Arthur Conan Doyle

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It's spring 1877 in a lecture theater in Edinburgh Medical School.

The room is cold, all stone and shadows.

Rows of medical students file inside, the air laced with chalk dust and the scent of damp tweed and disinfectant.

Thin light filters in through the tall windows, warming the polished wooden benches, which are now filling with scholars.

A young man stands up to the side of the lectern, watching the room settle.

At 18, he cuts a sturdy figure, tall and broad-shouldered, with the square jaw and calm bearing of someone much older.

His dark hair curls above the slightly worn collar of his frock coat.

A silver watch chain disappears into his pocket, and the ink from scribbled case notes stains his fingers.

As clerk to Dr.

Joseph Bell, he has made a note of every patient waiting to be seen this morning.

It will be his duty to muster them onto the podium when their turn comes to be examined.

Dr.

Bell now enters with the energy of a man already mid-thought, scithing through the room, crisp and composed.

His critical gaze sweeps over the students before he mounts the podium and calls for the first patient.

His clerk quietly ushers a man in.

The patient looks nervous, cap in hand, boots muddied.

He steps onto the stage as the clerk returns to his place, notebook ready.

Dr.

Bell moves with practiced ease around the patient, lifting an arm, bending to examine a foot.

Occasionally he nods as though confirming a suspicion in his own mind.

Then he turns to the chalkboard and scratches out the word observation,

which he underlines twice.

The lesson today is that to properly treat an ailment, one must use intuition, logic, and attention to detail to understand the whole patient.

When the doctor begins to speak, he doesn't question the man, but simply pronounces a series of observations.

Gesturing to the boots, he points out the residue of red clay, which he identifies as distinct to East Lothian.

Next, Bell draws his student's attention to the calluses on the patient's hand.

Indicative of rope work, he says, but not thick enough for a longshoreman.

Now he raises the man's hands to examine his fingers.

The blackening on his fingernails isn't coal, he proclaims, but more likely lime, and the salt stains on the cuffs suggest recent sea travel.

He turns slightly to face the students and pronounces his verdict, that the patient is a sailor who has been unloading lime cargo.

Which, my good man, Bell says, addressing the chap directly, will likely explain the cough you've been suffering with.

The man blinks in stunned silence.

A few students chuckle nervously.

The clerk smiles a wry, knowing smile.

He has seen the doctor's performance many times before, but it never fails to impress.

Almost a decade later, this clerk, a young man by the name of Arthur Conan Doyle, will remember how Dr.

Bell's deductions cut through mystery.

He will remember the hush of the theater, the awe of the onlookers, the incredulity of the patients, as their secrets are laid bare without them saying a word.

And when he puts pen to paper to sketch the character of the world's most famous detective, he will recall this moment, this man, as the inspiration behind Sherlock Holmes.

While his fictional detective, cold, analytical, preternaturally perceptive, may have become one of literature's most famous characters.

Arthur Conan Doyle himself was something far more nuanced and complex.

A doctor, trained in observation and diagnosis, Doyle was also a war volunteer, a campaigner for justice, a politician, and a believer in the spirit world.

He battled typhoid in South Africa, led a legal campaign in England, earned a knighthood for his work in support of the British Army, and spent years trying to communicate with the dead.

In his lifetime he wrote ghost stories, political pamphlets, historical novels and fantastical adventures.

But it was a single detective, pipe in hand, who would immortalize him.

So how did a young medical student from Edinburgh end up transforming crime fiction forever?

What drove him to kill off and then resurrect the character who made him him famous?

And why did a man of science and reason spend so many years pursuing the supernatural?

I'm John Hopkins from The Noising Network.

This is a short history of Arthur Conan Doyle.

In 1859, in a modest tenement flat in Edinburgh's Newington district, Arthur Ignatius Conan Doyle is born into a family of fading privilege and rising instability.

His father, Charles, is a gifted but troubled illustrator for the government's Office of Works,

a man with artistic talent and a romantic spirit who is slowly being unraveled by alcohol.

His mother, Mary, is a well-read, fiercely imaginative Irish woman.

The anchor of Arthur's early life, she not only holds the family together financially, but inspires his passion for storytelling.

Richard Pooley runs the Conan Doyle estate and is the step-great-grandson of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

His childhood was, frankly, pretty hard, described as genteel poverty.

