Fifty Years a Medium – Chapter 8, 10/10 by Estelle Roberts

The other instance occurred in late summer towards the end of a six weeks drought. The countryside was tinder dry and common sense should have told us not to smoke while lying comfortably back in the long brown grass. But Eveline is fond of her cigarettes. She relaxed with her eyes closed, a cigarette between her fingers.

We must all have drowsed off because the next thing we knew was that the grass was on fire, and the blaze was spreading with alarming speed. We jumped up and tried to stamp out the flames, but it was useless. Fanned by a warm breeze the flames were advancing rapidly towards where our car stood with several others.

Parties of nearby picnickers hurriedly collected their belongings, with the drivers running as fast as they could to remove their vehicles from the danger zone.

Bringing up the rear of my family’s retreat, I was suddenly frightened. The fire was clearly out of control and there was nothing we could do but save ourselves and our belongings. But untold damage might result to other people’s property as a consequence of our careless action.

Desperately I cast about for something we could do that would halt this conflagration. Then I thought of Red Cloud. He had said he was master of the elements; he could help us now. I stopped running and invoked his aid. Then I raised my hand and stood still and silent. And as I did so the flames died down, as if by a miracle. It was a moment I shall never forget however long I live.

The world of the supernormal ranges from the spectacular and seeming miraculous, such as the episode I have just described, to the insignificantly trivial that is hardly worth recording. Nevertheless, it is the trivialities which, coming unbidden into our thoughts, mostly make up our day-to-day life, and often bring entertaining glimpses. I have known many amusing intrusions into my domestic life of which the following is a fair example.

I was slightly unwell and had to remain in bed. During the morning Iris came to my room, saying that Charles had gone to do the household shopping.
“Yes,” I said, “I know. A few minutes ago I saw him come out of the flower shop. He had been buying me a bunch of violets.”

When poor Charles returned home half-an-hour later carrying his violets, Iris said: “You needn’t bother to surprise her. She knows.”
“I might have known it,” Charles replied with a rueful smile. “I never knew such a woman!”
“Never mind, my dear.” I said. “Thank you for the thought. The violets are lovely.”