.

Can looking for a linen box bring your happiness or forever change your life? Well this was a key that helped for the crystal skull known as "Skully" to resurface. As with all our other crystal skulls, its history and story is no more strange or unusual then the rest.

The route via which the crystal skull arrived in my care can be described by one of two options.
A: A coincidence that any bookmaker would offer odds of millions-to-one against (i.e. 'normality.')
B: The act of an intelligent agency far in advance of that currently understood, or usually encountered.

My own initial thoughts favoured the 'sheer-blind-luck theory'. The odds (including all occurrences from the Big Bang to now) of you reading these words add up to billions-to-one against. The odds of winning the lottery are 14,000,000 / 1 against, but twice a week someone defies those odds and in that freak moment, their lives are changed forever. Besides, at the time, I could not give credence to the possibility that this planet in general, and me in particular, was unknowingly subject to the actions of a 'higher authority.' However, the pendulum of my opinion swung wholly over to the side of the 'higher-authority hypothesis'. On the weight of my personal experiences alone I am willing, without reservation or hesitation to state that ' I do not believe in the existence of 'extraterrestrial intelligence,' I know they exist! Furthermore I am able to offer a means by which any individual, Psychic or otherwise, can discover this for themselves.

Towards the latter part of May, 1997, on a Sunday (I do not remember the specific date) I was moving from one address to another. I had taken it into my head to buy a linen box to go at the foot of my bed and was determined to find one with a domed lid. Despite the seeming simplicity of this task, I was experiencing the utmost difficulty in acquiring such a box, despite visiting all towns and cities within a twenty-mile radius. By now, issue had become personal, I was determined not to give up until the required box was in my possession. I also wanted an antique pillbox to give to a friend as a Birthday present.

Every month or so, Doncaster Racecourse (home of The St. Ledger) holds a gigantic Sunday market. This comprising both indoor and outdoor areas which host a multitude of stalls selling everything from car-boot junk to fine antiques. It was possible that this market may provide both a linen and pillbox. A bonus was the possibility of picking up a few old books (which I have collected for years.) I got up late and almost didn't go: The best buys nearly always being picked over by the early birds. It was however a beautiful morning and I felt my luck -with the linen box- had to change. I arrived at about 11.30A.M.. The long, thin field used as a car park was very full. It took a good five minutes to walk from my car to the market entrance.

I spent about forty-minutes browsing the outdoor stands, buying fruit and vegetables, before entering the enclosed area. The atmosphere inside was very different to the open market (Akin to the difference between a cafe and a restaurant.) People carefully examined Grandfather clocks, brass, pottery, paintings and jewellery with glass lenses, whilst jabbering to each other and the traders. After about twenty minutes my hope of finding either linen box or pillbox was fading fast. At this point I happened upon a corner-stall, selling -amongst other things- old books. I overheard the stall holders (a somewhat distinguished looking lady of about 60 or so and a very 'RAF' looking man in a dark suit, aged about 50) explaining to a potential customer that they were attempting to dispose of some unwanted articles belonging to a recently deceased man called 'Leonard. I have no idea as to the relationship -if any- between the deceased and individuals on the stall.

The stall in question was stocked with a wide assortment of furniture, clothing, paintings, etc..I particularly noted a large globe mounted on an oak tripod and several stuffed animals. My overall impression of the stall was that it displayed the relics of an upper class Victorian gentleman. The books on offer were loosely stacked along the surface of a wooden table. My attention being fixed on these, I rather clumsily stumbled, stubbing my toe on something hard under the table. Instinctively I looked down to see what I had kicked, and how much damage had been done. My 'victim' was a metal trunk, with a domed lid and panels that gave the impression of leather binding straps. It was about seventy or so years old and in need of some attention. But other than that, it was absolutely what I had been looking for. I proceeded to drag it from beneath the table to get a better look. It was much heavier than I expected (I had assumed, for no rational reason, that it was empty.) The trunk was almost full. On top was a pile of about twenty newspapers dating from the 1960s. These I took out and was then confronted by a jumbled heap of books, papers, etc.. The condition of these varied from good to abysmal. I had no intention of unpacking them all but noted that the visible titles related to Biblical, Kaballistic and Masonic subjects.

