Eliza

I have a friend whom I met some years ago at a pagan festival in Croydon.
Her name is Eliza and she lives with her 12 cats in a small beaten up cottage in the hills of Carmarthen. She would readily describe herself as a black Witch. She never does any positive magick, never has anything nice to say about anyone or anything, smokes like a chimney and swears like a trooper.

But there is something about Eliza that absolutely fascinates me. She often comes to London 'on business'. I never know what that 'business' is. She never does any work and I'm at a loss to know where she gets her money from to feed her army of cats and smoking addiction. But about twice a year I get a phone call, "Can I stay with you?" before she even says hello.

Once when she was staying with me I casually dropped into the conversation that it would be nice if she were to invite me to stay at her home, as a thank you for letting her stay at mine. Her lip curled. "I don't often allow other people into my house" She said "But I suppose it won't hurt. Ok".

So that Autumn I found myself in Carmarthen for a weekend.
Eliza isn't what you might call a perfect hostess. For most of the weekend I was left alone in the house while she was off doing goodness knows what.
I had to find my way to the village and buy my own food, the house didn't have a morsel in it - heaven knows what she and her cats actually eat.
The electricity didn't work at all upstairs. I pointed this out to Eliza on one of the brief moments we spent together, "I've got enough candles haven't I?"
There was no hot water either. Bath time took over two hours of boiling various pots and kettles enough to draw a decent bath.

None of this seemed to bother Eliza though. It didn't even seem to register on her radar.
She always appears to be such a busy woman. I've no idea at what, but you never see Eliza just sitting down and chilling out. There's always something to do.
She always went to bed after me and was always up long before me the next day. But, oh what a house. Even in the state it was in, the books, jars of herbs and other magickal odds and ends just lying around were a Witch's dream come true.

I suppose I'm the closet thing to a "friend" Eliza has. She only ever phones me when she wants something and the conversation is only ever kept to her needs or wants, if I ever and try and steer the conversation onto something about me I can hear in her voice she has no interest. In fact, the only time I ever have anything like a two-way conversation with Eliza is when I'm thinking about doing some 'dark' work.

She gave me lots of helpful advice recently with the problem I was having with some Satanists.
In fact she offered to come up to London and go round to the woman causing all the trouble
"I'd love to meet this old bag" Eliza said "We'd either become the best of friends or I'd smack her on the nose". If you're easily offended then keep a million miles away from Eliza. In fact, even if you're not easily offended, just keep away from her.
Other people annoy her. She has such a fondness and kindness for animals and nature at large but other people are nothing but a nuisance.

Still, I just can't help being completely fascinated by her.

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A Medium Friend

A medium friend of mine phoned me up just before last Christmas and asked me if I could help with a problem a friend of hers was having. About a year ago this woman was in her back garden having a cigarette and talking on the telephone. Her dog was happily running around the garden doing what dogs do. After a while the dog started yelping from the back of the garden. The woman went to investigate and noticed that the dog had four shadows - one at the front, one at the back and one to either side. She looked down and noticed she also had four shadows and no matter where she or the dog moved in the garden they kept these four shadows.

She quickly finished her phone call and took herself and the dog inside the house putting it all down to some trick of the light in the garden. She was shocked to discover that even inside the house they both still had these odd four shadows. She phoned my friend (the medium) and told her what was going on. My friend asked her to go in various rooms of the house where there would be different light but still these four shadows remained.

My friend, as well as being a medium is also into Reiki. She sent the woman some absent healing and the next day went round there to give her and the dog some direct healing. The shadows went away and after the initial scare of such a weird thing life seemed to return to normal. About a month or so after all this the woman suddenly sank into a deep depression. Her doctor prescribed anti-depressants but these seemed to have little effect. Then the dog was diagnosed with cancer and rapidly deteriorated and died within weeks. A short while after this the woman was diagnosed with Cohn’s Disease which of course made her depression worse.

As I said, just before last Christmas my medium friend phoned me and asked me if I knew what was going on. I said I would like to meet the woman in person.
It was a difficult thing to arrange because the lady in question had resigned herself to the fact that she was dying and refused any help of any kind - such is the severity of her depression. Christmas came and went and my friend phoned me again and said the woman had agreed to see me. I went to the house. It seemed perfectly normal from the outside but the inside was a whole different story. I don't apologise for sounding 'new-agey' when I say this but the house just reeked of depression.

