Ghosts and Spirits

      It is so easy to confuse the two.   Just think of a ghost as a shadow, or a memory of something, or someone, that is no longer there.   It is a piece of a life programme, long ago played out, but not entirely erased from the virtual reality memory.   It lingers on replaying a sequence from a scene, over and over again.   The viewer is playing a new game, and learning new lessons of life.   But those stray kilobytes of memory from the earlier game, are still there.   Think of them as an uninstalled programme that hasn't removed every file.   My last computer scan removed 27 useless files that hadn't been removed when some programmes were deleted.

       One good example of a left over programme file, is the Roman Legion that still makes its weary way through an old cellar in York.   I believe that a few people have seen them, with terrifying results, yet the description is always the same.   The soldiers appear shorter than modern man, look weary, dishevelled, and are clearly unaware of any onlooker.

       The Ghost of Dorothy Forster in the remote but lovely village of Blanchland in Northumberland, is quite a different kettle of fish.   The whole area is an ideal setting for spectral appearances.   Hadrians Wall and its ancient Roman Garrisons, is only a few miles to the north.   The Village itself was built of stones from the ruined Abbey, raided by Scottish marauders in the 13th century.   Dorothy's story of how she rode to London and rescued her brother Tom, from the Tower, is retold in a novel by Sir Walter Besant.   Her ghost still haunts the Lord Crewe Arms, where she hid Tom.

       The old Inn has rooms for guests, and those who stay in the haunted room, have reported feeling a cold draught, the touch of a hand; hearing footsteps on the stairs, though nobody is there; and a heavy thump on the bed.   In one case the bed was bumped about, and feet shaken, followed by an urgent knocking on the door.   The disruption ceased when the light was turned on.   You can of course test this out for yourself, if you ever have the opportunity to visit Northumbria.   Book into the Lord Crewe Arms, and ask for the haunted room.   You can also see the 'hidey hole' where Tom was hidden.

       This kind of activity may also be part of the left over programme played by Dorothy and Tom in 1715.   Or is it?   We may have in Blanchland, an example of two spirits, not ghosts or shadow, who have somehow lost their way.   It happens when some mission in life is not completed.   The Soul cannot move on, until it fulfills an urgent need to see some special project through.

       The Spiritualist view is that there are a number of Astral Planes which separate us from our ultimate goal in Heaven.   It is in the first, the lowest, that so many souls get stuck.   Here we find all kinds including those whose rigid belief still blinds them from the truth of where they really are.   Just imagine how it must be for them.   Totally convinced that they will be whisked straight into their own promised heaven, they suddenly find themselves in a land which is more real than the one they left.   But worst of all, they find they are among people who in their eyes were godless and worthless on Earth.   They become utterly confused, wondering how they could possibly have done anything wrong, instead of understanding the lessons of life.

       It is also a home for many more souls who for one reason or another, need to return to Earth, or whose work as a guiding spirit requires proximity.   If you really think you haven't got your own angel close at hand, please think again.   Wasn't there some time or another when you had a lucky escape?   Have you ever said, "Gee that was lucky?", or "Phew, close one that time!"   You can be sure that it was no accident nor coincident that you survived some peril.   Should you turn your back on them, or deny them in any way, you may not be so lucky the next time.

The Silent Work of Spirits

       You may think that you have never seen a ghost or spirit.   They can look so real that you would have no idea that you were talking to one, unless it was someone close whom you knew had already crossed over.   Then again they do not have to put in a special appearance to help you out in some way.   Take the case of Benjamin Willis.

       During the early 1980’s, I was helping a fellow family researcher to trace her gt.gt.grandfather’s missing brothers.   She was busy tracing my forebears’ records in Bradford, while I scoured Melbourne’s Newspaper files, and shipping lists for the Willis family.   We already knew that the eldest had arrived in Australia in the 1850’s and that he had lived and died in Amherst, the old Gold Mining Town.   The youngest was there in the shipping lists alright, but he just disappeared after his arrival, with no mention in any street directory or obituary.

      As for Benjamin Willis, he was living in Richmond for ten years or more, until he too disappeared from any records that I could find.   Then, after another decade I was on the trail again.   I found his obituary in the Melbourne papers.   Benjamin died in Richmond, Melbourne, and now I knew that the names of his daughters were Catherine, and Elizabeth Davis.   Yet nowhere else could I find any mention of him.   The only clue was the last line of his obituary - ‘will Dunedin papers please copy’.   Here then, was a link with New Zealand.

       Benjamin’s death certificate told us little more.   Having exhausted all other means of research, one lunch time, I drove up to Kew Cemetery.   There I was given the compartment number, and names of other people buried in the same plot.   None of these even appeared to be relatives.   As for the grave site, there was no head stone to furnish any further information.   I shall never forget that moment of near despair.   That was that, I thought.   After a moment or two, and without thinking of what I was saying, I spoke aloud, “Well Benjamin, I’ve come to a dead end.   You will have to help me now.”.

       It was hardly a week after that, when two clients called in to see me at the small suburban travel agency where I was employed.   In those days travel agents were still permitted to assist clientele with their passport applications, and we soon got to the question - ‘Mother’s Maiden Name?”.   When told that it was Willis, I couldn’t resist telling them all about my long search for the Willis brothers.   Mrs. F. looked a bit dubious, and remarked that she didn’t think it could be her grandfather, as he had come over from New Zealand.   “Dunedin” by any chance?”, I asked.   She now stared back in obvious amazement, and started to say, “How did you know......”.   Unable to contain myself, I interrupted and said, “Was your mother Catherine, or Elizabeth Davis?”.

