the world seduced me into questioning my relationship with the Church. The ‘angels’ had long since disappeared and my visions of immortality had been overtaken by my interest in listening to rock ’n’ roll on radio’s Saturday Club. The chart hits of the day and my growing awareness of girls became central interests in my life.
When I was 13 my maternal grandfather died. Grandfather Cooke was one of those ‘salt of the earth’ characters who work hard all their lives for little financial reward. Neither did he expect any charity. He was born during the 1880s, when everyone knew their place, whether rich or poor. He would not have called himself a Christian, but he did believe in Jesus. In fact he told me that his brother once saw Jesus walking through the living room, ‘as plain as day’. This vision of the Lord was probably enough to lend him the faith to prepare him for the afterlife.
He died on the chimes of midnight on New Year’s Eve 1960. Grandmother Cooke moved into our small flat the very next day. In a hurry she had neglected to bring along some essential things, which I was asked to go and collect.
It did not bother me going to the house, I always had a good relationship with my grandparents and I was very happy to help out in any way I could. It was only when I arrived at the front door that I had my doubts about going in. It was not the ghost of my grandfather that worried me, but I had to walk past the cupboard on the landing where the ‘bogey man’ lived. I had been brought up in this house from my birth until I was seven years old and when I broke the rules I was threatened with the bogey man. Much later in life I learned to understand this fear lay within my imagination, but at 13 the bogey man represented the Devil himself, ‘Old Nick’. I stood shaking with fear, a sweaty hand clutching at the key which would unlock the door. I was rooted to the spot for what seemed like an eternity. Time had stood still, life had frozen and I could not move my hand. It was only when a friendly dog barked that I snapped out of this entranced state. Slowly I turned the key and the door slid wide open.
Walking over the threshold of that old Victorian terraced house was like walking into the land of the dead. I had never before encountered anyone close dying or being dead. What struck me was the whole atmosphere of the house. It bore inside me and created a feeling of being wrapped in a blanket of cold sweat. I moved as fast as my jellied legs would carry me. First, I went to the living room and pulled a knife from the drawer. This was not to kill a ghost or assailant, but should I encounter the bogey man in the cupboard, I would be as ready for him as any 13-year-old boy would be when stricken by fear!
The house felt heavy, it heaved with death and even possibly ghosts, but I had no fear of them. As they had never bothered me in the past they were no threat now. I felt safe in my relationship with the otherworld. But still I could not call the angels to drive the bogey man away.
Eventually I passed my test of manhood by confronting the cupboard, my curiosity proving greater than my fear. Very slowly I lifted the latch. The door creaked open and squeaked, as it probably had not been opened since Queen Elizabeth’s coronation in 1953. The old cupboard housed a flagpole, still with the Union Jack furled around it. The only other object I saw was an old trumpet gramophone which I had never heard being played. I shut the door, gathered my grandmother’s things and walked out of the house. This was the only time I feared a confrontation with a being, imaginary or otherwise. I felt I had passed my first initiation.
It was around this time I experienced vivid dreams, which were frightening, but at the same time very entertaining. I would go to bed awaiting the next instalment. It was much like watching television. The characters, however, seemed real. They were moving through life and death scenarios, always violent, which culminated in the eventual death of the character who appeared to be me. Night after night this hero was killed and the shock always woke me up in a cold sweat, wondering where I was.
After a while, the dreams became an indelible part of my life, haunting me, taking me over. I changed my hairstyle, the clothes I wore and my personal hobbies and interests in line with the dream characters. Then one night the dreams just stopped, as if someone had taken the video cassette out of my mind and put it away so I could never find it again afterwards.
Many years later I would experience a sequence of events which would uncover the mystery attached to those early dreams. At night the world of ghosts embraces our living world through dreams and visions. The spirit world crosses over the subconscious and touches on the magical or the terrifying, until the mind has time to work out the past or the connection with the otherworld.
MY ADOLESCENCE
Grandmother Cooke, who now lived with us, was the daughter of a Romany Gypsy. Although she was a Christian, she was never afraid of being psychic and showing off her gift. She could read tea-leaves, divine meanings from a pack of playing cards and even tell the future from reading the shapes in the froth which formed in a beer glass during or after the drink. She treated it as an everyday occurrence and friends and neighbours used to pop in constantly to ask her advice.
This gave me the confidence not to underestimate my own psychic skills. I have never felt threatened or truly afraid of any encounter that I have had, even when working as a soul rescuer in places of darkness and malevolence. My early experiences of the spirit world taught me patience, how to communicate with the ordinary earthbound spirit and the difference between a ghost and a haunting.
In the fishing town where I was brought up, the conflicts in the streets and clubs were caused by drunken trawler crews hardened by long stints on the high seas. My intuition, or gut feelings, which are the basic instincts of all psychics, served me well during these times. Being psychic enabled me to hear unspoken voices from people and from the souls of earthbound spirits who would come and haunt the drunken sailors and others, taunting the living into violent behaviour or uncontrollable actions. I was usually able to detect trouble by feeling a build up in the atmosphere, though in some cases violence seemed to ooze up from the very grounds of the dance halls and nightclubs in which we gathered. I could hear the spirits’ intentions and ill will; I could hear the land and the buildings echo past events, sacred memories to the violation of the human spirit.
For many years I could not place why I had these abilities and as I became more aware of how far apart they set me from others I became oversensitive and insecure. By my early twenties I found myself in a Spiritualist church. It was dark, badly lit and with a rather daunting atmosphere. I met my first medium, a very old lady whose way of communicating with the spirits of the dead inspired me. She was the first to tell me that I had a natural talent. She instructed me to develop my psychic gifts and through her guidance I realized the difference between a psychic and a channel for spirit communication.
It became obvious to me that I needed a larger environment in which to develop, so I moved to London. Almost immediately I was thrown in the deep end as within a month of contacting the local Spiritualist church I was encouraged to become a probationary healer. I joined a development group and within a short time they realized that my gifts were unusual so moved me on to helping their rescue circle.
Rescue circles help lost souls to be relocated to family and friends. This was my first stage in becoming an apprentice soul rescuer. For two years as this work gathered pace I found myself working six nights a week in soul rescue and spirit communication while holding down a professional job in a large international company. This kept me grounded in the physical world, whilst my spare time was spent in the other world.
There were three crafts I was learning at this time which all demanded different techniques. My healing gift was in its infancy, but as I began developing a channel of light, I felt as though I was in contact with the higher powers. Being a conduit for a power source through the laying on of hands felt as though taps were being turned on and a flood of tingling, pulsating life-force would come out, often leaving a feeling of elevation, as if I was physically standing above the ground.
Then