I felt it as soon as I walked in. Sadness and depression just seemed to cling to everything. I'm not normally a depressive kind of person but it was certainly affecting me. I performed a cleansing ritual in the house, one that is usually quite effective in such things but it seemed to make little difference to the atmosphere. The woman herself wasn't much surprised that my attempts to lift the mood of her and her house had failed. She said very little while I was there and almost seemed 'somewhere else'.

She did say to me however that she would be dead before the year was out. My instincts were to tell her not to say such things but in my heart I could only agree with her. I asked her if it would be okay to bring some other people to meet her. She said it would.

I have since been back twice this year. Once with a Druid friend of mine and once with a psychologist friend. Both left just as stumped as I did. My medium friend phones me regularly with reports of how the woman is doing but gradually her situation goes downhill. She has now taken to her bed permanently and eats only about twice a week.

I really don't know. I am at a complete loss on this one.

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Jehovah's Witnesses

One cold November Sunday morning I was pottering around the house when there came knock at the door. Upon opening it there were some very smartly dressed people standing there with some smartly dressed children as well. "Good morning" said one of the men "We'd like to talk with you, if we may about world peace".
Oh no, I thought, Jehovah's Witnesses. "Ok" I said WHAT!?!?! OK???? Why did you say that??? The man then launched into his pre-prepared speech about something or other and I must be honest, I glazed over.

"Listen" I interrupted "You all look very cold. Why don't you come in for a cup of tea?"
They all smiled in unison "Thank you" said the man as he and his troop stepped in.

So we were all sitting in my living room drinking tea. I told them all up front that I was a witch and had no real interest in converting. Still, their well rehearsed conversations continued. They stayed for about an hour until the gentleman said it was time for them to leave. The following Sunday they came back. I'm not sure whether they thought they were onto a winner or if it was just the tea but I was surprised to see them back. "Did you get a chance to look at the magazines we left you?" asked the man "Yes I did" I lied "Very interesting" "Oh, it does please me to hear you say that" He beamed. They spent about another hour with me, the two young children produced colouring books from somewhere and happily sat on the floor colouring in or playing with Shirley, my cat.

Anyway, long story short, this all went on for about 5 weeks. Every Sunday they would show up, I'd invite them in and we'd all drink tea. I think they actually began to realise that I wasn't really interested in the Bible, and they didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell to get me to convert and I think they just saw my house as a place to have a quick warm up and a cup of tea while out on their rounds. That's ok, I was happy to oblige. By about week 4 we seemed to have completely gotton over the whole 'preaching' bit. The pre-planned conversations seemed to have stopped and we were just talking like regular people having regular conversations. The man in charge of the group actually started asking me about paganism.

I'm always careful when people ask me about paganism because I'm very aware to not come across as 'preachy'. I don't like it when people preach to me so I wouldn't like to do the same. But, he seemed to have a genuine interest so I gave him the answers to his questions. In fact, as the conversations went on all the adults of the group seemed to become more interested. They eventually left after 3 hours.

The following week when they came back they didn't even get their Bibles out. We immediately got down to talking about paganism. There's a small book available called The Beginners Guide to Paganism. It costs about £4 and I keep a stock of them handy to give to people who seem to have a genuine interest in learning more about paganism. Again, I don't give them away with the intention of converting anybody but occasionally you do meet people who just want to know more about it and this little book outlines all the basics in a very down to earth, no nonsense way. I gave a few of them a copy of the book and off they went
"Bye! See you next week!"

The following Sunday they didn't show up. Or the Sunday after that. By now Christmas was on top of us so into the New Year I still hadn't seen anything of my Jehovah friends. The second week of January I decided to pay a visit to their Kingdom Hall. It's just along the Victoria Park Road. I just wanted to know if they were ok, so off I went.
It's probably the first time in history a non-Jehovah's Witness has knocked on the door of a Kingdom Hall asking why he hasn't had a visit. I waited and waited until eventually a little woman answered the door.

