Year: 2021

But Polly wouldn’t listen. It couldn’t be true that Tony was dead – everyone was sure he was a prisoner. Mrs. Roberts had made a mistake! She had been stupid to come. She went home – angry that she had wasted her time going to Esher and yet at the same time very depressed. At Littlewood there were so many little things which had to be done which hurt her almost unbearably. Ronald’s clothes to be put away – the black suites with a white stripe which he had always…

Looking back, I realize what a sad and tragic moment this must have been for “Polly.” Her son, Ronald, a brilliant young man with a distinguished parliamentary career before him, had shortly before been killed in action. Meanwhile her younger son, Tony, was reported missing. There was, however, reason to believe that Tony had not been killed but was a prisoner-of-war and, mother-like, Polly clung heroically to this hope. These were the circumstances which led to Polly’s visit to me. For the details of our sitting I quote Barbara Cartland’s…

“Within one or two days of their passing.”My visitor nodded. “There was such a knocking,” he agreed. “I live in a flat,” he explained, “and just before the newspaper published the account of their death there was a continuous hammering on my door. I went to see who was there, but there was no one to be seen. Do they say where they were going in the aircraft?” “To engage in new work; to take up a new appointment overseas. Now there is a message for Lord Dowding. It is…

The next morning Barbanell sent a telegram to Mrs. Burgess, briefly outlining the facts and telling her he was writing to send full details. He received a telegram in acknowledgment and, some days later, a long letter confirming the information, her son had given us. “I really cannot tell you how I feel about it,” she wrote. “It is just wonderful. The suspense has been awful, but the load is lifted now. He must have seen me weeping and talking to his photograph. We were all the world to each…

Later, assisted by Red Cloud at a direct-voice séance, the boy spoke through the trumpet, and gave conclusive evidence of his existence in the spirit world by referring to documents he had left on earth and his knowledge of the manner in which his parents were dealing with them. Our war-time direct-voice séances were significant for the youthfulness of the majority of the voices we heard coming through the trumpet. Only on a few occasions could the parents or friends positively identify a voice from its individual quality, but nearly…

“It was on a ship, at Dunkirk,” I told her. “The ship was sunk by a bomb and he was one of the many who could not get to the boats. There is something else – an old infirmity of your husband’s. He walked with one foot turned in slightly as a result of a football injury. Last night you spoke to him; you said out loud. “Buddy if you are really dead, come through tomorrow and prove it.”“Yes,” she said in tears. “Last night as I was going to…

This was followed by a boyish voice issuing with difficulty through the trumpet. “Hullo, there! Can you hear me? It’s ‘Cobber’ Kain.” Everybody present knew who “Cobber” Kain was. From the earliest days of the war this young New Zealander had been flying with the R.A.F., and by shooting down many German machines he had become one of the great aces. Tragically, on the eve of taking a spell of well-earned rest, he fell victim of a flying accident. “We can hear you, Cobber,” the circle replied in chorus.“Segrave brought…

Despite himself, Colonel Castello was interested. He readily admitted that he had his son’s diary and that there was a pressed flower between its pages. But he could not say off-hand whether the pages which enclosed it referred to the boy’s stay in Greece. (This proved to be the case when the Colonel checked it on his return home.) Of the building of the car he was, of course, well aware, but he had no knowledge of the existence of the red notebook and subsequent searching for it during the…

The voice stopped as abruptly as it had begun and in the silence that followed, Red Cloud’s voice was heard quoting the words: “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” The fourth member of the quartet was Flight-Lieutenant Bill Castello, D.F.C. On earth he had been a keen racing motorist and his war service covered raids on Germany, occupied France, Libya, Albania, Iraq and Greece. In all he had made over fifty operational sorties and the citation for his D.F.C.…

At this point Red Cloud intervened to enlist the help of the sitters, from which those present guessed that the next speaker would be making his first attempt at direct voice. There was a pause and then came the words: “Dick Stevens here. I want to speak to my wife.” It was Flight-Lieutenant Stevens, D.S.O., D.F.C. and bar, better known as “Cat’s Eyes” and the subject of a notable painting in the National Gallery. The picture, entitled “Portrait of a Night Fighter,” is by Eric Kennington. For some time prior…

At this juncture good-humored protests of impatience came from the trumpet as others clamored for possession. It was David White who triumphed. He had ended his earthly life at the age of twenty-two when the submarine Olympus was lost off Malta. He spoke first to his mother, giving her messages of love for members of his family. “Dad is with me,” he assured her. The father had passed on a few months after the son. “Oh, it’s nice to talk!” David exclaimed with boyish enthusiasm. “Can you all hear me?”…

After war had been declared Red Cloud said: “There would have been no war if each of you had accepted the responsibility that lay on your individual shoulders. War came because man could not raise his thoughts from the abyss of fear to an acknowledgment of the Godhead that is within him. I said there would be no war because there should have been no war, and to have prophesied otherwise would have been to cast down man’s mind to the lowest ebb from which there could have been no…