He moved seven times in the first 10 years of his life.

They moved around a lot within Edinburgh.

But his family, if you look at his father's family, and to some extent his mother's family, they were well off, they were successful.

His mother, who was a huge influence on him throughout his life, was very proud of their ancestry.

When Arthur is around nine years old, his paternal uncles pay for his place at Stonyhurst College.

The strict Jesuit boarding school in the north of England is meant to offer structure and opportunity, but for young Arthur it's a world of cold discipline, rote religion and rigid authority.

The imagination and love of literature that flourished under his mother's care is, for now, forced into quiet corners.

It's a long way away and he apparently cried all the way.

He was pretty miserable actually there for a lot of the time, and he himself in his own memoirs criticized the teaching.

It was very very poor, in his view.

He made friends there.

People have often wondered where did he get the name, for example, from Moriarty.

Well, one of his schoolmates was called Moriarty.

Another one was called Patrick Sherlock.

But he didn't enjoy it.

He longed, frankly, to get home.

Arthur finally leaves Stonyhurst in his late teens and enrols at the University of Edinburgh to study medicine.

He pays his way through tutoring, assisting local doctors, and taking on odd jobs to scrape by.

And he keeps his love of stories fired by writing plays for fellow students to perform.

Then, in early 1880, an unusual opportunity appears.

A whaling vessel, the Hope of Peterhead, is preparing to sail for the Arctic and needs a ship's surgeon for the voyage.

For the 20-year-old student, the offer is irresistible.

Seven months at sea, a modest wage, and more importantly, an adventure.

If you read the diary he wrote, it's absolutely fascinating about his experiences there, many of which influence the stories, the books that he later wrote.

But he did that on a whim.

He was studying at the time in Edinburgh, and suddenly, within a week, he's on a whaling ship.

heading off up in the Arctic and killing whales.

But it's a period of his life is his equivalent of the gap year, and I think that was a great influence on him.

Life aboard the Hope is brutal.

Long hours, freezing winds, and the gruesome work of the whaling trade.

But Doyle thrives.

Alongside his medical duties, he hauls carcasses and dodges frostbite.

He will later say, it was on the deck of that ship, surrounded by ice and blood and sky, that he became a man.

After completing his degree, Conan Doyle sets sail once more.

This time he heads southward aboard the Mayumba, bound for the West African coast.

The role is familiar now, ship's surgeon, responsible for the crew's health.

But Doyle contracts a severe fever.

and the heat and illness nearly finish him off.

He returns home weakened, but his appetite for risk is undiminished.

Back on British soil, he tries to find his footing as a doctor.

Though he takes up temporary posts in Plymouth, Birmingham and Sheffield, in 1882 he strikes out on his own.

Borrowing £10 from his mother, he opens a practice in Southsea near Portsmouth.

on England's south coast.

At first, the patients are few and far between.

Doyle will later joke that whenever the front doorbell rang, he'd leap to the window, hoping it was a potential patient and not another creditor.

But with long stretches of quiet in his surgery, he has plenty of time to explore his love of storytelling.

He begins to write, using the time between appointments to shape characters and invent plots.

And in the midst of this new life, he meets a young woman called Louisa Hawkins,

the sister of a fellow doctor.

She is gentle, intelligent, and steadfast, and the pair hit it off immediately.

They marry in 1885, and their relationship acts as a quiet anchor in his life.

But it soon becomes clear that the medical practice isn't enough to sustain their household.

He was married.

and he needed to find other ways of earning money.

So he'd started writing, in fact, at university.

And he put on plays and things while he was at school.

But he was beginning to see that he had to find something else other than medicine to make money.

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Despite some early successes submitting his short stories to various periodicals and newspapers, It's still not enough to give up on the medical practice.

He needs to write something more popular, something that will really catch the public and publishers' imagination.

Something, perhaps, with a detective.

In the mid-1880s, detective fiction is still a niche genre.

It's shaped by the works of Edgar Allan Poe and Wilkie Collins, whose detectives rely on intuition and chance rather than methodical reasoning.

But Doyle wants to do something different.

Instead of solving crimes by luck or brute force, his detective should prevail through his use of logic and deduction.

He models his protagonist on someone he knows well, his former mentor at medical school, Dr.

