In my third year at Newnham I spent four hours of every day at
Professor Blair’s house. All other work was neglected, gone through
mechanically, if at all. This came about gradually, as the result of an
accident.
The chemical laboratory has two rooms, one small and capable of being
darkened. On this occasion (the May term of my second year) this
room was in use. It was the first week of June, and extremely fine.
The door was shut. Within was a girl, alone, experimenting with the
galvanometer.
I was absorbed in my own work. Quite without warning I looked up.
“Quick,” said I, “Gladys is going to faint.” Every one in the room
stared at me. I took a dozen steps towards the door, when the fall of a
heavy body sent the laboratory into hysterics.
It was only the heat and confined atmosphere, and Gladys should not
have come to work that day at all, but she was easily revived, and then
the demonstrator acquiesced in the anarchy that followed. “How did
she know?” was the universal query; for that I knew was evident. Ada
Brown (Athanasia contra mundum) pooh-poohed the whole affair; Margaret
Letchmere thought I must have heard something; perhaps a cry inaudible
to the others, owing to their occupied attention; Doris Leslie spoke
of second sight, and Amy Gore of “sympathy.” All the theories, taken
together, went round the clock of conjecture. Professor Blair came in
at the most excited part of the discussion, calmed the room in two
minutes, elicited the facts in five, and took me off to dine with
him. “I believe it’s this human thermopile affair of yours,” he said.
“Do you mind if we try a few parlour tricks after dinner?” His aunt,
who kept house for him, protested in vain, and was appointed Grand
Superintendent in Ordinary of my five senses.
My hearing was first tested, and found normal, or thereabouts. I was
then blindfolded, and the aunt (by excess of precaution) stationed
between me and the Professor. I found that I could describe even small
movements that he made, so long as he was between me and the western
window, not at all when he moved round to other quarters. This is in
conformity with the “Thermopile” theory; it was contradicted completely
on other occasions. The results (in short) were very remarkable and
very puzzling; we wasted two precious hours in futile theorizing. In
the event, the aunt (cowed by a formidable frown) invited me to spend
the Long Vacation in Cornwall.
During these months the Professor and I assiduously worked to discover
exactly the nature and limit of my powers. The result, in a sense, was
nil.
For one thing, these powers kept on “breaking out in a new place.” I
seemed to do all I did by perception of minute differences; but then
it seemed as if I had all sorts of different apparatus. “One down,
t’other come on,” said Professor Blair.
Those who have never made scientific experiments cannot conceive how
numerous and subtle are the sources of error, even in the simplest
matters. In so obscure and novel a field of research no result is
trustworthy until it has been verified a thousand times. In our field
we discovered no constants, all variables.
Although we had hundreds of facts any one of which seemed capable
of overthrowing all accepted theories of the means of communication
between mind and mind, we had nothing, absolutely nothing, which we
could use as the basis of a new theory.
It is naturally impossible to give even an outline of the course of
our research. Twenty-eight closely written note books referring to this
first period are at the disposal of my executors.