Later that evening I rang Jan to find out how she had got on. Her sister-in-law answered the phone and explained that Jan still hadn’t returned. I told her about the lights. When Jan got home she told her sister-in-law that the medium had told her Bobby was saying, ‘I did the lights, it was me.’ But Jan hadn’t known what the medium was talking about. We were all amazed by this evidence. And when Bobby contacted Betty whilst she was having a telephone conversation with Anne McMenemy, we knew that he would always be with us.
Many years after the death of Terry’s mum, we arranged to have dinner with Betty, Jan and her daughter Nicolette. But whilst we were waiting to be seated at the table, Betty began to give Terry survival evidence that took him back to his childhood. Then she said, ‘This lady is cooking something for you. I don’t know what it is, but I’m being given a picture of something that is neither a cake or a pancake, it’s a “thing” and it’s about this big.’ Betty then made a size with her hands about four inches in diameter. We were amazed because it was something his mum would always cook with Terry’s bacon and eggs for breakfast. It was just flour and water mixed together and fried. There was no name for it, and it was always referred to as ‘one of those things’. The evidence went on for some time, and was so accurate that Terry changed his opinion about mediums.
One day, whilst I was talking to Betty over the phone, she told me that my dad wanted to speak with me. He gave me wonderful evidence of his survival, and even described the flooding that had taken place that very morning whilst I was using the washing machine.
I do not find mediumship weird or spooky, but comforting. I find the fact that our loved ones are still around and able to communicate with us a bonus, and one that I would miss if it were not available.
The important thing in this life is to have an open mind.
It is important to remember that even though you may not yet have had any evidence of survival, someone is always with you. Love is the greatest link that we have with those who have temporarily left us.
TINKERING WITH THE MIND REALLY began for me thirty years ago when I lived in Spain. Looking out over the vineyards toward the sea from my vantage point high in the hills, I had time to think for what seemed like the first time in my life. Although the move from England had created many problems, I was able to forget them as I luxuriated in this freedom of thought. It was as though I had found the key that had been lost to me since childhood when, in my innocence, I had been able to open the doors of my mind with ease. However, bringing up a family and pursuing a singing career meant that the key had been mislaid, covered in etheric dust, neglected. Now that I had found it again I was determined to clear away the cobwebs, to polish it and make it work for me.
The sun, shining on the sea in the distance, also opened my heart chakra, allowing suppressed emotions to evaporate with floods of tears. The pain I had endured for seventeen years from a ruptured disc in my spine disappeared, never to be felt again. This alone gave me food for thought. Why had the pain disappeared? I still had the ruptured disc. Nothing had changed but my frame of mind.
Having practised yoga for many years, I had learnt the art of relaxation – or so I thought – so why hadn’t that released me from my straitjacket of pain? It was a mystery that I could not solve at that point, but it made me think and encouraged me to open not just one door but several, each taking me down avenues that were exciting, exhilarating – and sometimes frightening.
I remember the day I put myself into daydreaming mode and took the first ‘mind walk’ from my home to the nearest village. For the first time I saw things that I had never noticed during my physical walks. For instance, the ruts and potholes looked far more menacing than they did when I rode over them on my scooter. The wild herbs were more abundant, and there were tiny wild flowers shining like seed pearls that I had never seen before. They were hidden from the naked eye, and quite beautiful. I was exhilarated by this experience and used my mind to seek and find other things that had been hidden from normal sight.
Turning left, off the path and on to the main road that led to the village and the sea, the view looked strangely unfamiliar. I thought I knew this route like the back of my hand, yet I could see pylons, masts and other strange objects that looked completely out of place. I made a mental note of them to check out later.
When I finally reached the village, I saw three of my friends sitting at a table outside a café, drinking coffee. This was great! It meant that I could check with them later to make sure that my journey was real and not simply a fantasy.
I took off my shoes when I reached the beach, allowing the sand to trickle through my toes, and as I got to the sea I could feel the cold water lapping around my ankles – and this jolted me back into my body again. As I looked around, I could not believe that I was still sitting on the terrace looking out to sea instead of walking barefoot on the beach. It had been an incredible experience, and one that I could not wait to put into practice again.
The next day my friends confirmed my sighting, and asked why I hadn’t joined them. Not wishing to go into any detail, I told them I had been in a hurry to return home.
The next time I went into the village, I walked the scooter down the rutted path and carefully checked the tall grasses where I had seen the tiny flowers. At first I saw nothing, but then I saw them, hidden in the undergrowth like miniature glow-worms. They were exquisite. My excitement mounted as I investigated the abundance of wild herbs. How could I have missed them on my previous journeys? I could have understood it if I had always used motor transport, but I often walked the path and still had not seen them. I vowed to walk more often in the future and pay greater attention, so that I would not miss out on any other jewels of nature.
When I reached the main road I took to my scooter and made my way toward the village. I was very disappointed when I realised that I could not see many of the ugly pylons and masts that I’d noticed on my mind journey. How could this be? Feeling a little despondent, I turned down a side road so that I could survey the scene from a higher vantage point. And there they were! From the road they had been completely hidden behind the pine trees. I became very excited as I realised that my mind travelling had been on a higher level than my physical travelling and that something could leave my body and hover above the earth, leaving an impression on my mind. Unlike a dream, I remembered every detail.
My quest had begun. Every day I put aside some time for my mental travels, following them up with the physical journey and checking all the way. I sometimes found myself taking small paths that I would never have dreamt of exploring alone, experiencing for the first time a freedom and a sense that I belonged with the birds, gliding along on the shifting currents of air.
Every time I took a mind journey something else happened, too. I felt a tingling sensation sweeping through the whole of my body, which energised me for several days.
Those years spent practising the art of mind travelling were some of the most fascinating and happy times I have ever known. Strangely, I never thought that I was linking into something new, but felt only sadness that I had neglected the art for so long. Somewhere inside, I knew that I had done it all before.
Whether my experiments with mind travel had reached out into the Universe and touched other minds I do not know, but I was certainly not prepared for what happened next.
One beautiful moonlit night, my first husband Leslie was standing on the terrace of our villa when he called to my daughter Janet and me to join him. He sounded very excited as we hurried out, only for him to point out a small bright star in the night sky. Disappointed, I remarked that it was just a star. ‘Look closer,’ he said. ‘It’s moving around in circles.’
We stood quietly for a few minutes, observing the bright light, and it soon became clear that something