I approached the lady in charge of the stall and asked the price of the trunk. "As a job lot, £50," she replied. This was about £25 more than I wanted to hear. But, the trunk perfectly fitted my requirements, and was the only one I had been able to locate despite several weeks of searching. It was also possible that a good rummage through the enclosed books would turn up something I could sell to a dealer, enabling me to recoup at least some of the price. We settled on £45 and I then carried what felt like half a ton of damp paper and rusty metal back to my car. The deal became less and less of a good buy with each step. But, eventually, with arms that felt like lead, I drove home with my linen box in the boot of my car.

It was several months later that I was finally able to look again at the chest and consider how best to convert it into a linen box. Removing the contents seemed the obvious way to start. I quickly realised that by selling just some of the books I would be able to recover the entire cost of the chest and perhaps make a small profit. Most had been removed when I came across a cloth pouch containing a vaguely spherical and unusually heavy object (which I guessed to be a cannonball.) Closer observation showed the pouch to be a square of faded white linen. A few small flowers had been embroidered on the linen, which also had a hem. It was probably a section cut from a tablecloth. The corners being drawn together and tied, quite tightly, with a thin strip of the same material: Probably from the same tablecloth. With some difficulty I loosened the ties and carefully -more due to the weight than anything else- eased the object out. It came out backwards and on seeing the curved and highly polished surface I became convinced it was a large crystal ball. Seconds later the pouch fell away I realised that the cannonball was in fact an ornamental skull. As I raised it towards my face to get a clearer look, a beam of sunlight caught the brow of its left eye-socket and flashed back a burst of golden sparks. It was impossible to deny the rather silly notion that it had winked at me.

One Thursday morning, towards the end of February, 1998, I wrapped the artefact in a towel. This I squeezed into a plastic carrier bag, and drove to keep an appointment with the manager of my local bank. Upon arrival, I was ushered into the manager's upstairs office and wasted no time in placing the skull on his desk. Needless to say, he was somewhat taken aback and quite obviously fascinated by the skull. I told the manager how the skull came into my possession and he advised me that before an accurate insurance valuation could be assessed it would first be necessary to discover what the skull was made from, how it had been created and how old it was. The manager would request the assistance of his regional head office in Bradford. I was to write to the British Museum and Christie's. In the meantime, the bank was able to offer me safe storage of the skull in its vault.

It quickly became clear to me that the only means of discovering more about the artefact would be to subject it to a series of laboratory tests. These were very expensive and way out of my reach. I certainly could not afford to spend two or three thousand pounds, only to learn that the skull was mass-produced from glass in the 1970s and sold in Woolworth's for £39.99.

About a week after this meeting I received a letter from a gentleman called Mr Fish. He was quick to point out that although he did work for the Bradford branch of my bank and had been contacted by my bank manager in connection with the skull, he was also a member of a secret society, or rather... a society with secrets. It was on behalf of this organisation, not the bank itself that he was writing to me. Without being too specific, Mr Fish asked if I would meet him in Bradford. I was extremely curious and somewhat intrigued about the strange turn of events. I was, of course, familiar with the organisation. It has for many years been the source of considerable debate and controversy, attracting much media attention in the process. My grandfather had been a member, but I was not and could not imagine what such a grand institute could want with me. He certainly didn't hang around and before the end of the week I met up with Mr Fish at the Bank Spring premises of the Free Society of May Songsters (As I shall call the organisation.) After some initial good humour and general banter, during which Mr Fish established that I knew almost nothing about the skull in my possession, he asked me if I would be interested in learning a little more about the skull's history. I got the idea that his statement was not merely an idle question and shuffled a little closer to the edge of my seat as Mr Fish continued.

