Why does George Bernard Shaw stay earthbound?

29 06 2010

A particularly psychic client of mine had already been cleared of many hundreds of hangers on – earthbound spirits who had attached themselves to him over his lifetime – and others who had cadged a lift to my healing room, the ‘higher forces that be’ knowing that they would be guided homewards with love…..after which I instructed Paul to breathe in and out of his energy centres, imagining he was opening the relevant big coloured flower on the in-breath (bringing energy to the centre of what we call the chakra, through his intention), holding it for as long as possible, then releasing the unwanted energy with his exhalation – at the same time squeezing closed the petals.  This never fails to work – and as well as moving negative/unwanted energy, any spirits trapped deeper inside the body are also released for onward transition to the light.

As Paul opened and closed the pink and green flowers over and behind his heart centre a ‘Bernard Shaw’ took advantage of this technique and joyfully moved over, to the swirling of my dowser.  “George” came back the helpful confirmation that this was indeed the playwright George Bernard Shaw (1856-1950)  At the end of the session I mentioned this again to Paul and immediately ‘a relative’ was ‘sent for’….flying over so quickly I only just caught her name, which sounded like Elwyn…. “Wasn’t Bernard Shaw from Wales?” he asked, suggesting perhaps this was a Welsh name.  (He was in fact Irish) Later on I sat at our garden table breathing in the stillness of this hot summer’s afternoon, and tested the spiritual waters to see if Shaw wished to contribute to ‘what if spirits could blog?’   I was not disappointed!

“Let’s conduct this interview properly!” he suggested sternly, and I grabbed pen and paper.

“Why did you stay behind after your death?” I asked, puzzled. 

“To look after my sister Ellin (short for Elinor); ailing; poorly; sickly; …she died of influenza at a tender age.  As I lay dying I spied her ghostly apparition…tried to take her with me but she would not come, so I stayed behind in the void of nothingness to keep my darling sister company…it’s as simple as that!”  (Subsequent research confirmed he had a sister Elinor Agnes who was born in 1855, but sadly died in 1876 – no cause of death found – which means she did only live until 21)

“Did you seek out Paul to bring you  here for help?”

I myself was a sharp wit.  Your man is a good man.  Lived a little, but what is life for if its not for living?” he guffawed. “Like me, he’s a smarty-pants!”

“So did you follow him from any particular place?”

“No; you called via your combined psychic hearts…”

“Can you tell me about the circumstances surrounding your death?”

“I was a decrepit old man counting jelly beans!” (Laughs) “One for me; one for you…” (“Eh?”)…”One for me (the old bastard whose body I was stuck in), one for you….(whoever would play!)” (Research confirmed he died of renal failure but lived to 92!)  He continued to explain about the moment of his death…”As my spirit drifted from that old bastard who was me I caught sight of Ellin in my periferal vision. ‘Stay with me!’ she implored….

“So she had an awareness of her position as well as yours?”

“That is so….This is boring…Do we have to go through all this?  I have only booked a short time to speak with you!” (That was telling me!)

“Ok, fire away.  The way is clear!”  To my surprise, he dictated a poem, entitled ‘A Poet’s Lot’, which I have tried to replicate here….he spoke so quickly and so passionately: “A Poet’s Lot/ Stuffed inside a teapot/eating sarnies of smoked ham and pickled jam/ Ready to be poured out and sipped down gullets of party goers/ guests on quests to eat the food of knowledge/ Chew it well/ Wash it down with Earl Grey, Marmaduke and Dozey Dan/ All who walked as human man/ Strain the tea/ Not too strong/ Not too weak / Sweeten well but watch your teeth! (Grins with blackened ones!) Abundance!/ Life!/ Fill to the brim!/ Crippled! / Stuck up to their knees in a quagmire of their own making/ Full to the brim/ Theirs for the taking / Hold your nose against the stink of rotted corpses/ floating motionless in hell/ It’s wit you want?/ It’s wit you get! / Dim wit, sad wit, glad wit, motionless in hell/ Billows fan the students Morgan and Son (people known to me!)/ Strike while the iron’s Luke warm! (again, Luke is known to me)…Now the dowser spins on and on clearing some ‘inocuous substance from (his) sight‘….and our connection fades out as I am led to move from one person known to me, to another….helping to clear them all of ‘inocuous substances’.  What a day! What an experience.

