The Panacea Museum - Bedford's Eden

In June this year, as Covid restrictions began to ease, Chris and I took a trip to the Panacea Museum in Bedford. After a challenging ordeal in which we became trapped in a baffling mire of roadworks and one-way traffic systems, we eventually found ourselves outside Castleside, the fine old Victorian house which was once home to the core community of the Panacea Society. Today, the building houses the Panacea Museum, dedicated to telling the story of the Society and the historical genesis of the complex Millenarian beliefs of its members. On display are copious documents, photographs, and artefacts detailing the lives of Mabel Barltrop, Joanna Southcott, and other key figures in the history of the Visitation: a religious lineage telling of the forthcoming end of days and thereafter the peace and happiness of the new Millenium. But the house and grounds themselves also tell a story: the rooms prepared meticulously for the arrival of the Bishops who would oversee the opening of Joanna’s box of prophecies; the equally carefully kept living quarters of Mabel/Octavia and her family; the small chapel where the Panaceans met daily; and perhaps most extraordinarily, the lush gardens of Castleside and the adjoining properties, believed by the Society to be the location of the original Garden of Eden.

 

Have you listened to our two part podcast series on the Panaceans yet? If not, do so now to hear more about the Joanna Southcott, Mabel Barltrop, and the Society. This small blog piece is intended as an accompaniment to our discussions in the podcast. A visit to the Panacea Museum is also highly recommended. Their excellent website also contains a feast of fascinating information from scholars much more knowledgable than I (and superior photography).

During the 1920s and 1930s, membership of the Panacea Society grew after Mabel was declared to be Octavia in 1919. Octavia was not only believed to be the eighth prophet in the sequence of the Visitation, but more impressively still, to be the Divine Daughter of God. Her followers, many of them rather wealthy middle class women, were able to acquire several properties in the Albany Road area of Bedford. Here they established their community, centred around the gardens and chapel. At its peak, around 70 members were living in the community; this dropped to around 30 by the late 1960s, and the last surviving Panacean, Ruth Klein, died in 2012.

 

Stained glass window in the community chapel

 

A view of Castleside, looking back at the house from the garden (of Eden). You can see it’s quite grand.

 
 

Until her death in 1934, Octavia lived with family members in the Founder’s House, which is open to visit as part of the museum. The loft space of the Founder’s House was occupied for some years by Peter Rasmussen, who was one of Octavia’s most trusted friends and confidantes, and who acted as a trustee for the Society after her death. Other members lived in the various rooms of the properties. At first I felt rather sorry for Peter, up in the loft, but it seems he was happy and pleased to be in a privileged position so close to his beloved leader Octavia. There were also rooms set aside and prepared for the 24 Bishops of the Anglican church who, it was believed, would come to the community when the box of prophecies was finally opened. The Bishops never came, but the museum preseves the luxurious furniture and decor with which these rooms were equipped. These chambers now stand rather sadly, I thought, as a memoriam to the failed endeavours of the Panaceans to open Joanna’s box at last.

The house on the end of the terrace was named The Ark, and this was reserved as a dwelling for the Messiah after the second coming. For although Octavia was the daughter of God, they still awaited the arrival of the Messiah to herald the beginning of the new Millenium (at least, I think that’s right. There are many points of religious detail which I’m still a little hazy on. I expect it might be an ecumenical matter). I suppose he has to live somewhere, so why not on in a nice terraced house with bay windows on the end of Albany Road in Bedford?

The Ark - a house for the Messiah in Bedford, England

The linen squares imbued with Octavia’s healing breath - the panacea itself

One of the strangest stories told in the Panacea Museum is that of Joanna Southcott, born into a farming family in Devon in 1750. By the time Joanna died 64 years later, she had thousands of followers and would later be designated as the second prophet of the Visitation. Joanna had her first visitation at the age of 21, while working as a domestic servant for a family called the Taylors, who ran an upholstery company in Exeter. This Voice convinced Joanna that she was being guided by God to spread the word about the forthcoming Millenium and help all those she could to prepare for this momentous event. Joanna saw evidence of this everywhere - in increasingly frequent visits from the Voice, in dreams, premonitions and portents. When war broke out between England and France in 1793, she regarded this as proof that society was beginning to crumble and the end of days was nigh. Other ‘signs and wonders’ only served to convince her and her growing army of followers further: balls of fire were seen falling from the skies to earth, two of them plummeting down onto the ship Britannia (or so newspapers reported in 1794). Europe faced political and social turmoil, and the world seemed a scary place.