       “Elizabeth Davis”, replied Mrs. F. The rest of the story quickly unfolded.   Benjamin had been a Chef and Chief Steward with one of the major Sailing Companies.   He had settled in Dunedin, although I don’t think that Mrs.F. had known about his previous years in Melbourne.   He had been prospecting for gold in the Otago province, and she later produced his gold mining licence.   In Dunedin, Benjamin was soon noted for his catering skills.   Eventually, he accepted the post of Chef, at the new Scotts Hotel in Melbourne.   Unfortunately, he contracted pneumonia on the sea voyage from New Zealand, and died three days after landing back in Melbourne.   Some two months after my clients’ call at our office, they were able to visit their long lost cousin in Bradford.

       I knew then that this was more than just a coincidence.   Several more years were to pass before I had more pieces of the puzzle, and began to look deeper for an answer to the big question - "Just What is going on here?"

Spirit Faces

       It isn't easy for a Spirit to try and catch our attention, and harder still to reach through to our dimension in some physical manner.   The exception is shortly after the body dies.   This is when loved ones so often see the one they have just lost.   They are still in tune with the vibrations of our dimension, and some kind of tenuous link remains long enough for that one last message.

       In 1978 I had a phone call from my Mother, asking me to fly back to England, as Dad had not recovered from a prostrate operation, and was in a coma.   They hadn't even told me that he was having the operation, which had been two days earlier.   I managed to get a booking on a flight the next day via Japan, to London, and thence to Teeside.   When I got to the hospital and his bed-side, there had been no change.   He lay there comatose, with hardly any sign of life.

       So began a twice daily hospital visit, where all one could do, was to chat away to him, pretending that he could hear all that I said.   Maybe he did, for once I am sure that he tightened his closed eyes, making some monumental effort to tell me that he was still with us.   After nearly five weeks of this daily routine, with not a sign of any change, I decided that I would have to return.   I knew that my absence from the Office was causing quite a strain on everyone there.   Mum fully understood and agreed that I should go; so I steeled myself to organise the return bookings, the following morning.

       With all this on my mind, I relaxed in a hot bath in the evening, idly gazing at the bathroom curtains.   Now, I don't know how this works, but I could see Dad's face as clear as anything, in a floral design in the material.   Since then I have found that I can make out a multitude of faces, on Carpets, in Curtains, in Shadows on a tile, in the Clouds, and in anything else that carries some depth of contrast in its otherwise haphazard pattern and montage.   I know others have seen this phenomena, for such stories of loved one's faces in trees, and in photos, have appeared in magazines, and on the small screen.   Also there is the famous picture of 'Christ in the Alps', taken from the Air.

       We were woken at half past seven, the next morning.   The Policewoman who came to the door, told us that Dad had died at 4.30am.   I wonder if that is when they found him, or had he managed somehow, to put in his appearance on the bathroom curtain before letting go?         On a subsequent visit one year later, I fancied that I could still make out his face in the curtan.      But the next time, it was gone and despite some concentration I could no longer see his features.     Return to Faces.

When a Spirit Comes Calling - Sit up and Pay Attention

       Edith doesn't believe in Ghosts or Spirits.   Well that is what she will tell you,   Get her talking about that morning in the early Nineties, and generally she will slacken her "I don't want to know" defences.   Then if you're lucky, her story will be told again.

       We have some safeguards built into our physical make-up, our earthly computers, which inhibit memories of the real world, and convince us that anything unusual just isn't possible.   Ghosts fall into this last category.   It is also the reason, why we forget our dreams as soon as we awake, with few exceptions, that is.   The same mechanism tends to erase any thoughts one may have had, when lying prone.   I have so often memorised a sequence of timings through the night, with no difficulty, whatsoever.   Yet, within seconds of running through them all once more, I can sit up in bed, or get up, and whoosh, it's all gone.   Perhaps the source of this computer eraser is connected with the inner ear balance?

       At the time, Edith was Manager of a Retirement Village.   It was one of a few where she doubled that role with her nursing profession.   As usual I had left early for work, locking the front door behind me.   Edith dozed on, until suddenly, she was wide awake, and not a little frightened.   An unseen hand had knocked her quite hard on the shoulder, and she distinctly heard a voice urging her to "Come Quickly".   She knew that I had long since left for work.   There couldn't possibly be anyone in the Unit.   Keeping her eyes tightly closed, Edith pulled the sheet over her head, convincing herself at the same time, that she had imagined it all.   Later that day, on her routine round of the Village to check on everybody's well-being, she discovered one elderly lady lying peacefully in bed, never to waken again.

       It must have been about a year later, and who knows, perhaps a year to the day, when the Remote Beeper went off.   I was sitting nearer to it, so Edith called out, "Which Unit is it?"   I read out the number on the digital display, without thinking.   "That's not possible", said Edith, "It's still empty".   We looked at each other, knowing that we had to check it out quickly, in any case.   As we made our way in the dark, torch in hand, the upper most thought in both our minds was that we might come face to face with a live intruder.   Unlocking the front door, I hesitated.   It was totally dark and silent, with the furniture unable to throw a single shadow.   Edith chided me for being afraid, only admitting later on that she was just as fearful.   We needn't have worried.   There hadn't been a break in, and the Unit was quite empty, other than the furniture remaining in every room.

       Why is it then, that these little reminders crop up, as much as a year later?   I can accept that Spirits have some compulsion to try again, to call for help.   But why a year after the event?   Might it be that everything that happens, in some way, ties in with the position of heavenly bodies?