Hertford, home of the Holy Grail 

An ancient secret society; a demand for a papal apology; and a network
of hidden tunnels. Strange things have been stirring in Hertfordshire
recently. The Guardian newspaper goes in search of the Knights Templar
and, perhaps, the cup of Christ

Tuesday January 4, 2005
The Guardian 

One of the problems with secret societies - especially the kind whose
members exert a shadowy influence on the course of world events - is
that they can be a bit difficult to track down. Never was this more
true than of the Knights Templar, the ancient Catholic order rumoured,
among other things, to know the whereabouts of the Holy Grail.
Officially, the Templars don't exist, having been driven underground
by the pope more than 600 years ago; in The Da Vinci Code, they are
described as inhabiting "a precarious world where fact, lore and
misinformation had become so intertwined that extracting a pristine
truth was almost impossible". Nobody even seems to agree on what the
Holy Grail is: some say it is the cup used by Jesus at the Last
Supper; others that it was used to collect his blood at the
crucifixion. Needless to say, the Templars haven't been too eager to
clarify any of this publicly.

Then, late last year, the group apparently made an unprecedented
communication with the outside world. It emerged that the Templars
were demanding an official apology from the Vatican, for having
persecuted them in the 14th century - and that the Vatican was giving
"serious consideration" to the matter. The demand came in a letter,
signed on behalf of the grand master of the Templars. And for the
conspiracy theorists who have pursued the knights for centuries, it
was accompanied by a tantalising clue: an address. In Hertford.

If there is something implausible in the idea that huge stretches of
world history have been secretly coordinated from a market town just
north of the M25 - well, maybe that's what they want you to think. The
local newspaper, the Hertfordshire Mercury, certainly seems convinced:
over the past few months it has published several intriguing stories
quoting local Templars, who told its reporter of a secret network of
tunnels under the town that was still in use by the order. "It reaches
beyond well known central Hertford locations," one Templar said,
"including the tourist office, the castle, Monsoon, Threshers, the
post office, Bayley Hall, and the council offices." Treasures of
"immense importance" were hidden there, it was claimed. Was the quest
for the Holy Grail finally about to come to an end? More surprisingly
still, was it about to come to an end underneath Monsoon on Market
Place?

The man who has persuaded the Vatican to consider apologising, Tim
Acheson, meets the Guardian in icy morning fog in Hertford, wearing
smart pinstriped trousers and a thick winter overcoat. His
midnight-blue sports car is parked nearby. "As you might expect," he
says, setting the tone for the day, "there are going to be some things
that I'm not able to discuss."

Acheson claims to trace his ancestry to a renowned Scottish Templar
family of the same name, though he won't confirm his own role in the
group. Might he just be a practical joker who managed to fool the
Vatican? "That could well be, couldn't it?" he says, as we order
coffee in a Hertford establishment closely modelled on All Bar One. "I
can't tell you anything to prove that I'm not. I think that would be a
perfectly reasonable theory."

There is, however, sound historical footing for the idea that a
Vatican apology might be warranted. The Templars were victims of their
own success: they had been granted the right to operate, during the
era of the Crusades, with unprecedented freedom, levying taxes and
growing rich by establishing some of Europe's first banks. (According
to legend, they also invented the biscuit.) Envy and hostility ran
high, until, on Friday, October 13 1307 - the original unlucky Friday
the 13th - hundreds of Templars were arrested in France. They stood
accused of homosexuality, of devil worship, of crimes "horrible to
contemplate, terrible to hear of", in the words of King Philip of
France, who ordered the arrests. They were tortured, by the
Inquisition, into admitting heresy, including their scandalous belief
that Jesus had had children with Mary Magdalene. Their grand master,
Jacques de Molay, was burned at the stake a few years later, and the
Templars were officially disbanded by the Pope.

