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My goddaughter Jill was born on October 5th 1979 and passed away on May 9th 2004. She was only 24 when she died after a long battle with cystic fibrosis. A brave, beautiful inspiration to us all. Cystic Fibrosis is the UK's most common life-threatening, inherited disease. It is a genetic disease that affects a number of organs in the body especially the lungs and pancreas by clogging them with thick, sticky mucus. At present there is no cure for c f, but the faulty gene has been identified and doctors and scientists are working to find ways of repairing or replacing it. One of the main objectives of the Cystic Fibrosis Trust is to fund this work. Jill achieved so much during her short life; she was an amazing artist; obtained a degree, an award from the C F Trust and brought so much fun and laughter into the lives of everyone who knew her. We still miss her terribly.

Jill lived most of her life in Marlow, Buckinghamshire; she did well at school and was a popular pupil. She loved gymnastics and art. After leaving school she moved to Nottingham to enrol at Nottingham University to study art. She moved back down to Staines two years ago to be nearer to the Brompton Hospital in Kensington where she spent much of her later life. Despite her illness she never complained and was loved by all the hospital staff. She decorated her hospital room with fairy lights and anything pink and fluffy. Pink and fluffy summed Jill up, it was a colour she wore often and at times even her hair was pink! She had a great sense of decoration and style and would come up with amazing ideas for her artwork. One of her projects involved making a quilt out of cabbage leaves and it was displayed on a bed complete with Jill sleeping in it! She was ill for months afterwards because the decaying leaves affected her lungs but she didn't mind suffering for her art one bit. To her the rotting leaves represented her lungs.

In February 2004 Jill underwent a double lung transplant. We hoped it would lead to a better quality of life for her and our thoughts and prayers were with the family who lost a child in order to give Jill the gift of life. Sadly it wasn't meant to be, initially Jill appeared to be doing well but after 3 months developed an infection in her heart, lungs and brain. She underwent heart surgery and basically never fully regained consciousness. It was discovered that her vital organs were shutting down; there was nothing more the doctors could do. Only the life support machine was keeping her alive. Her family and I were with her at the end holding her hands and telling her how much we loved her. I said it was all right for her to leave us and go to her Grandmother, Auntie Mary and Uncle Joe who would look after her and show her what to do. Her life support machine was switched off and she slipped away peacefully, free of pain and suffering.

I set up a memorial website in her name and raise money for the C F Trust and awareness about this life threatening disease. We try to remember the good times, like the day I was pushing her over the bridge in Staines when she had to use a wheel chair. Gathering speed I asked her where the brake was? She replied there wasn't one! Picture if you will Jill gripping the arms and me hanging on to the handles for dear life at 60mph whilst approaching a dual carriageway! Then there was the time in hospital where we swapped places and I nearly got wheeled off to x-ray - we were terrible! There was also the small incident of my American crocodile shoes being used to grow bulbs in. I didn't know about it until I saw her photographs from the exhibition!

I saved two of her last text messages and one day shortly after she died in desperation I asked for a sign she was OK. Both messages mysteriously re-sent themselves to me a matter of hours later coming up as "sender unknown" for the number. One in particular was about Concorde, Jill loved Concorde and would go and watch it take off or land at Heathrow airport whenever she was well enough. It was her way of telling me she was up there with Concorde and was doing fine! A few months ago I sat in her bedroom holding the container of her ashes and talking to her as I would have done normally. I laughed as I was relaying something and a flower decoration fell off her bedroom wall. That was when I knew she could still hear me!

I was Jill's godmother; she always called me her "fairy godmother". It was extremely hard to carry on without her; the grief was unbearable at times particularly Christmas and her birthday. Even now I still pick up anything pink and fluffy when I'm shopping thinking Jill would love this and then turning towards the cash desk I remember. I would always consult her about what I should wear if I was going somewhere special and ask her advice about things in general. She used to joke about the way I seemed to lurch from one disaster to the next and said I needed "someone to look after me". Six months after she died I met up with an old friend whom I hadn't seen for years and we started seeing each other. He understands my need to talk about Jill and have what he refers to as my "Jill moments" where I recall something amusing or I'm just thinking about her a lot. We are now married, he's the love of my life and takes care of me. I know it's all down to Jill making sure someone is looking after me!

