Hall
The first place I visited was Samlesbury Hall. Samlesbury is a small central Lancashire town which lies between Blackburn and Preston. The manor itself is a black-and-white building which was built in the fourteenth century after the original hall had been burned by Robert Bruce when he raided Lancashire.
What surprised me most as I entered the old hall was the sound of girlish laughter and I had the definite impression that this had been an educational establishment at some time. The name ‘John’ was impressed upon me. ‘John Cooper,’ I said.
No sooner had I uttered that name than the energy around me changed and I felt as though I was in an inn. Once more there was laughter around me, but this time it was accompanied by the smell of ale and roasting meats in the huge fireplace. The sensations were only brief and were quickly replaced by a more sombre feeling—a feeling of desperation and despair. Then I heard a loud bang! ‘Somebody shot themselves here!’ I said. I could not say who it was, as I was not being given a name, but I knew for certain than somebody had committed suicide.
I went further into the premises. The name ‘John’ rang out again. It was not the same man whose residual energy I had picked up on earlier. This was another man and as I watched I could see him building up in front of me. ‘Sir John!’ he said. ‘Sir John Southworth!’
I knew that this man had been a good man—quiet and peaceable—but I also knew that he had suffered because of his faith. There was another sadness which he had experienced in his life too. The name ‘Dorothy’ was whispered. I felt the urge to move to the upper floors of the building. Up we went, past the priest hole and on to a bedroom. ‘Dorothy!’ the name came again. I had the impression of a tragic young lady, a murder and horrendous grief. ‘Her brother murdered her betrothed,’ said Sam. ‘It was an accident. He and his two companions were murdered by Dorothy’s brother. She went mad with grief!’
On the investigation went, out into the gardens and back into the hall again. Before I knew it the producer was telling me that our time was up and that we would have to vacate the hall. I was disappointed. To my surprise I had enjoyed wandering around the old manor house and meeting the inhabitants of years gone by!
Something Missing
Another part of the programme involved me visiting people in their homes to conduct readings for them. The television audience was invited to telephone or write in, a name would be drawn at random and then I would be taken to that person’s home. I met hundreds of wonderful people this way and everybody was extremely kind to me. I look back fondly to all the people I met, but once there was one little boy I was more than happy to help.
Paul was aged two and Sylvia, his grandmother, had written in to ask for a reading. Her daughter-in-law Jane had passed to spirit and her son David had been left to look after Paul on his own. As David was a long-distance lorry driver, he had sold his home and moved back to live with his mother so that she could care for Paul whilst he was away.
Jane had been gone for three short months and during that time Paul had been quiet, morose and cried each night when he was put to bed. Sylvia knew he was missing his mother but thought there must be something else that he was missing too. She could not have been more correct.
As I entered Sylvia’s home I immediately became aware of a young lady in spirit. She was slim and dark-haired and I gained the impression that when in her physical life she had been a joyous soul with a bubbly sense of humour. ‘Yes, that’s Jane,’ Sylvia confirmed. ‘She was always laughing. She didn’t have a care in the world.’
Jane then told me herself that she had loved her life here on Earth, that she and David had been very happy and were planning another baby. ‘Life couldn’t have been better,’ she said. ‘The trouble is, I just didn’t see them coming!’ She had been coming home from a friend’s home one evening when a car had mounted the pavement and struck her. After two days in hospital she had passed on to the spirit world. She told me that her father Jim had been there to collect her and that she was at peace, but she still missed David and Paul very much.
‘I inspired Sylvia to contact you,’ she continued. ‘There’s a problem with Paul. He’s missing his toy elephant. He always used to have it with him in bed at night, but when David moved to Sylvia’s house it was packed into a box and it’s still in there.’
I turned to Sylvia and told her what Jane had said. ‘I didn’t know anything about a toy elephant,’ she told me. She walked over to a cupboard under the stairs and took out a large cardboard box full of cuddly animals. After rummaging around, she finally pulled out a blue velvet elephant.
On seeing his toy, Paul let out a shriek of glee. He toddled over to Sylvia, took hold of the elephant and clutched it to his chest.
‘I haven’t seen him looking so happy since Jane went,’ Sylvia said. ‘Just wait until I tell David.’
A day or two later the studio received a telephone call from Sylvia thanking us for coming to her house and telling us that Paul had gone to bed each evening without a problem now that he had been reunited with his longlost friend.
No Smoking
One of the funniest incidents on the road occurred when the film crew and I had travelled to Northumberland to conduct a reading for Jean, who lived in a quaint village some 40 miles west of Newcastle-upon-Tyne. We were booked to spend the night before in a small hotel which was actually located on Hadrian’s Wall. Rain had fallen relentlessly for the whole of our journey north. By the time we reached the hotel, which was situated down a farm track, the stream which ran alongside it had burst its banks and we were forced to drive through a foot or more of water to reach our destination.
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