Who Put Bella in the Wych Elm? A Midlands Mystery

In the closing part of my last blog (read it here: Winter Peach Photography: Horticulture, History and a Hint of Intrigue ) you may recall glimpsing an infamous local landmark.

This is the Hagley Obelisk or Hagley Monument on Wychbury Hill (also referred to as the Wychbury Obelisk/Monument).  A needle pointing skywards, the monument is Grade II listed and stands approximately 84 feet (26 metres) high.  There are extensive views from Wychbury Hill and the hill (if not the monument) can be seen from the Malverns.

The monument was commissioned by Sir Richard Lyttelton, son of Sir Thomas Lyttelton (owner of Hagley Hall) in 1758 as a real eye catcher of a family memorial.  At around the same time, Sir Richard was busy landscaping Hagley Park in the new picturesque style and commissioning follies to complement the Hall's surroundings.

Hagley Hall

To me, the monument simultaneously has associations with halcyon days and the kind of darkness to infiltrate dreams.  I have vivid childhood memories of sledging in thick snow from the top of Wychbury Hill.  It's not for the faint hearted and no sledging experience before or since has lived up to the thrill of speeding down this hill.

The darkly fascinating association is best expressed through a question sure to send shivers down the spine of any local resident:  Who Put Bella In the Witch Elm?

Our story starts almost 79 years ago to the day, on 18th April 1943, when four local bird nesting boys, trespassing in Hagley Wood, spotted a huge Wych Elm.  Thinking it a likely good spot for birds' nests, one boy climbed the tree and peered down into the Wych Elm's hollow trunk...not too dissimilar to this one, photographed last week at Harvington Hall.  

Once part of an Elm avenue at Harvington Hall

It was there his eyes settled upon a skull nestled inside.  Initially the boy thought it was an animal skull, but soon spotted tufts of human hair and teeth.  Understandably unsettled and worried that their trespassing would be revealed, the boys vowed to keep quiet.  However, one was so frightened by the discovery, he confided in his parents and a police investigation began.

As the elm was split, inside, the best part of a female human skeleton (approximately 5 ft tall), was recovered, along with a shoe and fragments of clothing (including taffeta stuffed inside the poor woman's mouth).  Close by another discovery; a gold wedding ring on the skeletal remains of her hand.  It was established that the woman had been dead for approximately 18 months, placing the period of death at around October 1941.  Forensics agreed that her body would have been placed inside the tree "still warm" as it would have been impossible to conceal a body in this manner once rigor mortis had set in.

Many people were reported missing during the second world war and even more moved around with some frequency.  This made the Police Force's ability to trace and identify the 35 year old victim near impossible.  Even her distinctive dental records, though widely circulated, failed to bring any answers.

Approximately one year later, graffiti appeared on a wall in Upper Dean Street in Birmingham.  It read: "Who Put Luebella in the Wych Elm - Hagley Wood?"  Similar graffiti appeared subsequently in Hasbury and at other locations scattered across the region, including, since at least the 1970s, on Wychbury Monument. All messages were apparently written in the same hand, seemingly referencing the same individual.  Over time, "Luebella" (a gypsy name derived from Bluebell) became "Belladonna", eventually settling with "Bella".

Hagley Wood trees

There are a number of compelling theories, though almost all have been disproved.   There's the witchcraft theory, largely resulting from the fact that Bella's hand was found outside of the tree as though deliberately severed (animal interference is in fact the most likely explanation here).  Wychbury Hill is also the site of Wychbury Ring, an Iron Age hill fort.  Local folklore hints at an ancient shrine or henge. A ley line runs through Wychbury Hill - purportedly to Stone Henge - and there is anecdotal evidence of pagan and satanic worship in the area stretching to Clent Hills.  

The Four Stones, Clent, commissioned by the Lytteltons at the same time as Wychbury Obelisk.

There are intriguing stories of World War II espionage in the area; of German spies parachuting in, including a female former German cabaret singer whose speciality was a Birmingham accent.  A particularly disturbing story was relayed via a formal statement issued to the police by a local woman, who claimed her husband bore witness to the murder of a Dutch woman after a late night drinking session with the victim and her boyfriend.  He was so haunted by the vision of a woman's face peering out from a tree, that he lost his sanity and was admitted to a mental hospital for this traumatic recurring dream.  He died before Bella was discovered.  However, as compelling as some of these stories are (and much has been written on this case), there is definitive proof or persuasive evidence sufficient to discount them.

