“THE BLUE BOOM”

Southland Times, Issue 20204, 15 June 1927, Page 12

“THE BLUE BOOM”

VOICES FROM A VOID, DUNEDIN SUBURBAN MYSTERY. INVESTIGATORS ARE PUZZLED. Picture the small and simply-furnished sitting room of a modest suburban bungalow. A number of chairs and a roomy sofa have been arranged at one side, leaving the greater portion of the floor space clear. In one corner, between the fireplace and the door is a piano, and in the other a chair and small table have been placed, says the “Otago Daily Tinies.” A mysterious room? No. Certainly not. An uncanny room? Far from it. A room calculated to harbour or aid deceit? Nonsense! Yet that little suburban sitting room contains more mystery to the cubic inch than a young wife’s first plum pudding. It offers a straightforward yet uncanny puzzle that a gradually enlarging group of hard-headed Dunedin business and professional men cannot solve. The latest of these investigators into what one might describe as “The Mystery of the Blue Room,” was made when a reporter of the “Daily Times” was invited to join the party. He did so, and this is exactly what happened:— On arrival at the house, a small bungalow in a well-known Dunedin suburb, the party was greeted by the host, who shall be called Mr. C. A number of ladies were present, and Mr. C. made the necessary introductions, after which everybody filed into the Blue Room. A chairman, Mr. N. was appointed, and when all were comfortably seated he gave a brief explanation of the programme.

Miss J., a young girl, stated to be a spiritualistic medium, had seated herself on the chair behind the small table. Throughout the evening she remained there in full view of everyone present, but beyond an occasional smile and a passing look of interest, she took no part in the proceedings. Mr. C. sat at the piano. On the floor and on the table were wireless instruments consisting of a patent amplifier, valves, batteries, and loud speaker. These took but a secondary part in what followed, and, as the chairman explained, were used purely to amplify the stranger sounds in the room, and reproduce them with greater volume. But as far as the mystery itself was concerned the apparatus can be disregarded. . It helped but only in the way that a megaphone helps an irate sea captain. It simply made the sounds louder. And then, without ado, the most extraordinary entertainment imaginable began. Mr. C. played a piano quietly, the medium waited silently and the vistors sat with straining ears. A few minutes passed without result then faintly above the music the voice of a man was heard singing. With gradually increasing strength it followed the melody until at the close of the song, it was distinctly audible to every person in the room.

The piano tinkled away and a mad, hair-raising conversation was carried on between this absurdly placid woman and the voice. It was interrupted by another voice—that of a child—who laughingly demanded that the pianist should plav “Chicken.” The melody changed and the child’s voice sang a silly little ditty, interspersed with girlish chatter to various persons in the room. A well-known Dunedin business man whose popularity with the fair sex needs no stressing, she labelled “The Sheik.” Another prominent man-about-town was named “The Hard Egg,” an apt title. Gradually other voices joined the invisible company until an uncanny concert party seemed to have assembled in the atmosphere between the medium and the visitors. Everything was done in “The Blue Room” under the most openlighted conditions. On one side was the pianist: on the other the medium. The visitors looked and listened with might and main, but nothing suspicious was in any way apparent or even suggested. This mystery was not without its pathetic, and even tragic, moments. The voice of a girl claiming to be that of a well-known g at the New Zealand and South Seas Exhibition was heard in one of her favourite numbers. Then the chairman’s daughter pepped to the piano and began to sing wonderful Mother of Mine.” Instantly another voice joined hers—a voice said to be that of her sister who died many years ago.

With tears rolling down her cheeks, the chairman's daughter staggered from the piano, and was led sobbing from the room. Ihe voices were greatly concerned, and asked pointedly that the concert be closed. They inquired tenderly if “B” was “ail right.” "B" lay in the bedroom in a dead faint, and did not recover until later in the evening .On being assured that “B” would be ali right, the voices sang one more song, and then said “good night.”

If it was trickery it was damnable trickery, for there were many in that Blue Room who believed, heart and soul. If it was not