Midsummer Nightmare of Yorkshire Ripper’s victims

27 06 2010

The longest night.  I toss and turn.  The clock chimes midnight and I throw back the feather duvet and scuttle to the window to gaze out on to the moonlit garden.  Are there any fairies?  I squint towards the dimly lit lawn.  All is at peace.  There is no sound.  All the shadowy borders seem benign.   The angels in the marshmallowy sky of pinks and sticky hues of whites and blues tuck me back to bed.   A smile soothes me back to dreamland, but I toss and turn.  Toss and turn.  Too hot.    The clock now mocks.  1.45 am.  Throw back and forth the covers until finally, such bliss in sinking sleep.    Awake again!  It’s 3 pm.  I need the loo but an accompanying, mocking voice floats there and back with my senseless mind. 

Will you forgive ME?  Will you forgive MEEEEE…..?”  I shake off my zombie robes and clamber back to bed.  Mikey stirs.  ‘Are you okay?’ He has to be up for 8 to go to London.

 “John Sutcliffe was a murderer wasn’t he?” I whisper stupidly.  He answers loud and clear: 

 “I think his name is ‘Peter’…Known as the Yorkshire Ripper I think, but he’s not dead.”

 “Strange.  I could have sworn he spoke to me!”  The words I’d written in my last blog came back to haunt me: ‘Everybody deserves a second chance!’  (“Will you forgive ME?…” ) In consciousness I tousle with that magic word  FORGIVENESS.  -‘ But ‘my’ murderer’s act was not premeditated!  I must be dreaming.  Go back to sleep. ‘ I jump awake.  ‘Children! He murdered children…..?’

3.40 am: duvet on then off again. I swoop and catch my fleeing midsummer’s nightmare like a moth in a net; careful not to crumble its wings to dust on this Longest of Nights.  I fetch back the woman wandering in etheric space; still sleeping in her earthly body.  She is a journalist and used to telling stories.  She says she is the living  twin of one of Sutcliffe’s victims! 

“I was interviewed by police when my sister went missing.  Only 5, I couldn’t remember anything!  I feel so guilty.  It was my fault!”  

“What happened?”  …(Come dawn, I rush to record into earthly matter her story,  pull still lucid memories from that sticky candyfloss of restless, magic fairy night):  The girls play happily by the brook, lost in a world of their own.  In those days it was perfectly acceptable.  Only 100 yards from home.

“Dad made us fishing nets from mum’s old stockings, cut off from the knee. He twists some wire into a circle and sticks the pointy bit down the neck of a bamboo cane.  That was the dangerous bit.  We help  Mum sew the stockings on: great big stitches looped around the rim; not much space inside for fishing!  Dad says he made the nets especially small for his girls to go fishing.  Down by the brook. Sticklebacks like mermaids. Colours dazzle like jewels!  Chase them. Trap them. They wriggle to get free.  Lift them out of their hiding places.  They try to swim away.  The hoop is hard.  Little hands clumsy.  Some suffer. Others flounder inside the nylon once worn around my Mother’s feet.  They leap for their lives.  Stick to the side.  Chubby hands clumsy. Tip the mermaids into the glass jar.  They swim again.  In crystal clear water.  Such joy!  Such freedom!  Such colour glinting in the sun.”  Smiling faces of little girls.  Proudly running to show their mum:

“Where’s Helen? …”

“Oh she’s coming Mummy….She’s only got one in her jar.  I got three.”

“Wash your hands it’s time for tea.”  It’s 8 pm. …

“What happened Rita?”

 “What do you mean?”  Tears. 

“Don’t force her.”

“Where’s my sister?”

“Down the lane beside the brook…  Interview the slow worms: Daddy says they’re special underground detectives.  Mustn’t be disturbed!’    They found her jar beside the stream.  Lonely.  Still upright.  One mermaid swimming round and round; dreaming of its natural home.  A policeman crouches. 

“Is this the jar?” He dons white gloves. He tips the mermaid gently back into the waters of the bubbling brook.  She swims for her life.  Free again.  Happy again.   Greeted in ecstacy by her family back home. 