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I kept having a recurring dream about a large white mausoleum which stood alone; I had no idea what it meant. Night after night I'd find myself standing on the top step of this large white monument in front of the locked doors asking "Who are you?" and "Why am I here?" A few months later my cousin Joan died, her funeral was arranged and she was to be buried at St Pancras and Islington cemetery in North London. It was a freezing cold and wet January day and we were in the cars leaving the cemetery when we passed a mausoleum exactly the same as the one I dreamt about. It was THE mausoleum. I shuddered.

I hadn't noticed it before as it was in a part of the cemetery I had never been to. I got the car to drop me off at the gate and sneaked back for a better look. The name on it was "Mond" but I didn't know anything about whom it belonged to. I had a look around and secured the lock on the door, which had been tampered with. I cleaned up some broken glass and rubbish. There had been a recent fire at the rear of the mausoleum and I got goose bumps when I had the distinct feeling that it could have been a black magic ritual. I then tried to figure out how I could run some power cables in the following weekend to start jet washing the stone, as it badly needed cleaning. I figured that there were no relatives left alive to take care of it so if they couldn't, I would. That night I had the same dream again and was again asking, "Who are you?" "Please tell me who you are?"

A week later I picked up the evening newspaper to find an article on Ludwig Mond detailing how someone had died whilst trying to arrange cleaning of the stonework etc, it was a relative of Lord Melcher. Mond was a Chemist and industrialist who had invented a process for recovering sulphur during the manufacture of alkali and also developed a producer gas known by his name. He was cofounder and director of Brunner-Mond in 1872, which became the world's largest producer of alkalis. Another outstanding discovery of his was nickel carbonyl, a gas formed from carbon monoxide and metallic nickel. He developed one of the first hydrogen-oxygen fuel cells. He had links to Rentokil whom I worked for at the time. That night I dreamt about, yes, you've guessed, the mausoleum again. This time an elderly well dressed man approached me and thanked me for fixing the lock. I've never dreamt about it again. I can only assume that Mond needed to contact someone to fix the door to prevent vandalism and knew that the relative was going to die before he got the chance so he picked me! Arriving back at the cemetery a few days later I discovered someone had already beaten me to the cleaning obviously I was just the locksmith! Now when I visit the cemetery I usually make a point of stopping off and leaving him a single flower. I also make sure the door is still secure. If it wasn't I'm sure he'd let me know!

I'd often wondered why my name Jeane was spelt with the extra "e" on the end? I'd seen it spelt "Jean" or "Jeanne" but rarely Jeane. In fact the only other person I could think of who had it that way was Norma Jeane aka Marilyn Monroe. The reason for my extra e was told to me around my 10th birthday. My Uncle's Uncle was one Tilford Hogan who committed suicide in 1934; Tilford was Marilyn's Great Grandfather. Marilyn and I shared the same birthday, 1st June hence my name. I'd always idolised her, I have her films and many books about her life and I'm always looking to read something new or get a different angle on her personality.

Norma Jeane was born in Los Angeles General Hospital California in 1926. Her parents were Gladys Pearl Monroe, already a mother of two (son Robert, and daughter Bernice), and her ex-boyfriend Charles Stanley Gifford. Gladys was married to Martin Edward Mortensen, and therefore named her daughter Norma Jeane Mortensen, even though she had left her husband for Gifford. Norma Jeane was named after a friend of Gladys' from Kentucky. When Norma was baptised her mother had changed her last name to Baker, the name of her first husband, Jasper Baker.

We all know the story of Marilyn's life and her untimely death. She was found dead on 5th August 1962 at her Brentwood home. The mystery surrounding this still continues today with various conspiracy theories. She was laid to rest in an $800 coffin, wearing a simple green dress, and in her hands ex husband Joe Di Maggio placed a tiny bouquet of pink baby roses. As he had promised Marilyn years before, Joe would send a bouquet of red roses to her crypt every week for 21 years.