But only officially. "The vast majority of Templars either escaped, or
didn't escape, but survived," Acheson says. So how did they end up in
Hertford? History records that a number of them were imprisoned in
Hertford Castle, but how did Hertford become a centre of operations?
"I can't really tell you that. All I can tell you - it's going to be
quite vague - is that they flourished in western Europe." He explains
that there is a stained-glass window in St Andrew's Church, just down
the street, that contains a clear metaphorical allusion to the Holy
Grail, and a cryptic hint that it might be hidden in Hertford. In the
picture, Acheson adds, Jesus and Mary Magdalene are looking at each
other "in a very meaningful way". (Later, I find the window,
interrupting local parishioners who are decorating the church for
Christmas. I think I can see what Acheson means about Jesus's
expression, although mainly he just looks a bit depressed.)

Among the many things that don't quite add up about the Templars'
request for an apology is: why now? Why break the silence, drawing all
manner of unwanted curiosity from Grail hunters and Da Vinci Code
tourists? Public accountability is a laudable goal, but it's hardly
something you expect from the secret rulers of the universe. Indeed,
when a group of amateur archaeologists recently announced their
intention to investigate Hertford's tunnel network, someone posted a
message on a local website warning that anyone who tried would be
"dealt with". The message read: "Anybody intending to find out more,
let alone discover hidden areas of the labyrinth, should check their
life insurance policy very carefully indeed."

Acheson simply says he thinks it would be fitting for the Vatican to
issue their apology in time for 2007, the 700th anniversary of the
start of the Templar suppression. "Among my peers, there are people
like me who believe that these issues deserve further attention ...
There's a new generation coming through that strongly believes it's
time to be a bit more open. I'm part of that generation." Besides, he
says ominously, "Things are about to happen that will deserve
attention."

The notion that "things are about to happen" recurs throughout the
Templar conspiracy theories that clog up the internet. Seemingly, 2000
had been awaited as a watershed, the moment the Templars' secret
knowledge would cascade into the public domain. It didn't happen, of
course.

So what sort of "things" is Acheson talking about? 

"I can't tell you." 

OK. But could you maybe give me a rough idea of the timescale? Are
these things going to happen this year? This decade? Next century? "I
honestly can't tell you. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I can't tell
you."

Acheson takes me on a walking tour of Hertford, and proves a
knowledgeable guide, but a frustratingly cryptic one, too. So I decide
to take matters into my own hands and head for Monsoon. Gemma, the
manager, responds far more patiently to Grail-related inquiries than
might arguably be her prerogative. There's no tunnel beneath the shop,
she insists, "just the store room" - but it's "definitely haunted.
When we have sales meetings there you can hear someone walking over
our heads, or doing the vacuuming. But upstairs, the shop's closed and
empty."

Has she ever found anything unexpected down there? Like maybe a cup,
or something? "No," she says. "But there is ... the Accessorize
cupboard." She leads the way through the store to the adjoining branch
of Accessorize, pushing past a display stand of silky hats towards a
corner cupboard. Opening it, she points to a square piece of metal
resembling a manhole cover, sunk into the floor. "We don't know what's
under there. But there's a strange smell." She enlists a colleague,
Jo, who has worked there longer. "Have they ever looked underneath
there?" Gemma asks.

"Yes," Jo replies. It would be atmospheric to be able to report, at
this point, that her eyes open wide with terror, that she starts to
tremble. But she doesn't. "It smelt a lot," is all she can remember.

Generally, in fact, the people of Hertford seem rather reticent on the
subject of the Grail. Do they know something they're not telling?
Eventually there seems nothing for it but to abandon any attempt at
subtlety and ask Acheson directly.

"Tim," I say, as we walk through the fog back to his car, "do you know
where the Holy Grail is?"

We stop at the kerbside to let an articulated lorry pull out. Then we
cross the road, past a Mazda dealership, towards the car park.

"No," Acheson says after a while, with a thoughtful expression. "No,
I'm afraid I don't."


The Guardian, 4 January 2004: "Hertford, home of the Holy Grail", pp
6-7 (G2 section).
http://www.guardian.co.uk/religion/Story/0,2763,1382899,00.html