Joseph Bell,

the man who could diagnose a patient's ailments and lifestyle just by watching them walk into the room.

Tim Hubbard is the creative director and global licensing representative for the Conan Doyle estate and family.

He was the greatest teacher, wasn't he?

Because he was entertaining his students and they thought that he knew something that they didn't.

But looking back now, it's fairly straightforward of how that came about, where he could look at the colour of, you know, your cuffs, if your cuffs were stained or you had certain color of dirt under your nails or the colour of your skin.

It was almost like he was guessing, but he wasn't guessing because it was just down to experience.

As far as the invention of Sherlock Holmes, I think it was a huge influence, but then he built that character like no other with lots of other different influences that he was meeting people through that time.

Doyle spends many hours crafting the character who will eventually become Sherlock Holmes.

Even his name goes through many iterations, and for much of his early development, the famous detective is known to his creator as J.

Sherringford Holmes.

The notes are fascinating.

I'll give you a little bit.

The line comes down from Jay Sherringford Holmes.

Reserved, sleepy-eyed young man, philosopher, collector of rare violins, chemical laboratory, and a marty.

I have 400 a year.

I am a consulting detective.

I mean, it's just, I've looked at this piece of paper time and time again.

Wow, what does this show us about how you create a character?

But he's creating here probably one of the most, if not the most, famous fictional character ever.

With Holmes now mapped out, his sidekick, Dr.

Watson, the loyal but often perplexed chronicler of Holmes' adventures, soon follows.

Doyle, at the age of 27, is about to change the face of detective fiction forever.

But setting the first book in London, about which he knows very little, presents him with another challenge: where should Sherlock Holmes live?

He was in South Sea at the time.

He hardly knew London.

He'd only been there a few times.

And he took out a post office map.

And I believe he simply looked at the map, closed his eyes, and put his finger down, and it landed on what was then Upper Baker Street.

And 221B did not exist.

Please, the world, no, 221B did not exist.

He creates this.

And Shallokians, onions around the world have expended a vast amount of ink and time on, you know, where exactly was 221B.

It never existed.

He called Holmes and Watson's debut story a tangled skein, but it will become known as A Study in Scarlet.

It's a bold adventure in which the duo investigate the mysterious murder of a man in London whilst uncovering a complex tale of revenge against the backdrop of a Mormon settlement in Utah.

After just two weeks of writing, the story is finished.

He sends it off to a publisher, Ward Locke and Co., for consideration.

It's quickly accepted and published in the 1887 edition of Beaton's Christmas Annual.

Doyle receives the sum of £25 for the rights, just under £3,500 in today's money.

Initial reviews are mixed.

While some readers are intrigued by the novel's fresh take on the genre, others aren't immediately keen on the aloof main character.

Despite the muted reception, Doyle continues to write.

But it's not enough to keep the wolf from the door.

Especially when, in 1889, his first child, Mary Louise, is born.

With the added responsibility of a family of his own, Doyle's need to succeed as both writer and breadwinner intensifies.

In 1890, three years after the first Sherlock Holmes story, The detective makes his return with the publication of a new tale called The Sign of Four.

This time, the pair investigate the disappearance of a young woman's father and uncover a hidden treasure, a secret pact, and a deadly conspiracy.

But Doyle's future as a writer remains uncertain, and Sherlock Holmes is still far from a household name.

Essentially, what happened was that Doyle got fed up about 1819-91 in trying to get publishers to take his books.

He'd already written two Sherlock Holmes novels, but he wanted someone else to take over the negotiations, which he didn't think he was very good at.

And this guy, A.P.

Watt, came in and almost immediately found the way that Doyle should get himself published.

He knew the owner of the Strand magazine, and so Watt submitted the first of the short stories, A Scandal in Bohemia, to the Strand magazine.

And as

we say, the rest is history.

Thanks to the Strand, Sherlock Holmes finds a fast-growing, devoted readership.

Fans find the partnership between Holmes and Watson particularly compelling, not just for the sharp intellect of the detective or the steady reliability of the doctor, but because of the dynamic that exists between them.

Holmes, with his cold, methodical approach to solving mysteries, contrasts perfectly with Watson's warmth, loyalty and grounded perspective.

Together they form a bond that feels both complementary and essential to the stories.