Being somewhat obsessed with cemeteries there was only one logical thing left for me to do find where she was buried and pay her a visit! It wasn't hard to locate her resting place via a web search, Westwood Memorial Cemetery, Los Angeles. In 1995 I was lucky enough to take a trip around the world and made a point of stopping off in LA. It was a fantastic sprawling city with it's flashy Rodeo Drive shopping area, Chateau Marmont (where two drinks cost me £35 - ouch!), Sunset Boulevard and the huge Hollywood sign. I even bumped into Charles Bronson and Jim Carey but there was only one person I wanted to visit, so on a bright sunny April morning that's exactly what I did.

There's no easy way to find the cemetery as it's now hidden behind a towering office block and you have to enter via a narrow walk way and a small car park. It looked nothing like the conventional English cemeteries we have, this was small with manicured laws and an oddly designed 50s chapel. The crypt itself was easy to locate following the well worn path and spotting the multitude of flowers from some distance away. It was extremely moving finally being there, I put my hands against the marble and felt very tearful. I didn't feel she was there any more but got a sense of her having moved on as she didn't like to be surrounded by death and decay. I spent some time just sitting quietly and felt very peaceful, I had to drag myself away as I could have stayed there for hours. Eventually I unwrapped the flowers I had brought and made my way back to my hotel.

In the following years I returned twice more and always got the same sense of peace. I'd like to think she watches over me though I've never quite worked out exactly what way we were related (I got lost after second or third cousins!) I'm proud to be a distant relative and share the same birthday as a great movie legend and be Jeane with an extra e!

Filming my documentary

The filming began with an investigation of a Priory chapel in Kings Langley, I had no knowledge of it beforehand so I wouldn't be influenced in any way. There was lots of hanging about and repetition but that's to be expected. The director, producer and camera operators were lovely and we chatted and joked whilst they were setting up. Surprisingly I didn't feel nervous although it is a little disconcerting when you have 3 cameras and a fluffy microphone pointed at you! To begin with I walked around a ground floor room and sensed a male energy in one corner, he was very frightened and I turned off my EMF meter and all unnecessary equipment and tried to talk to him. I felt very sad as he was only around 16 when he passed. I sensed there was an orb behind me so asked everyone to take photos and three of us managed to capture a beautiful white orb. This was a room of much bad news, those who frequented it felt cold and frightened and at one time I felt like I was trying to walk through jelly, the atmosphere was so thick and oppressive.

Moving to the first floor I found the energy of two monks who had a fight which resulted in one of them sustaining a chest injury (I felt it!) He was dragged outside where the fight continued with one of them begging forgiveness and repeating " I shouldn't have done it" over and over again. The names I got were Thomas and Francis. Thomas was later verified. Outside I picked up on Edmond and a connection with a Prince (again this was verified) and found that there had been some sort of illegal distillery operation going on with apples from an orchard nearby (we located the orchard afterwards.) Next it was on to a questions and answers session, basically I talked about discovering that I had psychic abilities, ghost busting and paranormal investigations, cemetery photography, my funery museum and Arthur Beresford Pite. It was a long day, around 10 hours including traveling and I fell into bed at some ungodly hour completely exhausted and dreamt about monks!

