for whom I had done a reading came to me and said, ‘I would love to learn how to do what you do. Would you teach me?’
I told her I didn’t think I had anything to teach, but she thought otherwise. I had no teaching experience but when I considered it further I realised I could probably do it.
I spoke to a few other people and quickly put together a group of six students, which seemed like a good number. I had no idea what I was going to teach, so the night before I sat in my bath and talked to spirit and they gave me the whole format for the course, just like that. The next morning I stood up without any notes, trusting in spirit, and the words came out easily. I think my students were pleased with what they learned because at the end of the day, they all asked if they could come back for more. And then news of my course spread rapidly by word of mouth until I was travelling the world, teaching courses in loads of different countries to groups of ten people each time. It all happened generically without any planning. Someone would phone with an invitation and I’d agree to go and then more work would flow in as a result.
My own troubles weren’t over, though. When my daughter Tanya was seven she was abused by someone in a position of trust and became very disturbed as a result. I tried to pursue this man through the courts but was told it was his word against hers. All he got was a rap on the knuckles. It was a very hard time and I was deeply depressed about it all, yet trying to be calm and comfort my daughter as best I could.
One day I was taking a course in Guildford, Surrey, sixty miles away from where we were living at the time. I was walking up the high street towards the place where the course was due to take place when a little man wearing a dark brown raincoat came up and tapped me on the arm.
‘Your mum wants to talk to you,’ he said.
‘No, she doesn’t,’ I said crossly.
‘Yes, she does,’ he insisted.
‘My mother’s dead!’ I told him.
‘I know that,’ he said and I looked at him more closely. There was something very calm and still about him. ‘I’m going where you’re going,’ he continued.
‘How do you know where I’m going?’
In response, he walked ahead of me and turned into an alley then round to the back of the building where I was taking my course and in through the correct door. I was amazed as I followed him in, and finally ready to listen to what he had to say.
‘Your mother is telling me that you feel as though you’re facing a brick wall. But she says to remember that as each door closes a window opens, and don’t you forget it.’
This was a phrase my mother had often used. I opened my mouth to thank him for the message but as quickly as he had arrived, he was gone again. Some people who were there for the course came over to greet me.
‘Do you know that man?’ I asked, pointing in the direction he had gone, but they all looked at each other blankly. No one did.
I never saw him again, but I believe he was a physical angel sent to bring me comfort at that very difficult time. Looking back, there was a kind of light about him and I trusted him instinctively. Reminding me of my mother’s words about all the opportunities in the world was the perfect message for me at that time and knowing she was around helped me to pick myself—and my daughter—up again.
Most people think of angels as being in the spirit world, but I have learned that there are many different kinds. They have all ascended through many lifetimes and evolved in each so that their souls are pure. They communicate with us in different ways, but always for a reason, and listening to them will help us to move forwards in our lives.
Many wise angels have come to help me in different periods of my life. There were the five souls looking at me with love as I lay in my cot; the man in the brown suit who I thought was God; the two pairs of hands that lifted me back from the cliff edge in Devon; that little man in the main street in Guilford; and many, many more (I’ll tell you about some of the others later in this book). I probably failed to recognise many angel visitations during the period between my teens and my thirties when I tried to turn my back on my psychic abilities. As I teach on my courses, the first thing you need to do is learn to be still and listen so that your sensitivity develops—and for a long time I wasn’t listening.
Angels visit all of us at different times. By learning to recognise them and heed what they have to say, we can lead happier, more successful lives and find comfort to get us through the dark times. They may even save our lives.
Once established, the bond of love is never broken. When someone who loves you passes away, they are not physically present on earth any more but they remain with you, watching over you, and they can help you when you need it. My mother only comes back to give me a message in periods when I have real problems but I know she’s around the rest of the time and I still talk to her in my head every day.
Death isn’t painful or difficult, even though dying can be. People fear letting go, but once you die you are going home, back to a place you recognise, somewhere you existed before your previous life on earth. Once you have arrived there, you turn around and see the pain your family is going through, and that’s why many spirits come back as quickly as they can to try and give comfort. If someone comes to me for a reading soon after a bereavement, the spirit will often just say, ‘Tell them I love them and that I’m fine.’
I was in a supermarket recently, squeezing some lemons to see if they were juicy, and I got into conversation with a woman there. Suddenly her husband’s voice came into my head, saying, ‘Tell Margaret that she did everything she possibly could and that she’s to stop feeling guilty. Nothing more could have been done.’
I turned to the woman. ‘Are you Margaret?’ I asked.
‘Yes.’ She looked puzzled that I should know her name.
I repeated the message from her husband and she was visibly shocked.
‘Oh my goodness,’ she said. ‘Oh my goodness. He died last week and I’ve been feeling so guilty because I went out shopping and when I got back he was dead. He’d been ill with multiple sclerosis for a long time and I’d been nursing him, but I didn’t realise the end was so near and I went out to get some food.’ She began to sob and we hugged each other for several minutes until she calmed down.
‘He’s with you all the time,’ I told her. ‘He wants you to be happy.’
People always come back for their own funerals—not to see how many friends turn up, or whether their funeral instructions have been followed, because these are earthly concerns that no longer matter. Instead they come to give comfort to those they have left behind, in whatever way they can. Without exception, I have seen the dead person at every funeral I have ever gone to. Every one. And at my father’s funeral, he actually sat on his own coffin smoking and drinking throughout!
My dad had been a military man, so his coffin was draped in a Union Jack and there were just a few poppies on it—the wreaths were all outside the church. I had agreed with my brother and sister that I would say a few words during the service but as the time drew near, I wasn’t sure I could do it. My father had been ninety years old, which is a good age, but I’d always been a daddy’s girl and I was very, very upset