“We thought you were a gonner.”   The marshmallow sky hung timelessly in space.  A new dawn broke.  I’d barely slept a wink.

Peter Sutcliffe is known as The Yorkshire Ripper.  A sadistic serial killer, he murdered 13 girls between  1975 and 1981. I search the list; the many articles written.  I find Rita’s twin sister Helen! – Like all the others, ruthlessly murdered by a blow to the head and then mutilated in a frenzy.  Surprisingly her spirit swam home safely at the time, along with the other tragic victims …bar One.  On that magic Midsummer Night, Helen  and her still living twin were on a mission to help the soul of one little mermaid left behind.  A phantom of herself.  Still suffering in those horrific moments of death in 1976.   Emily Jackson  is hooked from the darkest crevices of the brook and reeled into the light....  

Thank God!  Thank you!  Thank you!”  (Desperate for money to pay their debts – her husband had taken her to a public house in Leeds, notorious rendezvous for prostitutes and clients.  He waited a short time after she left with an unseen punter,  but she never returned.  The following morning her mutilated body was found, violently stabbed 50 times.)

John Sutcliffe, father of the murderer still held in Broadmoor, collaborates from the light.   (“Would YOU forgive me?”  his son Peter had asked him, his resting victims and the rest of us, on that Midsummer Night)   Then breaks the dawn of understanding….My special twins were prostitutes.  They worked together.  Looked out for one another.  Made notes of car numbers of punters.  Arranged to meet again exactly 15 mts later, supposedly safe from the notorious Ripper.  On the night of 31 January 1978, Rita begged her sister not to go…” I feel so guilty.  It was my fault!” … Terrified of being arrested for soliciting, she had waited 3 whole days before notifiying police that her sister had never returned:

The girls play happily by the brook, lost in a world of their own.  In those days it was perfectly acceptable.  Only 100 yards from home.


“Dad made us fishing nets from mum’s old stockings, cut off from the knee. He twists some wire into a circle and sticks the pointy bit down the neck of a bamboo cane.  That was the dangerous bit.  We helped Mum sew the stockings on: great big stitches looped around the rim; not much space inside for fishing!  Dad said he made specially small ones for his girls to go fishing.  Down by the brook.  Sticklebacks like mermaids. Colours dazzle like jewels!  Chase them. Trap them. They wriggle to get free.  Lift them out of their hiding places.  They try to swim away.  The hoop is hard.  Little hands clumsy.  Some suffer. Others flounder inside the nylon once worn around their mother’s feet.  They leap for their lives.  Stick to the side.  Chubby hands clumsy. Tip the mermaids into the glass jar.  They swim again.  In crystal clear water.  Such joy!  Such freedom!  Such colour glinting in the sun.  Smiling faces of little girls.  Proudly running to show their mum’.

A case of possession by a murderer

21 06 2010

I have changed the names in my story to protect the lady who came to me for help on this matter, but you may be interested in the position of the murderer as well as the ‘possessed’…..

My client ‘Lucy’ is what we term a physical medium – ie she invites people ‘in spirit’ to take over her vocal cords and speak through her….a practice that I personally do not recommend as she needs my help to clear her of those earthbound spirits who haven’t yet integrated with the light.  If you are a regular reader of my blogs you will know that such attachments can cause mental, emotional and even physical dis-ease:  A couple of years ago she had a dribbling old man attached to her – someone she knew personally and channelled through herself (allowing him to take possession of her body) for the so-called benefit of his still living relative.  He refused to leave again and made her life a misery for 2 years before she came to me for help.  (ie he was earthbound and had not been channelled from the light, where people assume their relatives to be). 

Now Lucy had her adopted grandmother doing the same thing – and also apparently preventing her from seeing me: ‘Don’t you DARE go and see that  Jane!” she had warned her.

Her presence is suffocating me! – ” Lucy complained breathlessly over the phone, saying she was ‘a big woman!’

Lucy also communicates with a ‘team’ on the spiritual side of life (those who have passed safely and advise her on matters) and had been told by them to ignore the heavy demands and suffocating orders of this relative – a woman we shall call Freda – and get back in touch with me for assistance.  According to Lucy, “Freda is unable to get into the other side as they won’t let her…nobody is prepared to let her in…” .  I must say I was greatly surprised by this as I have never come across a ‘rejection’ from the light before.