"Hello" she said "Oh hello" I replied "This might sound a bit odd but I've been having some of your colleagues visit me for the past few weeks and suddenly they stopped coming. I'm just checking if they're ok". "We're in the middle of a service" she said
"Oh I do apologise" I said "I'll come back later" "No, come in" She said "The service will be over shortly" I went in and was shown to a room just to the side of the main hall. It was explained to me that non-Witnesses weren't allowed into the main hall during service but were allowed to watch the proceedings from a room over-looking the main event.

The room I was ushered to was a small room, just enough space for about half a dozen chairs, but the walls were lined with books. Books are something of a passion of mine and whenever I see a collection of books I just have to scan the spines. My interest fell upon one book in particular. Now, I should probably explain the nature of these books, they were obviously written with the fully-fledged Jehovah's Witness in mind because they were basically manuals telling the reader how to live a happy and fruitful Jehovah's Witness way of life, but the one book that caught my attention was; How To Cope With The Demon Of Masturbation, - oh I had to have a look at that!

I started reading the book and it was giving helpful hints and tips on what to do if you felt the urge to masturbate. Wear loose clothing, because apparently tight clothing creates friction and causes arousal. Take a cool shower - oh that's great advice! They're feeling like having a quick shuffle and you tell them to get naked, spot on!
Meet up with your friends and play some sports - yep, nothing like a few endorphins pumping around your system to take your mind of your wood! And the ultimate advice was if you really can't take your mind off it, go and speak to one of your hall's elders.
Can you imagine? How would some sex mad teenager even start that conversation with one of their elders?

The room was getting a bit stuffy so I stepped outside into the lobby. The congregation were just leaving the main hall and I saw one of the people who used to visit my house, "Hello Sarah" I said walking over to her She looked like a rabbit in the headlights "Raymond! What are you doing here?" "Well, I haven't seen any of you for a few weeks and I was just seeing if you're ok" "You shouldn't be here" She said "You really should just leave" "Why, what's wrong"? With that a large man in a black robe joined us "You must be Raymond" He said with a false smile "I've heard lots about you, I'm Elder Robin" I shook his hand and he ushered me back into the small room.
When we got back into the room I could see he had the books in his hand that I had given to my friends a few weeks before. "I believe these are yours" He said handing me the books

"Thank you" I said taking them off him "I understand you're here asking after our brothers and sisters who have been visiting you" "That's right" I said "Well they are fine, and now you have your property back I see no further reason for you to stay. You know where the door is" "Wait a minute" I said "What's going on here? Has there been any trouble because I gave them these books" "I don't see how our internal affairs are any of your concern" "I want to see Sarah, Emmanuel, and Alice....," "Like I said" He interrupted "Our internal affairs are none of your concern. Goodbye". I left the Kingdom Hall. What could I do? It crossed my mind to go to the police but what could I say? Nothing illegal had taken place as far as I knew and I had no reason to suggest it had.

It wasn't until months later that I bumped into Mary. One of the old women who used to visit my house every Sunday. We got chatting and she explained to me that a few of them had been 'discovered' reading the books I gave them. Apparently it caused a whole heap of trouble and they all had to have intensive bible study classes. "I'm sorry to hear that" I said "I didn't mean to cause anybody any trouble" She nodded "Well, if ever you're on your rounds..." I said "You know where I am" "That's not possible" she said "You have been blacklisted at the Kingdom Hall" "I've been what?" "Blacklisted" she said "Nobody from our Hall will ever knock at your door again"

And it was true. I have never had a Jehovah's Witness knock at my door from that day to this. I often wonder what became of my little group of friends. Maybe the intensive bible study did its work and they're back on the streets preaching to others.

At least I have my Sundays back.

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Gypsy Lady

I was at home one day when I heard a knock on the door. I opened it to find a young man standing there with a roll of carpet under his arm. "Wanna buy a carpet guv'nor?" He said
actually I had seen him earlier in the street with two other young men, both with carpets under their arms and an older woman. They were obviously blitzing the whole street. I had heard about these scams before where they show you a lovely roll of brand new carpet, you give them the money then later they bring you a small piece of old carpet rolled up to make it look like a big piece.
"No thank you" I replied. I closed the door thinking that was that.

