Elżbieta

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"On Wednesday evening I tried, as gently as possible, to confront Elizabeth with the notion that some force, of which her conscious mind is not aware or refuses to be aware, is controlling her actions for part of the time; in fact, the fight between the two forces is visible in her gestures and actions. Somewhere, very close to her conscious mind, she knows that something of this is true, but the full horror of the situation is too much for her to accept at the moment. The result is that she runs when anything nasty presents itself ― this gives the dark side its chance to take over. On Wednesday, after this confrontation, she ran out into the night. I followed and eventually found her outside the gate of the cemetery at the top of Swains Lane. She was staring through the iron rails as if in a trance ..." ― Keith (quoted from The Highgate Vampire, p. 57).

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Keith

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This portrait of Keith indicates the trauma of the aftershock from experiences relating to Elizabeth (and, of course, Highgate Cemetery) decades earlier. It is the first oil painting of a series, culminating with the picture immediately below which shows Keith, as he looks today, standing alongside the final canvas.

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“In 1968, I heard first-hand of such a sighting and my informant maintained that he and his companions had secreted themselves in one of the vaults and watched a dark figure flit among the catacombs and disappear into a huge vault from which the vampire, ghost or whatever it may have been, did not reappear. Subsequent search revealed no trace inside the vault but I was told that a trail of drops of blood stopped at an area of massive coffins which could have hidden a dozen vampires. Other reports in 1968 and 1969 told of a similar figure visiting graves and appearing and disappearing in circumstances that ruled out the possibility of the figure being human. A motorist whose car broke down near one of the cemetery gates reported seeing ‘something’ peer at him through the iron gates. He could not believe that it had been anything human. His recollection of the ‘thing’ that looked at him was of staring eyes and white teeth disclosed by what he described as a snarl.” ― Peter Underwood, The Vampire’s Bedside Companion (1975), p. 76.

Keith at London's Highgate Cemetery during the time of Elizabeth's nightly visitations toward the end of the 1960s.

Katrina

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My portrait of Katrina seeks to capture her social standing (the daughter of landed gentry), intelligence and wit. Humour is an important component for anyone. Where an abudance of time is spent in that person's company it is absolutely essential. Katrina's wit is innate, spontaneous and intellectually sharp. She speaks openly and honestly; a quality I greatly appreciate.

The other quality I appreciate, above all else, is loyalty. Katrina, since our becoming acquainted many years ago, has exhibited an abundance of faithfulness as a trusted friend and colleague. She was a teenager and about to sign up with a major model agency when we first met. Later she became my personal assistant. I greatly value her support and genuine comradeship. Below is a picture of our arrival at a venue where the dress code, as happened more frequently in those days, was formal.

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Anthony

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Anthony, the subject in the above portrait, was employed in my darkroom at the time I had a photographic studio. He revealed to me soon after we had met that he believed in the Devil because he had seen the Evil One’s form manifest in cigarette smoke inside the darkroom of another establishment where he had previously worked. This was before I became acquainted with him. His peripheral immersion in the bizarre later brought him into proximity of certain events at Highgate, and he was to become socially acquainted with a man who tried to insinuate himself into the cemetery goings-on with disastrous consequences. By which time, having left my employ in 1968 to elope with a barmaid, I saw next to nothing of Anthony.

Anthony's interest in the weird waned and dissolved over following decades. He also became seemingly sceptical in retrospect about his past experiences with séances and the like. He explained away his vision of the Devil as being nothing more than a face he saw in cigarette smoke while smoking cannabis, a practice he later abandoned. His first marriage ended in divorce and, together with his next wife, he eventually went to live abroad. In the new century, however, he has been invited to reunions with other distant and old acquaintances. The photograph was taken at one such occasion. He can be seen standing next to his portrait which I (out of shot) am holding.

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Demoniac

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Demoniac: possessed, produced, or influenced by a demon: demoniac creatures; resembling, or suggestive of a devil; fiendish: demoniac energy; a demoniacal fit. One who is or seems to be possessed by a demon. Middle English demoniak, from Late Latin daemoniacus, from Greek daimoniakos, from daimonios, of a spirit, from daimon. The "before" and "after" descriptions of the demoniac reveal that he is a totally different person under demonic influence. It is rather like the behaviour and personality change in a man who is totally intoxicated. More than this, however, is the fact that the demoniac's own identity and individuality are swallowed up by the demons oppressing him. When Jesus asked the demoniac's name the man replied: “Legion, for we are many.” (Mark 5: 9).

Calantha

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"Her eyes large emerald pools, yet with a puzzled expression ― so beautiful! Her flaxen tresses framing perfect features. She reminds me of her mother. I see so much of Carmel in her each day she grows. ... Her young face looked up at me. It seemed in that moment to contain the expression of my beloved Carmel when we first met more than thirty years ago. How strange life is. In our hot youth we cannot imagine the outcome of a chance meeting in the spring of our existence. Now my life feels as though it is in its yellow leaf and still I cannot anticipate from day to day what might happen. ... She must ge guarded with our lives. ... Calantha's flowers had already completely withered in just a small space of time, adding to the perfumed smell of death which seemed to linger everywhere. Scraping the coffin lid's opaque glass clear of debris, I lifted the candelabrum and peered through. ... A shudder of horror went through me. Then I lurched backwards; momentarily freezing to the spot as my heartbeat raced. A strange stillness hung oppressively in the air. Extinguishing the candelabrum and leaving it nearby, I made my way through rows of moonlit gravestones to the lane outside ..." ― Carmel: A Vampire Tale (2000), pp. 55 & 84.

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Carmel

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In a novel (published in 2000) I recall this portrait's influence: “What I first noticed were here incredibly green eyes. Next her smile. Then came the golden glow of her hair, and the way the sun danced on those dark blonde tresses as they lifted and fell with each step. She walked with a bounce. Then those amazing eyes again ― eyes that would haunt anyone who saw them.” Carmel is based on someone I first met over four decades ago; someone who was lost and then found again; but finally lost owing to a set of unavoidable circumstances. Our penultimate meeting found me making the suggestion to write a book that would include her name and a little of our story mingled with the novel's plot. She was elated at the prospect. Yet neither of us could have known in that moment we would only meet one more time. Carmel is the result of that suggestion made long ago. Much of what is told in terms of the central relationship is accurate. It nevertheless remains a novel.

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An extract on which emotion pivots the moment of inspiration:

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“Something pulled me inside this room. It felt strangely comfortable. I touched the ivory keys. Drawn to softly caressing the piano keys, my eyes caught the reflection of the deepening sunset in the glass of a gilt picture on the mantlepiece. Still I played excerpts of a nocturne, then a sonata, then the haunting Shostakovich. Unreal light cast by the dying glow of the sun became subdued. I perceived a transfiguration. The previous glare gave way to the features of a face behind the glass in the frame which held my gaze. Was my imagination playing tricks on me? I stopped playing as I momentarily froze. The music continued in an unaccountable and almost discarnate manner. The melody must have been in my head for at that moment my heart was again captured by the image of a photographic portrait. I stood and slowly walked towards the mantlepiece ...”
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My novel is indebted partly to this photographic portrait (which I took at my studio many years ago) and, of course, the portrait's subject. There is also a CD of music referred to in the novel, plus a newly composed piece, where resonates the soft voice of the book's namesake. The CD's title is The Carmel Suite.

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