The relationship between Watson and Sherlock, we believe, is the key element in these enduring qualities and why the home stories, Sherlock Holmes, Watson, they keep getting depicted year after year after year, and there's no slowing down.

And it's not just their world he is expanding.

In 1892, the Doyle family grows once more with the birth of a son, Arthur Elaine Kingsley Conan Doyle, known to everyone just as Kingsley.

By this point, Doyle's reputation is becoming firmly established, and as it does so, a new version of his name comes to the fore.

Though Conan is technically one of his middle names, he starts signing signing his work as A.

Conan Doyle, and the double-barrel surname sticks.

His success as an author finally means he can move away from medicine and focus solely on his literary career.

It's a decision he makes while in the grip of a flu-based fever, but one that fills him with delight.

The only problem is that he doesn't want to just write Sherlock stories.

Though the readers love him and the publisher is clamoring for more, Doyle is already beginning to tire of his central character.

He has his heart set on grander things.

Historical fiction, real writing, not cheap detective stories.

In one of his frequent letters to his mother he admits as much.

Dearest ma'am, that's what he called her.

I have done five of the Sherlock Holmes stories of the new series.

I think that they are up to the standard of the first series, and the twelve ought to make a rather good book of the sort.

I think of slaying Holmes in the sixth and winding him up for good and all.

He takes my mind from better things.

But what author, in their right mind, would kill off a character so fruitful, so adored, so profitable?

Especially when he's supporting not just his wife and children, but also his mother and siblings.

No one wants to see that come to an end.

Everybody was saying, for God's sake, you're making money, you're making us money.

It's a huge success.

And they succeed in keeping Sherlock Holmes alive for another 18 months.

With Sherlock still a thorn in his creative side, he sets about establishing himself as a writer of serious historical fiction.

His first major success in this genre is The White Company, a novel set against the backdrop of the Hundred Years' War.

The book is reasonably well received, and, thus encouraged, he continues the story into a second novel, Sir Nigel.

But at home, the Doyle family are facing a major challenge.

Arthur's wife, Louisa, has been struggling for a while with tuberculosis, and it's getting worse.

Desperate to help her, Doyle turns to the best medical experts of the time, and even takes her to Switzerland in search of a cure.

While there, they take a trip to see the Reichenbach Falls.

And it is here that Doyle spies the perfect place he believes to close off another chapter in his life.

Mama, Papa, my cuero crece a rimo alarmante, and the rope that I comprehend, I want to very peasant very promptly.

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It is December 1893 at Arthur Conan Doyle's Surrey home.

Outside, winter clings to the bare trees.

But here, in his study, the writer sits at his desk, a sheet of paper before him, a warm fire hissing softly in the grate.

Pale light filters through the window, catching dust motes floating.

His pen scratches steadily across the page, shaping the fate of a man who has come to dominate his life and work.

He pauses for a moment, eyes narrowed in thought, then sets the pen down, considering his next words.

On the page, Dr.

Watson is in a terrible panic.

Holmes' dear companion has fallen for an elaborate hoax which drew him away from the detective's side at the top of the Reichenbach Falls.

Now, he must hurry all the way back up there in the hope of saving Sherlock from the deadly hands of his nemesis Mariati.

Smiling, Doyle lifts his pen again.

His surroundings fade around him as he becomes fully immersed in his fictional world, in which Watson is about to make a harrowing discovery.

High in the Swiss Alps, the melting winter snow has added dangerous volume to the wild torrent of water crashing hundreds of feet to the rocks below the falls.

On the steep path that winds alongside the precipice, Dr.

Watson climbs, driven by a dreadful urgency.

His breath comes in ragged gasps, and every step is a battle against the steep, mist-slicked path, but he presses on.

At last, breathless and wide-eyed, he reaches the clearing beside the falls where he last saw his friend.

For a moment, he sees nothing but the thick mist and the furious white torrent plunging into the chasm below.

Then his gaze falls on something that makes his heart stop.

There,

driven into a crack in the rock, stands Sherlock's familiar climbing stick.

Beside it, half hidden under a damp stone, gleams a small silver cigarette case.

He stumbles forward and pulls the case free.

A folded sheet of paper rests inside, the ink smudged slightly by the damp.

He unfolds it with trembling fingers.

The falls rage beside him, but the world narrows to the words scribbled on the page.

