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The gentle flicker of candlelight illuminates the faces of
the seven people sitting around the table. These people are
psychics about to conduct a seance in a scout hut near Southampton.
They claim to be able to prove what, so far, has eluded science
- that there is life after death.
And I've come along to witness the phenomenon of talking
to the dead, which is done by asking questions and receiving
messages from those who have passed over into the spirit world.
So I take a deep breath, push my sceptical thoughts aside
and open my mind to the possibility of conversing with departed
souls.
Testing
the psychics
The group has been honing its psychic skills for just over
a year in order to develop their ability. They explain how
their combined energies allow for a much stronger connection
between this world and the next.
The members close their eyes and sink into meditation. Deep
breathing is all that's audible as the room becomes silent.
I take a sneaky glimpse at their serene faces. Is it my imagination
or is the atmosphere in the room beginning to thicken? And
there's a buzz, like the hum of an electric pylon or the feeling
of a crowded party. My fingertips start to tingle with anticipation.
This goes on for 15 minutes.
Suddenly, the chime of a hand-bell cuts the silence. The
group's leader, Craig Hamilton-Parker, an author and medium,
is calling everyone back to the circle. I wonder where they
all went during their deep relaxation. Nowhere it seems. Daren
to my left apologises for his rumbling stomach. Someone else
shares a joke with the group and there's a splutter of dinner
party laughter.
All eyes turn to me as Craig asks if I will pass my bracelet
to the group. On by one they read it using psychometry (the
art of holding an object and using it as a tool to tap into
the owner's psychic energies)
In turn, each person relays the messages their psychic instincts
are telling them. 'You've had a major change of diet,' says
one of the group. Umm, many women do go in for fad diets,
but I'm strictly a junk food queen.
Daren says, 'You're a good listener.' Well, yes, but that's
my job. 'You're great with children.' True, but most women
aren't bad. I was still eager to see them demonstrate their
psychic powers, but a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach
told me I wasn't going to be convinced.
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Then, out of nowhere Craig announced, 'Mary is here and she's
talking about Ann.' I sat up. Mary was my grandmother and
Ann is my mother.
Everyone around the table became animated, almost agitated,
as they started firing statements about my departed grandmother
across the table. It was as if they couldn't get the information
out quick enough.
'I have a greyhound dog and racing,' said someone. Yes, Granny
Mary had often enjoyed a flutter. 'She had a small white dog,'
said someone else. Yes, my aunts had told me this. 'This woman
had stunning blue eyes.' Again, this I could confirm. Like
fitting together pieces of a jigsaw, they built up an accurate
picture of my grandmother's life. But they lost me on other
details, such as the significance of a white opal ring. I
still needed convincing.
Craig bemoaned the fact that I hadn't known her better. Give
me a break. They were talking about a woman who'd been dead
for 40 years! I pushed a brown envelope across the table.
The photo inside was of people I'd known well. And, if it
were at all possible, I wanted to hear evidence that they
were, well, still knocking around.
The circle turned its attentions to the photo of a casually
dressed, grey-haired man proudly holding up a baby boy, his
wife with her arm around him and a young girl leaning into
their legs.
'Is that you standing with your grandparents?' asked Craig.
'Yes.' An easy guess, perhaps? The photograph passed between
their fingers and, like before, information about my granddad
began to fly like bullets across the table. I listened in
closer.
'He was a man who worked with his hands.' 'Yes, a carpenter.'
Well, a French polisher, in fact. Although he spent all his
life working with his hands, he was an intelligent man.' True.
A joker who liked to play practical pranks.' He was known
for his wicked sense of humour. Wow, I was encouraged. I really
seemed to be able to recognise the man they were describing
as my grandfather who had died of a heart attack when I was
15.
They decided to change tack. 'I feel we've got a good link
with this gentleman,' said Craig. 'I think we should focus
together and try to get his name.' There were no clues on
the photograph. Working as one, they closed their eyes. Then
each person said what they thought his name was. Of the seven,
one said Edward and another said Ted. I was amazed, and confirmed
his name was Edward, but that he'd always been known as Ted.
A few minutes later, the young mum, Christine, who had announced
that my grandfather was called Ted, said, 'I've got the woman
- it's Elsie.'
I was in shock. Somehow, seven strangers, who I'd never met
before, had been able to name my grandparents from a photo.
I couldn't explain what had gone on. Had they really made
contact with the spirits of my dead relatives, or were they
reading my mind' Either way it was impressive. Driving back
to London later, I phoned my father and told him, 'It is
possible that we're not alone...'
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