I joked following a ghost busting event I hosted in Cowgate Cemetery, Dover Kent that I didn't want to leave with any 'extras', well I did! The weird thing is, yeah you knew there would be something weird, we were looking for the church which Arthur Beresford Pite (1861 – 1934, Victorian architect I have carried out much research on) was married in. I've been there once before but couldn't recall the exact place. I always say Arthur moves in mysterious ways. He directs operations and I just go along for the ride! We were driving round and round and passed a blackbird 3 times so I said to my husband, he's not moving; he'll get run over so I'll put him in a safe place. When I picked him up I saw he was passing blood and had an injured foot so I decided to take him with us. I figured he wouldn't last the 80 mile journey but would at least die in comfort. Odd coincidence number two - after my Dad died I used to have a blackbird appear at my window on an almost daily basis, it would just look in the window at me, I always associate them with him to this day - hmmm..... The third thing was when I got in the car and noticed a Ladybird was on the floor which is the sign my Mum always gives me to let me know she is around. After she died they literally used to fly on me and as much as I tried to put them outside, back they cameI tried to put them outside, back they came. We drove home with the bird sitting on my lap occasionally climbing on to my finger. We called him (black) Magic. He grew better by the day and was ready to be released a week later. He could hear other blackbirds outside most mornings and was chirping back at them. It would have been cruel to keep him any longer than necessary. He was able to fly so I released him early one morning strangely I didn't see him soar into the sky, he just sort of vanished. Whenever I hear blackbirds now I think of him. I'm currently writing a children's book about Magic loosely based on this story. I believe that this bird was sent to me for a reason, he was not of this world! Whenever I hear blackbirds now I think of him. I've just written a children's book about Magic loosely based on the story of finding him. It's the first children's book I've written and it's available from: http://stores.lulu.com/store.php?fAcctID=740781

I was only thinking recently that it was coming up to my office buildings 100th anniversary, 22nd January 2008, and I wouldn’t be there for it. I had worked in the building for over 26 years as a Facilities Manager but in 2006 I got married, moved house and left work. Shortly afterwards the building closed. I always imagined I would throw a party to mark the occasion. I did an online search on Arthur Beresford Pite (1861 – 1934) the building’s architect to see if anything new had been added about him. Most of the entries are about my website on him but every once in a while there was something new.

My story began in December 1978 when I started work for the Civil Service at an office in Euston Square, North London that was supposedly haunted by Arthur. Inexplicably I felt right at home but I encountered many strange things over the years particularly after I carried out extensive research into his life and work. I became totally fascinated with Arthur; I visited and photographed the other buildings he designed, obtained copies of his birth, marriage and death certificates along with his will and family tree. My most prized possession is a hand written letter he sent in 1917 whilst teaching at the Royal College of Art in South Kensington. Arthur Beresford Pite was born on 2nd September 1861 in Newington London. The Pite lineage originated from Woodbridge Suffolk and can be traced back to the late 1600’s. Young Arthur was educated at Kings College School. In 1877 he entered the office of The Builder’s Journal doing mainly literary work; he also attended the Royal Architectural School. In 1878 he became a partner with the notable architect John Belcher. The Pite family transferred to Ramsgate Kent where Arthur and his brother William shared an architectural office. On 20th April 1887 Arthur married Mary Kilvington Mowll at the Parish church of Whitfield in Dover and they moved back to Brixton. They had four children, Grace Sarah (1888), Ion Beresford (1891), Molly (1897) and Arthur Goodhart (1896.) Arthur continued working on his commissions including the Burlington Arcade Piccadilly, Christ Church Brixton, Kampala Cathedral Uganda, a hospital in Jerusalem, The Institute of Chartered Accountants Moorgate and a West Islington library to name but a few. He also served as professor of architecture at the Royal College of Art and Cambridge University where he was considered a gifted teacher and speaker. In 1889 he built Earlywood a large family house at Frinton, Essex. Here he enjoyed many happy holidays with his wide circle of friends and relatives. In 1903 he moved to York Gate, Regents Park London and it was there that his beloved wife Mary died in 1905.

In 1906 Pite began his commission to build the headquarters of the London, Edinburgh and Glasgow Assurance Company at Euston Square. It was a magnificent building of Portland stone, Grecian in style and spanning seven floors. In 1914 Pite moved his home to Hampstead. Following Mary’s death his sister Annie Mary cared for Arthur and his family. His daughter Grace who suffered ill health spent most of her time at Earlywood with Sadler, the family’s old nanny as she felt the costal air more beneficial. In 1930 Arthur moved to Beckenham Kent in order to live near his brother William and this is where on 27th November 1934 he died from skin cancer and exhaustion.