Calm, precise, and unbearably final.

They tell him what he already fears, that Sherlock saw the trick, but chose to stay and fight, knowing that the only way to end Moriarty's reign of terror would be to sacrifice his own life in taking him out.

With the note half crumpled in his hand, Watson steps closer to the edge.

The rocks are scuffed, the soft dirt scratched as though two men had struggled there.

But then, nothing more.

No footprints leading away, no further clue.

At least, not one that his mind can interpret.

Only the yawning gorge and the endless rush of water.

He straightens slowly, moves to the very brink, and calls out, Sherlock.

But his voice is swallowed instantly by the thundering water, throwing back a half-human, terrible sound which offers no reply and no comfort.

Only the dreadful knowledge that Sherlock Holmes is, almost certainly, gone.

In 1893, just four years after his creation, and after two novels and 24 short stories featuring the detective, Doyle calls time on Sherlock Holmes in a story called The Final Problem.

The public reaction is instant and furious.

Readers write angry letters to newspapers and to Doyle himself.

Some mourn as if a real person has died, wearing black armbands in the street.

The Strand magazine loses 20,000 subscribers almost overnight.

Even Doyle's own mother begs him to reconsider.

Far from freeing himself of Sherlock Holmes, he has unleashed a tidal wave of grief and fury not seen before for a fictional character.

He

never realized just what he had produced with Sherlock Holmes and Watson.

He was too much influenced, I think, by the view that historical fiction would give him higher status, that detective novels was just below him.

We've got to think about his upbringing again and where he came from as a person.

And he found success, obviously overnight success, but he wasn't afraid to change his course, even though Sherlock became his wealth creator.

And I think that is testament to the man again, no matter how tough his upbringing was, he had this ability to turn his hand and be confident about the next chapter in his life.

Despite almost everyone demanding he resurrect Holmes, Doyle stands firm.

Instead, he focuses his energy on his serious historical novels, grand adventures set in the past, far away from the fog-bound environs of Baker Street.

The saddest thing is that although the historical fiction fiction were superbly plotted and he did a huge amount of research and he got all his facts right, unlike by the way the Sherlock Holmes novels, full of mistakes, they're boring and the dialogue is dire.

Whereas the dialogue in the Sherlock Holmes stories and actually some of his much later stories, not the historical fiction, is really good.

And yet he couldn't see this.

His mother could.

The editors and owner of the Strand could.

The public could.

He couldn't.

At the same time, he is relentless in pursuing a cure for Louise's tuberculosis.

Though little is ever written about their relationship, it is clear that he expends every effort trying to help her.

He did a huge amount trying to take her to Switzerland, taking her to Egypt, taking her to places where maybe she would get better.

It's extraordinary how little we know about their relationship.

In his letters to his mother, she doesn't get a lot lot of mention.

She was called Tui in the family.

They had two children, Mary and Kingsley, but she doesn't make much of an impression.

Put it that way.

A far greater impression is made by another woman, however, Jean Leckie.

A gifted soprano from a respectable family, she moves in the same genteel social circles as Doyle.

Having met her in 1897, he finds himself increasingly captivated by her intelligence, charm, and musical talent.

Louisa, though, is gravely ill, and Doyle remains outwardly devoted to her, maintaining with Jean what he insists is a platonic friendship.

Even so, letters between them suggest a deeper emotional connection.

And as Louisa's health declines and Doyle shoulders the burden of her care, Jean becomes a steady presence in the background of his life.

But now, world events force him away from his wife's side in the form of the Second Boer War, which erupts in South Africa in 1899.

A brutal colonial conflict between the British Empire and the Boers over control of territory and gold, it changes the course of Doyle's life and writing once again.

As a staunch patriot, he volunteers as a civilian doctor with the British Army, stationed in Bloemfontein in the Orange Free State.

Here he witnesses the horrors of war first hand, treating wounded soldiers in atrocious conditions on the battlefield.

Even now, though, he's still dogged by the public's love of Sherlock.

In another all-too-common confusion of his name with his characters, one newspaper boldly announces Sherlock Holmes off to the war.

Nonetheless, his short stint on the front results in a new book.

Titled The Great Boer War, it gives a detailed, patriotic defense of Britain's actions and will later help to earn him a knighthood from King Edward VII.