I needed more history and Lucy told me that Freda had murdered her own mother! (Lucy is adopted).  I have no idea whether Freda was found guilty for this so-called crime during her lifetime (she died in 1981 aged 87) or whether my client had been given this information from her ‘team’, but before seeing Lucy for her appointment next week I decided to test the spiritual waters…..

Immediately, I was able to ‘catch’ the spirit of Freda and – predictably – she fought against my energies like a huge fish on the end of a hook, but I gripped my dowser tightly, just holding her long enough to ask the crucial question…

“Did you murder Lucy’s mother?”

Get lost!” (ironic considering her own position) “It’s none of your business!” (I took that to be a ‘yes’ and held her while I thought about the next step…)  She struggled and pulled against my strong hold on her, so I asked quickly

“Why did you do that?”

“SICK of her….sick of her!” she yelled at me.  So angry and twisted was she at the injustice of being stuck in her own ‘hell’ for 29 years I could not make out her features, but let her off the hook and left her snarling spirit to ‘go back underground’.

At 4.30 pm yesterday I tried again, once more hooking the spirit of this elderly lady to within my reach.  Again she fought like crazy, but this time I suggested to her that maybe her victim (RIP) was willing to forgive her?  The change was remarkable.  She stopped fighting and struggling…..my dowser stopped flailing about and settled into a comfortable swing from side to side:

“Do you think?” she asked, aghast at the possibility.  “But what about Lucy?  Lucy will NEVER forgive me for what I did to her mother!”  She started to head for the deep dark waters again but I knew there was hope for her soul and quickly reassured her that Lucy would do the same….

“I am sure she is willing to forgive you too!”  At this stage she was sufficiently lifted from the quagmire of her own debased thoughts and clinging guilt/anger about her victim’s behaviour – that subsequently drove her to kill, distracted enough for a connection – albeit a thin one – to be made with the light.  She struggled not to stay, this time, but to get through that sliver of light which was hope and forgiveness.  Someone named Ernestine reached out to help her and after a few more stops and starts she at last broke free from the earthly chains of guilt that had made her fight so hard to stay out of the light.

I was delighted to see Lucy’s mother and her murderer greet one another in a bear huge of forgiveness.  Interestingly, when I ‘tapped’ the words ‘I forgive my adopted grandmother for killing my mother’ into Lucy’s crown (this loosens the energies of the meridians, which can be seen on a CAT scan)  another four attached spirits – feeding off her natural distaste and unforgiveness of her mother’s murderer – were also hooked out and into the light!

Puzzled as to why the souls in the light were, according to Lucy, ‘keeping her out’ (as everybody deserves a second chance) I now became aware that she could not have been allowed home until she had ‘seen the light’ – the error of her ways and the glimmer of hope in forgiveness!”

“Is that right?” I asked my higher self (or spiritual guide of the moment!)

“Institutional rights!” came back the strange answer. “Institutional rights – they will be let out of the institution/prison of their own making once they have become aware of their ‘rights’ as opposed to their ‘wrongs’.


 ps ‘Lucy’s real mother sent her a message saying she did not suffer unduly; that they both live on in *ratification and that although  not wholly responsible for the actions of her attacker (who had hit her with a blunt instrument and hidden her body under the floorboards) she did in some small part feel she cajoled, provoked and pushed ‘Freda’ to the limits. ‘Freda’ herself said to Lucy: ‘I have served repentance and am grateful to your mother, who has forgiven my sins.  She accepts responsibility in a small but loving way. Tell ‘Lucy’ we love her!”   

After they had dictated these messages another 33 lost souls who had also died at the hands of murderers and whose bodies had been disregarded in the same way – f’rom Naples to Sussex to Aberdeenshire and China’ -were hooked into the vortex and helped home, on yet another like-attracts-like basis.