As I was the building manager I believe Arthur looks after me as I looked after his building. I would often hear footsteps on the floor above when I’d been there with only one security guard who was sitting opposite me! On another occasion I was talking about Arthur to a new member of staff as he was stacking binders into a bookcase, within minutes they all flew out again and landed in a heap on the floor. Lights would regularly turn themselves on and off. You would have to get up and flick the switch down again, it wasn’t just a case of the light tubes going out, these turned themselves off! The sound of wheels turning could be heard in the basement (workmen often said they won't go there as they felt someone was watching them.) An architect refused to return after I argued with him over his unsympathetic plans for refurbishment, an oak door behind us which weighs a ton closed by itself. It was propped open with a heavy weight. I've never seen someone run down the stairs so fast. Needless to say his plans were never carried out and I then had the building Grade 2 Special listed due to its significant architectural importance! My most memorable event was when Arthur stopped me from falling headfirst down a steep flight of stairs and out of a large open window. I was carrying a heavy box which I couldn’t see over the top off and slipped off the first step. Suddenly I was pulled back up by the shoulders. I turned around to thank who ever had saved my life, but there was nobody there. No one could have passed me on the staircase without my seeing them. I also survived several bad electric shocks, a mugging / robbery attempt, a light fitting falling on my head, 2 collapsed ceilings and fires within the building! One of my new security guard’s had a strange experience too. He had heard the stories about Arthur and mentioned he'd love to ‘see’ him but quickly added that he didn't believe in ghosts or such like. He arrived early one morning and was walking through the office to open the back door for the builders when he noticed someone sitting at a desk. Puzzled as he was the only one in the building at the time he turned around to put on another light and when he turned back there was no one there. He was a total sceptic but I think this has convinced him that Arthur was not happy with those particular builders! Staff would often get an overpowering smell of old fashioned sweet tobacco too - Arthur smoked a pipe.

I ordered a book about his architecture “The Golden City, Essays on the architecture and imagination of Arthur Beresford Pite.” Flicking through it saw a portrait of Arthur, it was the first time I’d seen his picture. I wanted to know what he looked like and if I had actually ‘seen’ him in the building. I was astonished because he was the man I’d noticed on several occasions outside the office and often accompanied by a man in an old-fashioned railway uniform. I would have almost believed that he was someone working in the area until I turned up in Wembley which is miles away for a meeting one day, only to see them walking across the road! He looked almost otherworldly with bright blue eyes and glowing white hair. On the last occasion I glimpsed him I was determined to approach him and ask who he was but just as I caught up with him he literally disappeared and I never saw him again...

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It became my mission to find out where Arthur was buried, I found an entry in a West Norwood Cemetery newsletter as follows: “A further 76 additional people, commemorated in the cemetery include Arthur Beresford Pite (1861-1934) architect and educator”. I contacted the cemetery manager for further information and he confirmed that Arthur was buried there. We arrived at West Norwood cemetery in South London and headed off down a slippery path, stepping over the remains of corner stones, around a tree and…….there he was. Two graves side by side, one for Arthur and his sister and the other for his wife and two of their children. They are Nouveau in style and originally had copper plaques with the inscriptions. Sadly these are long gone. There is a decorative stone border down one side of Mary, his wife’s grave. This graves are in need of work as there is subsidence and one headstone is leaning forward. It will become a major problem in the future unless it is repositioned upright. The base is separating due to the movement of the stone. Ironically the copper backing to the inscription plate has left the word ‘Loved’ etched into the stone. At one time it would have probably read ‘Beloved wife’. Although there were no inscriptions to read I knew Arthur was there, my nostrils were filled with the aroma of old fashioned tobacco mixed with a musty smell, the same smell as I got in the Euston building on many occasions. The next step is to raise funds for the repairs and to reinstate the copper inscriptions so the name ‘Arthur Beresford Pite Architect and Educator’ can once more be known. I always say Arthur moves in mysterious ways, I guess for Euston’s 100th anniversary he is again. My website about Arthur, his life and work is at: www.members.lycos.co.uk/askjeane