When he returns to Britain, Doyle's sense of duty hasn't faded.

That autumn, in October 1900, he stands as a Liberal Unionist candidate for Edinburgh Central in the general election.

He campaigns vigorously, appealing to patriotism and empire, but ultimately narrowly loses the seat.

The silver lining is that he now has time to return to his writing.

But the public still haven't forgiven him for killing Sherlock, and eventually, he succumbs to the pressure and agrees to bring him back.

In 1901, Holmes makes his long-awaited return to the pages of the Strand magazine in The Hound of the Baskervilles.

This tale of Moorland Menace is a clever workaround.

The story is set well before Holmes' visit to the Reichenbach Falls.

Finally, in 1903, The Resurrection is made official.

The adventure of the empty house reveals that Holmes never fell to his death at all.

He faked the whole thing, slipping away to dismantle Moriarty's criminal web in secret.

Readers are thrilled.

Magazine sales surge.

The strand's circulation reportedly doubles.

From there, the great detective goes from strength to strength.

The adventure of the dancing men, the solitary cyclist, the six Napoleons.

each case adding to the legend.

But for Doyle, the thrill has worn off.

He begins to truly resent the character who once gave him such success, calling Holmes a lower stratum of literary achievement.

But even as the world celebrates Sherlock Holmes, his creator's personal life is now marked by a significant sorrow.

After years of decline, Louisa dies in 1906.

at the age of 49.

Doyle is by her side to the end, but a year after her death, he finally marries Jean Leckie.

He was certainly absolutely besotted with Jean Leckie, and she was.

You see photographs of her.

She was a very good-looking woman.

There's no question she was devoted to him and he to her, and she was a real force.

In the same year he remarries, Doyle also finds himself helping to solve a real-life miscarriage of justice.

Much like his fictional detective, he's always had a strong sense of right and wrong, and a belief that truth must be pursued, no matter how tangled.

While reading the papers one day, he spies a letter written by a young solicitor called George Edalji.

The son of an Indian-born vicar in Staffordshire, Edalji has been convicted of mutilating livestock in a bizarre and highly publicized case.

The evidence is flimsy at best, involving anonymous letters, mysterious hoof prints, wild accusations from local farmers, and a police force seemingly blinded by racial prejudice.

To Doyle, the case seems obviously flawed, and moved by the injustice, he decides to investigate.

Reviewing the evidence, he quickly spots inconsistencies.

and consults experts who determine the animal injuries were likely caused by a wild dog, not a human.

He also uncovers the bias against Adalji, believing his conviction stems more from his ethnicity than any solid evidence.

And so he begins a public campaign for Adalji's pardon, writing articles and pressuring authorities.

In fact, it was Doyle's knowledge of phthalmology and eyesight.

When he sat down with George Adalji, he realized that this young man was completely short-sighted, completely myopic.

The idea of him going out into a field and plunging a knife into a horse in the middle of the night is all obviously completely wrong.

Finally, his efforts culminate in a government review of the case, and in 1907, George Adalji is granted a royal pardon, but he receives no compensation, and his conviction is never fully overturned.

Still, the case becomes a national scandal, and its fallout helps lead to the establishment of the Court of Criminal Appeal later that year.

It is a mark of his character that Doyle will never turn his back on what he considers a moral wrong.

Yet, as he wins praise for exposing injustice, another interest of his begins to take center stage.

There's been lots of evidence and writing around Doyle's fascination with spirituality, but I really believe that Doyle's interest was peaked, certainly during the atrocities and certainly after the First World War.

And ultimately, he wanted to help.

He wanted to help society try and find meaning with all this sort of death and destruction.

And no doubt, he had experiences up to that point where he felt he was opening a window into another world.

From early in his life, Doyle has shown a fascination with the supernatural.

His mother, the gifted storyteller, also had a deep interest in the mystical, which she shared with her son.

Over time, he has developed a sincere belief that communication with the dead is not only possible, but essential to understanding life itself.

After Louise's death, and especially after the First World War, Doyle is devastated by a string of personal losses.

Among them, his son Kingsley, Kingsley, who survives the Battle of the Somme only to die in 1918 of pneumonia, weakened by his war injuries and brought low by influenza.

Grief drives Doyle deeper into spiritualism.

No longer a private curiosity, it becomes a public cause.