*Ratification: to confirm by expressing consent, approval, or formal sanction: to ratify a constitutional amendment/ to confirm (something done or arranged by an agent or by representatives) by such action. Synonyms are ‘to corroborate, approve, validate, establish’ (dictionary.com)

Negative energy shows up on photo of lovely pregnant neice

18 06 2010

Whilst visiting relatives in Camberley last weekend I was busy as always checking them for attachments/energies of earthbound spirit visitors.  Amongst 100’s of spirit rescues, these were particularly interesting photos taken of my soon-to-pod neice before and after I tuned into her.  Checking the camera I noticed a dark smudge of energy across her upper body and an orb (left) and she confirmed that she had been feeling shattered and irritableTuning in with my dowser I released 32 souls into the light (she now feels just as she should feel before the birth of her second child, ‘glowing’!) – as well as 8 visitors who seemed to come in from the area of the orb and who had been ‘killed in racing driver accidents’.  Immediately, she knew what the connection must have been (on a like attracts like basis) as, despite the sad nature of a brilliant and colourful painting done by her younger brother, she had felt inextricably drawn to this depiction of various disasters in the news….including a tragic racing car crash – and had even asked if she could have it for her new baby’s room,much to her family’s confusion!  

As you can see  here, the picture I took after clearing the energies showed that the dark smudge and the orb (one of the lost spirits) had gone!  

As for the picture, reproduced left  (my nephew had no idea when he painted it in 2008 as part of a school project) I had cleared souls directly after the accidents depicted, including the twin tower disaster (bottom left), the tragic coach crash (top left) which claimed many lives and last but not least the soul of Donald Campbell who I discovered when the craft in which he lost his life –  Bluebird (middle right) – was lifted from the depths of Lake Coniston many years after his death.  The story of his spirit rescue is in my soon to be published book on famous ghosts and spirits – by famous ghosts and spirits themselves!  The only category depicted in this painting of which I had no previous knowledge were racing drivers….my neice had obviously enabled their souls to be helped by her fascination with her brother’s painting!

Jacques Cousteau is raised from the deep

17 06 2010


Jacques Cousteau is raised from the deep

We’ve just returned from a delicious two day visit to friends in Wales, which incuded a visit to a nature reserve island off the coast of Pembrokeshire, South Wales.  Excitingly, we rode choppy waves to see adorable brightly colourful puffins up close in their natural environment, clocked at least fourteen huge seals which lolloped on rocks, ‘smelled’ the rock nests of storm petrel birds, and even saw and heard the elusive Chough (pronounced by most as Chuff but as it soared over a rock face towards me it seemed to call ‘chow chow’ as in chow mein!)  To wallow in nature is beyond description!

Our friend owns a WW2  jeep and we were fortunate enough to take a ride on the wild side,  whizzing through country lanes with the top down, the wind in our hair (and hands on our hats!) Was it engineered from above that an old soldier of 86 approached the jeep to admire it when we stopped at a seaside cafe for lunch?  We chatted for hours about his D-Day experiences, including being injured by a land mine and still having shrapnell embedded in his neck after 60 odd years! Ironically he now uses a metal detector to find treasure on the beach….fascinating!  Once home we reminisced about ‘Allo ‘Allo and the French Resistance.

On the 4 hour journey home, apart from road accident victims and spirits from surrounding countryside, I had a very special (ghostly) visitor:  The French underwater explorer and filmmaker Jacques Cousteau (1910-1997) ‘swam’ into my third eye, wearing a frog suit!  He patted his heart with a ‘boom-boody-boom’ sound and indicated that he was stuck , his heart unable to leave his underwater paradise after his death 13 years previously. 

“Please help me Madam,” he asked politely. “Sub-atomic!” (indicating his own atomic energy was too low to lift in to a higher, lighter vibration) He showed me through visuals that he was trapped (a grill above him that he could not budge) so I hooked on to his spirit with my dowser and lifted him as best I could (visualising the grill being lifted off him)  The grill turned sideways to form a ladder but he cried ‘the bottom rung it is broken… as my dowser bounced erratically in time with his deeply stuck spirit.  I enlisted (through the power of thought) two scuba diving spirit guides/helpers to each take him under an arm (he was very skinny!) and they helped him rise gently to the surface of the sea, where he snatched off his breathing goggles and gasped for breath….but he was not sufficiently buoyant to move to a higher plane. The pattern of my dowsing changed from a whirling clockwise spin (as he lifted) but then faltered as he begged for another boost to his energy…

