Drunken ghost in a charity shop!

30 10 2013

The following story of some years ago may not have been seen by my regular readers as it is under my other (underused, due to time limitations!) Blog The Daily Ghost ~ so am sharing it here and hope you enjoy it!

Just returned from a fortnight’s well earned ‘rest’ in Cornwall with my parents but the usual ghostly shinanigans made most days just like any other days and weeks! Just to pass on some of the lighter moments… Mum serves in the Marazion charity shop once a week so I accompanied her on Thursday 13th, tucking myself behind the tiny counter of the tiny shop where mum and I shared a stool – “You have it….no you have it!” Ten minutes into her stint a loud crash caused every set of eyeballs to hone in on two large cups and saucers which splayed noisily to the floor (without breaking!) and the lady shopper who had her generous bottom bent towards the table gasped

I was nowhere near it… How did that happen?”

“Don’t worry… Jane will sort it!” trilled my mum, not realising I had caught sight of the culprit – An apparition who had wandered into the shop after mingling innocently with the throngs of holidaymakers buzzing around this popular seaside town. I spoke telepathically to the ghost of the stocky man in the flat cap, who wasn’t at all concerned as I retrieved the crockery and returned it to its neat pile on the table.

Can I help you Sir?” was the only thing I could think of at the time.

Albert Horace Wentworth at your service ma’am….I was only tuchin’ (Cornish accent)” He winked cheekily in the direction of the lady with the shapely figure and made to leave in a hurry, so I called after him. (Telepathically, so as not to blow my own cover to the holidaymakers of course!)

“Do you realise I can see you?”

“Gross misjustice of conduct!” he cried, which made me laugh as he was obviously inebriated! He looked me up and down through straggly eyebrows and hazy eyeballs and I read his thoughts as he called me “a mere flippety-gibbit” and shuffled out of the shop again. I resisted grabbing him by his braces and had to let him go.

Once home, I tuned in to the merry ghost via two of my helpful spirit guides, who each took a supporting arm as I offered him help him to leave the earth plane, but he vigorously declined, shaking off the angels and telling us to “get lost‘” Ironically, this was what had happened to himself when he was waylaid enroute home to the other side, but as he was obviously happy in this state I did something I don’t usually do and didn’t persuade him any different.

25th August 2009

Drove back to Nottingham via my neice’s in Dorset, to drop off some Christening presents for her cute 8 month old daughter Lily – a round trip of almost 400 miles in 10 1/2 hours, also stopping off to photograph my favourite Stone Henge on Salisbury Plain and walk past the house in Tidworth where we had lived 25 years previously – such memories came flooding in! Also flooding in were large batches of lost souls from the areas and the roads and motorways not previously dowsed for earthbound souls. As I did my best to ignore the stinging cheekbones which indicate many souls clammering for attention, we were intermittently reminded by the bleeping on the car’s dashboard and the red warning light which indicated our seatbelts were not done up (which we tested and retested by pulling them in and out, knowing we were fully strapped in) …Spirit obviously has a sense of humour as, when I picked up my dowser to open the high speed portal of light to transport them through, I saw the joke….”Fasten your seatbelts please!”

Towards the end of our mammoth trip, my right ear throbbed with a sudden megaphone-type energy as someone said “pin your ears back. Look at the time….” and then left just as suddenly. I glanced at the car clock and noted it: 7.13 pm. What could this mean? All the digits added together came to 11 …which always indicates to me that I am in the right place at the right time…But, the spirit visitor returned and I felt as though I were Dumbo again as Sheila, my husband’s deceased mother, acting as a spirit guide and protector (she died in 2000), once more pulled at my poor, tired ear…

Take your time,” she implored; “take your time!” All in one thought she conveyed to me the fact that she had been scanning the road ahead and spotted a “fly by night” with whom we definitely needed to avoid coming into contact. We thanked her for her loving protection and Mike took his foot off the accelerater. “Keep your eyes on the road,” she encouraged. After 10 mts or so she said “you’re alright now” and sent several personal messages from herself and husband for my husband, who was incredulous as seconds before I had told him his mother was on the line he had been thinking of her; imagining asking her advice on some other matter. “Knock and the door shall be opened!” she advised. In other words, my husband merely thinking of his mother had brought her rushing to him, hence the advice on driving safely! We passed a tractor and trailer in the gloom; a boy racer weaved in and out ahead of us; someone drove at high speed from a services slip-road and joined the motorway in an erratic fashion: Time as we know it is of such consequence to our daily journeys; it could have been any one of those things we had been involved with due to only a second or two’s difference in speed. Imagine how busy our spirits and guides on the other side are, scanning our paths for trouble the moment we connect with them in loving thoughts, however subconsciously!

When the long hours turned to dusk I suddenly thought about Albert Horace Wentworth and decided to have another go at offering him assistance. My guides found him tucked up in a dark alleyway in Penzance, several miles down the coast from the charity shop in Marazion. As he was snoozing, I left him. Just before we reached the familiar territory of home, however, my guides returned and informed me that they had kept the light shining on him and he suddenly awoke and followed it home: “ Sorry about the behaviour; most rude of me! ” he said from his rightful home on the other side. I discovered that he had been a sailor in Penzance when it was buzzing port. “A thriving fishing community,” he said sadly, “lost t’ world. W””””””s! ” he said of those who brought in fishing quotas which lost him his livlihood. “What else to do but drink y’ dole money?” he asked.Still. Safely back in ‘arbour na; thanks missy!”

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