Perhaps the oddest part of Joanna’s tale came when the Voice informed her, at the age of 63, that she was pregnant with the latent Messiah - a baby who was to be named Shiloh. Although I came to the Museum with a little prior knowledge of Joanna, this principally concerned her mysterious box. The news of her supposed pregnancy came as something of a surprise to me. as indeed it had to the polite society of Georgian England! Joanna was heartily lampooned in the press of the time, but her followers were raputuous and began to make preparations for the emergence of Shiloh. The crib that was made for him is on display at the Panacea Museum, as are several lacy garments and booties.

The tale of Joanna’s pregnancy (or shall we say, ‘pregnancy’) has a sad end, which we discuss further in Part 1 of our podcast episodes. Her most influential legacy was not giving birth to Shiloh, but instead her box of prophecies, which some hundred years later would inspire Octavia and her followers to a decades long campaign to ‘Open the Box!’

In 1925, Octavia prepared her own list of the conditions under which the box was to be opened. Typically for Octavia and her love of rules, this list was extensive and covered several clauses, some more apparently logical than others. Her conditions included (but were not limited to):

  • When the Bishops agree to send for the box, 24 believers will form a jury to meet the 24 Bishops or their representatives.

  • The judges and the jury will assemble for three days.

  • The box must be placed for three days in the cellar of the house where the opening will take place.

  • The house must be close to a field or a railed-in space. [I’m not clear on the significance of this]

  • Throughout these three days, Joanna’s Southcott’s 65 books of prophecies, and other manuscripts, will be open for investigation. [Quite an undertaking for the Bishops here]

  • On the third day, the sealed writings are to be cut open and examined.

Joanna Southcott’s box of prophecies - or is it?

 

The original name of the group was The Community of the Holy Ghost; it was renamed the Panacea Society in the early 1920s after the discovery of Octavia’s healing powers. Special ceremonies were held in which Octavia prayed and then breathed over long rolls of linen, which were subsequently cut into inch long squares. These squares could be distributed to those suffering from a variety of ailments. Each square was sent with strict instructions for the use of the panacea: the square should be kept in a jug of water, and prayed over before each use. The healing powers of Octavia’s breath would imbue the water and when drunk, it would gradually penetrate into the body and bring any disease to the surface and away. People wrote in their thousands and from all across the globe to request the special squares.

As beliefs go, breathing on fabric squares to fill them with healing magic which can then be dissolved in water is rather odd - but perhaps no odder than many of the beliefs inherent in more mainstream religions.

As podcast drinks go, we missed a trick with this one. My aim one day soon is to create a cocktail based upon the notion of a powerful square submerged in a tasty liquid. Whether or not it will cure all ills is another matter.

 
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Shiloh’s fancy crib, unused, on display in the Panacea Museum

 

A replica of the box is on display in one of the ground floor rooms of the museum. According to the Panacea Charitable Trust, the real box is under their care and kept in a secret location, still awaiting the day that the Bishops may finally agree to the opening. But the history of the box is disputed. Some reports claim that the box was sent to the National Laboratory of Psychical Research in 1927, where it was opened by serial debunker and fun-spoiler Harry Price. It was found to contain such random items as a horse pistol, a night cap, several books, and a lottery ticket. This version of events was clearly anathema to the Panaceans, who were still campaigning for the opening of the box some decades later. Other reports claim that the box was given to the British Museum for safe keeping. They opened it and removed any papers of historical value, which are now held within their archives. Doubt hangs over this version of events however, and I can find no evidence of this via the British Museum themselves.

Whatever the truth of the matter (and I like to belive the box is still unopened somewhere safe, hiding its secrets), the convoluted and disputed history of the box only adds to the legend of Joanna Southcott and the Panacea Society.

 

Sources for the blog and podcast:

Ruth McPhee