Wherever the truth lies, the killer or the killer's accomplice, must have had local knowledge.  It's simply not plausible that the discovery of a tree like the Wych Elm, sufficiently tall and hollow enough to conceal a body not yet cold, was merely chance.

Another theory points to the Gypsy communities that frequented the area in the 1940s.  Curiously, the body was actually found in an area of woodland closer to Clent Hills than to Wychbury Obelisk, off a lane almost opposite a pub now known as The Badgers Set (purportedly haunted by Bella).  Growing up, my Dad always used to refer to this pub by its former name, The Gypsy's Tent.

Perhaps Bella's poor clothing, crooked teeth and the failure of anyone to come forward and report the woman missing, could be attributed to the traveller community, who live outside of society's usual parameters...?

Inexplicably, the historic graffiti adorning the Wychbury Obelisk, was slightly altered in 2020.  It now reads: "Hers put Bella in the Witch Elm."

The mystery has never been solved, although Bella's likeness can now be revealed, courtesy of work undertaken in 2018 by  Dr Caroline Wilkinson, forensic anthropologist and Director of the Faces Lab at Liverpool John Moores University.  Introducing Bella.  Out of shot is her wavy brown hair, but her distinctive crooked teeth are plain to see.  In yet another twist, Caroline worked only from original case photos of the skull because at some point in the intervening years, Bella's skeletal remains mysteriously vanished!

Much of this story has been verbally relayed to me over the years, a chilling tale reserved for late night car rides and and camping trips.  Unsurprisingly, a number of books have been published on the mystery.  For opera lovers, there is a composition by Simon Holt, inspired by paranormal activity attributed to Bella at the aforementioned Gypsy's Tent pub.  I can also thoroughly recommend the documentary "Who Put Bella in the Wych Elm - The Untold Secrets" a riveting 50 minute watch directed by Jayne Harris (99p for Amazon Prime members) with a hint of more to come on this story...

Watch Who put Bella in the Wych-Elm? - The Untold Secrets | Prime Video (amazon.co.uk)

Inspired by our weekend walk through the twisted trees of Hagley Wood, over carpets of Wood Anemones (I squealed like Ann when I saw them) and up to the monument (it had been many many years since my last visit), I'll leave you with these words and photos.

Luebella, your last breath warm,

Sleeping upright in deadly nightshade,

Drifting on Spring's breeze

like the horse that carried you,

A soul ill at ease.

Belladonna, in Wych Elm's embrace,

Wood Anemone stars twinkle for you

Under two April moons;

An inconvenient secret,

Caught, concealed, cocooned.

Bella, What gives? A band of thieves, that band of gold?

What binds your silken tongue...

Permanently tied?

Though still, you've set in motion,

Wheels to recover your pride.

The wood that held you steady, split, your spirit freed. 

Keen eyes, guilty loose lips

Someone will have told,

Restless still, but rest assured

Bluebell's secret will unfold.

Are you sitting comfortably? Top Hat and Tales.

If last week's austere abandoned buildings photography and Black Country poem didn't get you quaking in your boots, I've decided to share with you a family ghost story, which will hopefully set the tone and get you in the right (or should I say "wrong")frame of mind for All Hallows' Eve.  I'll throw in a few spooky creations to aid the process.

Now, should you be a paranormal non-believer, please bear with me.  This story was relayed to me numerous times by my late father over the years and there was none more sceptical than he.  I had my own experience as a pre-pubescent, which I won't go into here, but he attributed many logical explanations to my own very real (and repeated experience during a period of 18 months), until the same experience befell him, shaking him free of his migraine pain.  My point is, that even whilst he was a first hand witness to the events I am about to describe, he maintained to the end, that there must be some more plausible explanation than poltergeists.  Yes, poltergeists...and it all started with a top hat.

Gareth modelling a top hat and allowing me to play around with Rembrandt lighting

My grandfather, Ernest Taylor was his generation's answer to today's charity shop aficionado, only in the middle part of the 20th century, he bagged his bargains from house sales and auction houses.  With six children (five boys, one girl) to keep occupied, much entertainment could be had from unwanted ornaments, paintings and for the younger members of the family, an old sword or an inoffensive, if slightly battered, top hat.  

When the top hat arrived, my parents' romance was in full swing.  They were "courting" and my Mom has clear memories of Ernie arriving home with an old top hat and a bible, purportedly discovered in the back of an old hearse.  