In 1814, shortly after the British retained the former Dutch colony at the Cape of Good Hope, a child called Louis Armstrong (1807?-1871) arrived in South Africa with his parents; probably in connection with the tobacco industry. Louis quickly developed quite a reputation for being an explorer and big-game hunter. His favourite obsession was the fabled Aztec gold. Louis sailed the trade and spice ships to many South American and West Indian seaports in search of adventure and fortune. There can be little doubting that he came into possession of the skull at some point during these travels, although the circumstances surrounding such are open to almost infinite speculation. Eventually, Louis settled back in South Africa, He married and produced a son, Peter. Peter Armstrong (1855-1916) lived an undistinguished until 1899, when his wife and two daughters were killed during the British defeat at Stormberg. He joined the Army for the remainder of the Boer War and finally returned to England in 1905. In 1907, Peter remarried and -incredibly- produced another son; he was 71! The son was called Lawrence Earnshaw (1907-1965.) As a consequence of our mutual interests [Free Society of May Songsters] Lawrence and I [Mr Fish] became firm friends. Lawrence was a popular man, his popularity was certainly not hindered by him allowing the skull -now in his possession- to be used at certain rites and meetings; particularly those pertaining to the higher degrees. Upon his death,the skull passed to this eldest son, Leonard Earnshaw (1824-1996.) About this time, there were a lot of unsavoury rumours and gossip circulating. These related to the skull's alleged participation in some very Dark Arts. The basis for this unhealthy speculation hinged on the supposed contents of documents bequeathed to Leonard by his father. I have not read the documents myself, but I am acquainted with gentlemen who have: It is a subject simply not discussed. What is certain, is that Peter Armstrong did leave South Africa in somewhat mysterious and hurried circumstances. He also changed his surname to Earnshaw immediately upon returning to England. Leonard had no taste for the organisation and severed all links. Consequently, the whereabouts of the skull became lost to me.

'Stunned' was not the word! In the space of half-an-hour, my glass paperweight from Woolworth's white elephant bargain-bin, had turned into an -at least- two-hundred year old- sacred artefact: I needed a stiff drink. Over the next hour, Mr Fish was able to produce many letters and assorted documents to back-up his story. Furthermore, he was able to accurately describe several features and properties of the skull, despite him not having seen it. A simple proposition was put to me. This was: 'Allow us access to the skull on certain dates (all reasonable expenses would be paid to me) and in return, we (May Songsters) will make available funding for all analytical tests deemed necessary to facilitate an accurate insurance valuation of the artefact.'

It just got better! I agreed to the proposal and with a level of efficiency that defied belief,the labs were booked. True to their word, I received a list of dates and times at which my presence was required; with the skull, of course. In the meantime, Christie's at Bradford referred me to their London offices and I received a letter from Dr Freestone of the British Museum. Amongst other things, Dr Freestone mentioned that the tests spoken of in Mystery of the Crystal skulls by Chris Morton and Ceri Louise did not, in fact, ever take place! Christie's London offices wrote, referring me to their Tribal Arts Department in Amsterdam. On June 15, 1998, I received a copy of a letter from Dr Bowden [Crown Laboratories] to Mr Fish. This was a basic report of the findings of the first batch of tests and analysis. Accompanying this was a second letter, from Mr Fish, to myself. In this he made a substantial offer to buy the skull. Much as I was tempted to accept the offer, cash the cheque and head for somewhere hot... I declined. Ten days later, I received another letter from MrFish, offering even more money to part with the skull and -oddly enough- all documentation that accompanied it. These was no doubt in my mind that the skull had once belonged to a member of the May Songsters. The testimony of Mr Fish was confirmed by the fact that many of the books and papers in my possession bore the name of Lawrence Earnshaw. Early analysis had confirmed the skull had been carved from a lump of quartz crystal. Christie's Tribal Arts department in Amsterdam suggested a valuation sum not too far removed from what I had been offered by the May Songsters.

The suggestion was that the skull was very old and all of the Psychics and Mediums who Channelled it were getting very hot under the collar. Beautiful tunes and melodies were pouring out of me. I was possessed by the most surreal notion that the skull was trying to open up a line of communication with me. Just when I thought things could not possibly get any more bizarre; they did! On June 21, 1999, Mr Fish informed me that both the family of Leonard Earnshaw AND the Free Society of May Songsters would be issuing ownership claims on the Skull. These quickly disintegrated into a bloody, dirty, extremely underhand and sustained campaign of dirty tricks that effectively prevented me from saying anything about the skull or its history. I will say that it all left a very bitter taste in the back of my mouth and is still not fully resolved.

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