He throws himself into the movement with the same zeal he once brought to Sherlock Holmes.

Traveling, lecturing, publishing.

He opened the the psychic bookshop in Victoria.

He created a publishing company to the spiritualist publications.

He traveled the world.

He campaigned.

The piece in the middle for me is, why?

Why did he believe in this thing so much when obviously he was not a man to be fooled?

His quest for proof, for answers, as well as the constant drumbeat of wartime deaths, inspire him with the idea that spiritualism is a new revelation sent by God to bring solace to the bereaved.

It was quite clear at that time that he believed that the church couldn't help, but almost, this is probably a strong word, he was almost blaspheming because of his quest for spirituality.

So, you know, certainly the establishment were trying to belittle him.

And as his voice got louder and the more campaigning he did, the more sort of detached he probably became.

It's this passion that draws him into one of the strangest and most controversial episodes of his later life.

In 1917, in the village of Cottingley, Yorkshire, two young schoolgirls, cousins Elsie Wright and Frances Griffiths, take a series of photographs in their gardens.

The images appear to show the girls in the company of small winged creatures.

At first they're dismissed as fanciful tricks, but when the pictures reach a curious Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, he sees something far more profound.

Convinced they offer real evidence of the spirit world, he publishes them for all the world to see.

Amongst the papers that we found, I opened an envelope and inside were the prints of the fairies, the Cottingley fairies.

These were the prints actually used in the book The Coming of the Fairies.

But the negatives have gone, so this is all we've got left.

Now, I looked at those photographs and I've shown them to one or two and Tim and I have looked at them together.

And you think, how can he possibly have believed that these fairies were real?

You can see the pins.

You can see how these two girls created these fairies and photographed them but he did

i do not question his conviction

i think what's really important to remember is it was his steadfast belief in his own confidence and ability to try and change the world and help people that he dug his heels in and he doubled down on this quest and i have absolutely no doubt that he experienced things where he felt that this thing was real because he wasn't to be fooled, Doyle.

He was not a person to be fooled and to be hoodwinked.

To Doyle, the photographs offer proof that unseen worlds might exist beyond our own.

He isn't simply chasing fairies, he is championing a belief in spiritual realms, in life after death, in mysteries that science and reason have yet to explain.

And he is not alone in his belief.

His second wife both shares and encourages his faith in the spirit world.

Together, they attempt to spread the message, often to skeptical friends.

Among them is Harry Houdini, the world-famous illusionist and friend of Doyle's, who is still reeling from the recent death of his much-beloved mother.

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It's late 1922.

In a dim, candle-lit room in a hotel in Atlantic City, America, Arthur Conan Doyle draws the curtains, shutting out the afternoon sun.

The room is stuffy, the air heavy with incense.

In the center, a small table stands, strewn with flowers, glasses of water, writing materials, and a lit candle.

There, Jean sits, poised, serene in her concentration.

Beside her, Arthur takes his seat and nods to the man across the table.

The great illusionist, Harry Houdini, has finally agreed to join Arthur and Jean in a seance.

Arthur knows how much his friend is missing his recently deceased mother, and he has offered to try to communicate with her to give him some comfort.

Houdini cuts a sharp, muscular figure in the low light.

His posture is rigid, lips tight, eyes wary beneath his furrowed brow.

Now, Jean lowers her head, breathing slow and deep.

Reverently, they call on the spirits to visit them.

to talk with Harry.

And then, Jean begins to write.

not her own words according to those who believe but messages channeled from the spirit realm in a process called automatic writing

a pencil glides across the paper as Arthur watches in rapt silence

but as the illusionist leans forward reading each line that purportedly comes from his mother, the muscles in his jaw tighten

Because the message unfolding on the page is not only peppered with references to Christian ideas of salvation, but is written in fluent English, a language of which his Hungarian Jewish mother, who died with a Yiddish prayer on her lips, knew barely a word.

The illusionist stands suddenly.

The chair scrapes the floor.

With a single pained, furious look, he turns and walks out.

No words, no outburst, just silence.

Doyle doesn't follow.

The seance is over,

and so too is the friendship.

So they had this seance, and Houdini's mother was apparently speaking to Houdini from the dead.

Gene Leckie was writing it down, what Houdini's mother said, but it was in English.

