Year: 2021

CHAPTER THIRTEEN,WAR In October 1938, Red Cloud made one of his rare predictions and it was wrong. He said there would be no war. I have been many times asked how Red Cloud could have been thus in error, and have never had difficulty in giving what seems to me a satisfactory reply. Indeed, the answer is to be found in Red Cloud’s own teaching. Always he has taught that there is no such thing as destiny, that nothing in this life is preordained. It therefore follows that any prophecy…

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Only three or four times have I encountered the psychic phenomenon known as “independent voice.” This is a spirit voice which is heard not through the trumpet or through the mouth of the medium. It emanates seemingly from mid-air, sometimes at a considerable distance from where the medium is sitting. Curiously enough this rare phenomenon occurred on two separate occasions with the same sitter. He was a man named Sumpter who had come for a private sitting for clairvoyance. We sat together in broad daylight. I was transmitting spirit messages…

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“It is a photograph of your grandfather. You brought it as a present for Estelle.”For a few seconds Terence looked dumbfounded, and he said: “I don’t have to ask how you know. Red Cloud of course.”“Yes, Red Cloud.” “But what I don’t understand is how he knew. I was setting off to come here and I only thought of it at the last minute. It just occurred to me Estelle might like it.”He was quite right. I was delighted to have it. As I have already pointed out, Shaw Desmond…

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“This, of course, could be the only explanation. Somebody must have placed the shawl on my head. None of the sitters present could possibly have done so. Apart from the fact that no responsible member would break a circle in the midst of a séance, it would have been impossible for anyone to have done so and to be undetected. All hands had been linked and had remained so throughout, as was testified by every member present. My husband Charles, who was a wonderful healer, with a fine record of…

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“How long ago is it since he passed over?” Barbanell asked.“Your time is difficult for me,” came Red Cloud’s reply, “but this I can tell you. It was at the time of the showing of his portrait.” This was a reference which enabled us to place the time of Fawcett’s death almost to within a few days. In the summer of the previous year John Myers had been experimenting as usual with his spirit photography and among the “extras” had been one of Fawcett. This meant that Fawcett had passed…

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In saying that I believed Colonel Fawcett was dead, however, I was wrong. Some weeks later Red Cloud was delivering a trance address, and at the end he spoke to Reeves about Fawcett. He told him that Fawcett was alive. He said that Fawcett’s psychic powers were now so highly developed that he could indulge in astral projection and travel without permanently taking leave of the body. This, in fact, had occurred on the occasion of the earlier psychometry reading and accounted for my believing him dead. Red Cloud’s words…

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Fawcett was a remarkable man. A fine soldier, an experienced surveyor and intrepid explorer, he was also a mystic of a high order. His last expedition began in 1925 when, with his younger son and one other companion, he penetrated the Brazilian hinterland. It was a journey from which he never returned – in the physical sense. Several explorers claimed to have met him, or found traces of him, but none of their claims stood up to searching investigation. With the passage of years there could be only one logical…

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To this brief spirit return there was an unexpected sequel. Some days later, Reeves, walking in Hyde Park saw a horse and rider approaching him. When they reached him Reeves noticed that the rider was a man he had known slightly in days gone by, one who had no small reputation as an Arctic explorer. The rider halted his horse and said surprisingly: “Ah, Reeves, I was keeping an eye open for you. I understood you have been in communication with Gino Watkins.”“Yes, that is so. But how did you…

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Later he came again to my séance room and spoke this time in the direct voice. Dick was upset and his voice came with great difficulty. He was worried because of a claim that he had spoken through a medium at a public meeting. This, he said, was not so. He then asked that a message be given to his daughter, urging her to go ahead with the plans for his memoirs, and giving the name of somebody who was opposed to their publication. He sent affectionate greetings to George…

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“Mother, this is Dorothy,” came a girl’s voice. “Yes, darling.”“Mother, you have wonderful psychic gifts. Why don’t you use them?”“They are not sufficiently developed, darling. There is so much one needs to know.” There followed a long exchange of the kind you expect between mother and daughter, a conversation of no consequence to anyone but the two principals concerned.When it was over Mrs. Cunliffe-Owen acknowledged it had been one of her most rewarding evenings. Shortly after the events I have just described, Lord Northcliffe, the founder of the Daily Mail,…

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At the end of the séance Mary Glynne explained the significance of these words. She told us that she also sat with another medium through whom, a few days earlier, she had received a communication from Dennis. Ever seeking greater, more convincing, proof she had asked him for a text message, a few words only that he would repeat at her forthcoming visit to me. “I will say,” he had promised, “I have brought some flowers for you.”Emma Cunliffe-Owen was one of the most vital and kindly women it has…

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Shortly after the passing over of the talented young actor-manager Dennis Neilson-Terry, his actress wife, Mary Glynne, and his actress sister, Phyllis, started to attend regularly at my direct-voice séances. The first time that Dennis’ voice was heard it was faint and feeble as it called his wife’s name. “This is Dennis,” it added. “Can you hear me? I’ve got to get accustomed to this.”“I can hear you,” Mary Glynne said, encouragingly.With obvious effort the voice went on to give short messages to friends and relatives. Then it said: “This…

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