 “Swim to the Mother Ship…!” we encouraged.  “Throw him a lifebelt!”    Someone reached out for his hand and called ‘Mon Ami!” and what sounded like ‘De Raisin!” (of reason?) ….. (the dowser pulled the whole time against his gravity field)… and between us we managed to lift him to a higher vibration….and he was off….the dowser spinning faster and faster and faster…until he was safe….  hawled up at precisely 1.50 pm on Weds 17th June 2010 to land safely on the other side!   A few seconds later, peeling off his wetsuit, he called ecstatically: “I cannot thank you enough!”  In the excitement of the moment I asked him to say something in French!!! “Parlez vous Francais?” he asked, bemused. 

‘No, but for my readers?’….(Why do I do these things?)  What he came out with next was gobbledygook to me but sounded like ‘pour decredatsion elementali b..boom’, so there you go!  Although I could not understand the sounds I understood his meaning: man is causing too much pollution in the elemental world (under the sea and on the land) and it is going to lead to a heart attack for our beautiful world!

Back home I googled  the famous man:

a.  He joined the French Resistance movement through WW2!

b.   He died of heart failure (boom-boom)

c.   He was married to Simone, since passed (safely -“Mon Ami!”)

d.  He ‘enlightened the public by exposing the irreversable effects of environmental destruction. ‘

Thanks to our friends for providing the circumstances and the energy of joy and to that old soldier with the twinkly eyes for ticking yet another box in his list of earthly duties!

Earthbound spirits phone mobile for help!

8 06 2010

Mikey shot off to the Co-op to get some milk , then I suddenly remembered we’d run out of bananas and tinned pineapples to top our tea-time curry, so rang his mobile from our home phone .  There was so much crackle on the line I couldn’t make myself heard and could only shout ‘bananas…we need bananas! And tinned pineapples…tinned pineapples!‘ down the phone, still not sure if he’d got the message.  But when he came home clutching the milk, pineapples and a bunch of the lovely yellow things we were both puzzled.

“I didn’t think you could hear me….”

“Oh you came over crystal clear – I couldn’t understand why you kept repeating yourself and shouting?  Oddly, when you rang I didn’t think it was you as this strange number came up on my mobile.  When I rang it back out of curiosity there was just a blank at the end of the line….” 

He tried the ten digit number again from our home phone and there was literally nothing at the other end: just an eerie silence.  I picked up my dowser and it flung itself into a twisting, writhing motion in the air (as I hook onto an earthbound spirit who is expecting me ,it is like hitting a whirlwind!)  All I could make out was someone calling “Hassan…Hassan…Hassan!” as I clung tenatiously to the chain of my crystal for at least 10 seconds.  Then suddenly it stopped dead, quivered slightly, then spun off again for 5 seconds.  ‘Hassan’ (a handsome middle aged man) was sucked into the spiritual vortex of the light but, unusually, paused to encourage yet another ‘Hassan’ to follow behind.  It also appeared that ‘Hassan senior’ was calling ‘Hassan junior’ from the other side.  Are you still with me?

My guides explained that as I had bananas and pineapples on my mind I had drawn some likeness in the split second I dialled Mikey’s number – and that the (original) deceased Hassan had worked for a local grocers!!!  Asking what the poor man had died from was a waste of time as the morbidly earthly subject of ghosts is always lifted to a new height!  (‘He slipped on a banana skin, of course…’)

The next day I decided to check out the strange number again and, after the silence had lasted a few seconds and I had said ‘hello…hello’, a pre-recorded female voice made me jump.  “Sorry.  There is a fault.   Sorry.  There is a fault.” Maybe I was asking for it, or maybe it was all part of the cunning plan by my spirit helpers, but immediately a freezing swirling mass of energy headed for my solar plexus….out came the trusty dowser again…and as I passed on 50 + more earthbound souls I could see a dockside with crates piled high with (you guessed) bananas and pineapples…”20 or so lost souls were lifted from the Congo, a huge batch from Brazil (now I could see banana plantations, men up banana trees, happy souls with machetes, swinging at the ground, harvesting the fruits) and finally my dowser stopped, swung from side to side, and a voice ‘from Mesopatamia’ said, ‘thank you Jane!’ 