Houdini's mother didn't speak English.

She spoke German, despite living in the States for a long time.

It was full of stuff about Christianity.

She was Jewish.

So clearly, it wasn't true.

What the hell was going through the mind of Arthur's Kunendahl's wife, Jean?

Intelligent woman?

What was she doing?

And for that matter, why did her husband believe so strongly in her ability to communicate with the dead?

I think he probably became blindsided by just desperately wanting to help, desperately wanting to ease pain and suffering.

And again, his sort of curiosity and his influence can't be underestimated, certainly as he tracked through his life.

And he felt he had a duty.

You know, one of the big words around oil is duty.

He had a duty for everything and everyone.

His belief in spiritualism remains with Doyle to the very end.

In his final years, he tours tirelessly, writing and lecturing to packed halls around the world, determined to open minds to what he sees as a truth beyond the veil.

Even as the critics grow louder and the friends fewer, Doyle never wavers.

To the man who once gave the world the most logical detective in literature, the unseen world is just as real as the one we live in.

By now he is slowing down.

His health, long tested by grief and exertion, begins to falter, but he continues to write.

In 1926, he sends news to A.P.

Watt of what will be the penultimate Sherlock Holmes story.

And his letter shows how he is still enthusiastic in his writing, sport, and life in general, despite his advancing years.

Number five is done.

Adventure of the Veiled Lodger.

Did it in one day, with 18 holes thrown in, which is not bad for 67.

It is shortish, but the quality good.

You will have the type copy before the end of the week.

I'm not at all sure about number six.

London all this week.

ACD.

Number six in that series will be the 60th and very last Sherlock Holmes story.

The adventure of Shoscombe Old Place.

It is published in 1927, more than three decades after Holmes first appeared.

With it, the detective's adventures, collected in The Casebook of Sherlock Holmes, finally draw to a close.

Though spiritualism dominates his focus in his final years, Doyle's pen doesn't rest entirely.

He continues to write on history, on fairies, on ghosts.

He publishes memoirs, defenses of his beliefs, and more fiction, though none of his other writing ever achieves quite what Holmes did.

In July 1930, he dies quietly at his home, Windlesham, aged 71, with Jean by his side.

Today, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is remembered above all for the character he tried so hard to leave behind, Sherlock Holmes.

That sharp, indefatigable, impossibly brilliant detective has outlived his author by more than a century, adapted and reimagined for every generation since.

His name has become shorthand for deduction itself.

A statue of Holmes stands near Baker Street Station.

Fans still leave tributes at 221B, despite the fact that the residence never really existed.

But Doyle was far more than just Holmes' creator.

He was a doctor, a campaigner, a war correspondent, a politician.

He fought for justice and grieved deeply for those he loved.

His writings beyond Sherlock, his historical novels, his science fiction, even his essays on spiritualism, reveal his huge curiosity.

He once said, Where there is no imagination, there is no horror.

Perhaps it's no surprise then that a man of such boundless imagination should leave behind not just a great detective, but a whole world of mystery and imagination, inspiration and wonder.

He was constantly campaigning for causes that he believed in.

And that's one of the things that fascinates me about his life.

You know, we say this all the time.

He was so busy.

You know, whether he's writing stories, adventuring, playing sports, being a doctor, campaigning for justice, he squeezed every last drop out of his life.

The one thing that I really admire him for is this wish to know more, his curiosity, be curious,

want to know more and more.

And Doyle illustrates that to a T.

And that's why I admire him so much.

Next time on Short History of, we'll bring you a short history of the Shroud of Turin.

The interest in the Shroud today in 2025 is skyrocketing.

And to have science still be so baffled by this mysterious image and still not be able to explain it, it leads one to question: well, how could this image have been created?

Could it be the natural effect of a supernatural event?

And so, today with our scientific ability, we have the ability to study and question and probe and learn, and yet we still have to have the answer that only our faith can provide.

That's next time.

Hi, listeners.

If you enjoyed this episode, we think you'll love Noises' Sherlock Holmes Short Stories podcast, narrated by Hugh Bonneville.

Dive into immersive readings of Conan Doyle classics like The Speckled Band, The Red-Headed League, The Man with a Twisted Lip, and more.

Search for Sherlock Holmes Short Stories wherever you get your podcasts, or head to noiser.com.

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