On that particular evening, my mother was visiting the house in New Street, Wordsley (then a thriving semi rural village) and recalls the top hat being passed around the fireside from head to head; each wearer acting the fool or striking a pose in a loud, exuberant atmosphere.

Typically however, any attachment to the top hat was short lived and it was soon relegated to the back of a cupboard, taking up occupation next to the brooms and feather dusters.  But soon, there would be more than enough to pique the family's interest.

One evening, my father awoke to the sound of footsteps in the alleyway between their terraced house and the neighbouring property.  The footsteps were approaching the back yard to the property and as my Dad attuned to the sound, sure enough, the footsteps soon made their way into the yard.  Dad was immediately on his feet and peered through the window.  There was no one to be seen.

Not the kind of the foot in the door you want

Days or weeks later (the chronological details are somewhat hazy numerous decades later), my grandmother was at home with her daughter, my Aunt Valerie.  They were alone at the property and were outside in the garden when they happened to see a bottle of perfume belonging to my Aunt, seemingly rise up above the bedroom window ledge, before falling out of the open window and shattering into a million pieces on the stone floor outside.  To all intents and purposes it was as though the bottle had been propelled through the open window by an unseen hand.  Naturally they were both quite unsettled by this event.  The window ledge was some distance above the chest of drawers housing my Aunt's cosmetics and perfume bottle collection.  Explanations were thin on the ground.

A few nights later, in the early hours of the morning, the dense silence of the dead of night was, without warning, violently disturbed by the sound of smashing crockery.  The source of the noise was quickly identified as the living room downstairs and Mitzi, the keen eyed, intelligent family poodle was whining her troubled alert.

My grandmother was no minimalist and the mantelpiece was awash with ornaments.  The picture hanging on the wall above the mantelpiece was on the floor in the corner of the room and the ornaments, en masse, had been swept to one side by someone or something.  Most were damaged beyond repair.  My mother recalls visiting the next morning during an extensive clean up operation and the family could talk of little else than the recent unexplained activity.

An exorcism of sorts

It may have been during that clean up operation that the top hat was discovered lurking in the back of the cupboard.  No longer of use, it was disposed of somehow and family life continued at pace but without any further drama of this nature.  Coincidence?

As with all children, I loved to be scared by ghost stories, but would grow frustrated when my Dad maintained that he didn't believe in ghosts.  He also never wavered from this version of events or embellished the story in any way.  The facts as I have outlined them were irrefutable.  My Dad had a number of ghostly encounters in his lifetime but still refused to entertain the possibility of their existence.  He was a mass of contradictions (like father like daughter).  Still, too many other witnesses bear out this story and to this day, those remaining cannot explain the supremely strange events of the New Street property.

So, what else have I been doing?  Well, I've fully indulged my dark side and created yet more visual creepiness to tingle the spine and accompany you into dreamland.

Here's a Dial M for Murder inspired photo.  We've recently opted to replace our ailing landline cordless telephones with an old vintage style telephone and with the the timely discovery of a tube of ghoulish fake blood in a drawer, what else was I going to do?

I also have a vivid memory of staying up late and watching the 1946 horror film "The Beast with Five Fingers."  Well, Gareth can be a bit of a beast at times and he's got five fingers, so here's my homage to that piece of cinematic history.  

Honestly, can you imagine today's generation being menaced by a disembodied hand and using a hammer and nails to dispense with it?

I've also been buying miniature pumpkins to dry out and roll out every October from this day forth.  Much better than buying plastic tat and adding to the planet's problems.

I also took a walk along the canal, past more relics of our region's industrial heritage...

...sinister spaces (a new title for George Clark?)

and met a wood fairy (aka artist Jan, the Wood Fairy to be precise). She sells her wares at festivals.  Vix you might know her?

We've planted the woodland bulbs and tulip bulbs around the garden - just in the nick of time.  They have to be in the ground by 31st October according to the experts.  Best get them in before the dead rise I suppose.

So, the scene is set.  We're ready for the rain.  This is Gareth's submariner's helmet, on which he is testing out some verdigris paint. 

 I have candles, reading material, red wine and some TV viewing scheduled (Paris Police and a suitably scary film for Halloween (to be decided)).  

Other than that, this weekend, I will mostly be levitating.

A little levitation and little more action, please.

Sweet dreams!