(Mesopatamia is an area of ancient Iraq and quite appropriately in Greek means ‘land between the rivers’…and the name  Hassan (pronounced hah-SAHN) is of Arabic origin.  Imagine how I laughed when I discovered its meaning: ‘good looking and handsome’ – (see above!)  Presumably Hassan also sold curry sauce in his shop?

Ghostly Toy Fair

7 06 2010

This weekend I drove our son and a friend Steve to the NEC Birmingham to visit a collectors’ Toy Fair and as usual I was aware of a spirit or two following me as we made our way around the crowded stalls.  I have a passion for teddy bears, particularly old ones with character, and was thrilled to find such a hairless, delapidated 1930’s version dressed in a knitted stripey top, his glass eyes hanging on for dear life and his jointed limbs so loose that everything wobbled, including his head.  (My husband thinks he is ‘freaky’ but he has been loved to death by someone and I respect that!)…

Only half way through the many stalls and a little tired from trawling the Corgie vehicles, train sets and memorabilia for something for Steve, we decided to take a coffee break and, while I queued to pay, he secured a table near the large glass windows overlooking the Fair, where we could keep a look out for my son.  Sure enough, he lumbered in with his bulging bags and after emptying the lot, including a 1970’s robot, a stuffed camel, a huge bendy version of Kermit the Frog and a  Dalek, he asked for the car keys to deposit his load.  No sooner had he left, a woman shyly asked if she could share our table whilst she waited for her husband…and of course we welcomed her happily.  She cradled a pretty 1930’s porcelain doll in a carrier bag, fondly adjusting the doll’s wig.

Oh how lovely!” I coo-ed.  “I’ve just fallen for a teddy of the same era….”

“My grandmother left me 2 dolls similar to this one, which I love, and I thought I would have a go at dressing another,” she smiled.  Immediately, I wondered if her grandmother was resting in peace, and an angelic whooshing sensation down my body confirmed this, but I felt pushed to tell her about my other passion Her blue eyes held mine throughout my stories of rescuing earthbound spirits and when I’d finished she said she had ‘never come across ghosts but my ex-boyfriend’s flat was rather frightening.  The television oftened turned itself on , as did other electrical items (I did not interrupt to tell her this quite common when several souls are stuck in one house) as she continued to say ‘I’ve often wondered if this contributed to my boyfriend being killed shortly after…..?’

Steve and I looked shocked and sympathised as best we could.  I reassured her that that there would have been no connection…”It’s just that the freezing atmosphere in certain parts of the landing was horrible.  We moved out as soon as we could…”  (Once home I cleared the flat of ‘earthbound but harmless hooligans’)  I explained that along with ‘ghosts’ come their personalities, which can include stress, fear, anger, negative thought forms associated with their deaths etc. and it is natural to pick up these prickly, cold feelings and emotions) But as she told us her story I felt the presence of her ex-boyfriend, just above and to the right of my head.  He showed me a badge in the shape of a shield, rather like an American ‘cops’ badge, but this meant nothing to her. I broke it to her gently that her ex-boyfriend was not resting in peace and quickly explained the reasons for people becoming earthbound:  ‘Unfinished business – a sudden, tragic or unexpected death…’  Her eyes whelled up as she said ‘he had been stabbed.  The murderer was never found.  I don’t think he would have rested in peace until he’d been apprehended.’  

I felt another angelic whoosh down my body – and, mesmerised, she said she felt it too.  I explained this was confirmation that he was not resting in peace and that I would shortly pop into the ladies (I explained about the focussing tool of my dowsing) and help him over.  I gave her my email address so that I could give her feedback, and we went on our separate ways.  Sure enough, he grabbed this opportunity to leave (he had been killed way back in 1979 and had been watching over his girlfriend ever since, hence the shield of protection and his desire to help the ‘cops’ with their investigations to apprehend ‘the murdering swine’)  He thanked me ‘from the bottom of my heart’ that his soul was now able to rest and said ‘tell her I love her’…..

When I returned to the cafe the lady had a grey haired gentleman sitting with her, who I took to be her partner, and I discretely tip-toed past, hoping that she would email me and I could pass on the good news…..and all because Steve chose to sit at that table and because of our ‘freaky’ 1930’s playthings!

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