About half an hour later there was a knock at the door again. This time it was the older woman I had seen in the street earlier. "Will you buy some Heather luvvy?" she said, she had the most leathery skin imaginable and the sort of face you just couldn't trust.

Now I'm not in the habit of saying bad things about Gypsies. Some of the nicest people I have ever met have been travelling folk but it has to be remembered that there is good and bad in all people and this bunch were definitely of the bad sort.

She waved a small bunch of something in front of me as she smiled. I looked at it.
"That's not Heather" I said "Oooooooh" She said pulling the, whatever it was away from me "You're a sharp one!" "Not really" I said "Only a complete idiot would think that's Heather" "This is just as lucky luvvy" She said "Will you buy some anyway?"
My patience was wearing thin now "No I don't think so, but thanks anyway" I started to close the door. Suddenly she put her foot in the door "Y'know, it's very bad luck to refuse a gypsy luvvy" she said with a sinister tone, I lowered my voice a tried to look as sinister as I could and said, "And it's even worse luck to piss off a Witch,... luvvy!"
I figured if she was going to use her skills to intimidate me why shouldn't I do the same? "I'm begging your pardon luvvy" She said removing her foot "I didn't realise we were of similar cloth" "Nobody ever does" I replied "Goodbye" and I closed the door and that was that.

Or so I thought.

The next day she came back. "Sorry to trouble you again luvvy" She said as soon as I opened the door "It's just that I don't often get to meet a witch working in London as I do and I was just wondering if you would bless a few things for me" "Bless?" "Yeah, y'know, give a witch's bless to a few of my things luvvy, for good luck and that." "I don't think so" I said "A witch's blessing is only effective if it's genuinely given and with you and your friends going around fleecing money out of people with your carpet scam I don't think I could do it with good heart". "Owww, we've all got to earn a crust ain't we luvvy?" "Not at the expense of elderly and venerable people we don't".
"Fair point luvvy" she said "Well how about nice cup of tea before I go?"

For whatever reason this woman was determined to get into my house. I decide to invite her in for some tea but I would have to watch her like a hawk. We went into the kitchen while I made the tea. Normally I let people go into the living room while I'm in the kitchen making the tea but I wasn't going to let her out of my sight for a second.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small bundle wrapped in a dirty brown paper bag. From the bag she produced the tattiest deck of tarot cards I have ever seen.
"How about a reading luvvy?" She asked "I'm not paying you" I said "Fair enough" she said Suddenly she came to life. Her hands whizzed over the cards like a seasoned card player throwing them onto the table in a way I've not seen done before. Despite my barriers being well and truly up I was impressed with the layout of the cards and reading she gave me was probably one of the best I had ever had.

"That was very good" I said after the reading "I must admit I'm impressed" I still use some of the hints she taught me that day in my card readings. I'm grateful for what she taught me.

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Victoria

A lot of people have contacted me over the years wanting help with a particular problem. Usually these problems are of a very mundane nature; they either want more money, a new job, a new boyfriend etc, Sometimes I get a slightly more interesting request. One woman once asked me to kill her husband. I had to explain I wasn't some kind of occultic hit-man and take her business elsewhere.

A lot of the other people who come to me certainly do have very real problems going on but usually these problems don't exist in any tangible form outside their own heads. With a handful of them it isn't a Witch they need but a psychiatrist. Often, however, genuine people do come along with very real problems. And where I can I will help.

An example of this was a young lady who contacted me about 2 years ago. She had just turned 16 and for the sake of this story I will call her Victoria. Victoria had just left school and was due to enrol at college at the end of summer on a hairdressing course.
She was very intelligent and a very pretty young girl. It was obvious that Victoria had so much to live for. She seemed to have a real passion for hairdressing and couldn't wait to start college. She was a very 'young' 16 year old. She wasn't mature beyond her years at all.

There was one problem. Victoria had recently discovered she was pregnant. She had told her boyfriend and he had responded by accusing her of sleeping around and he dumped her on the spot. Victoria 's family weren't overly religious but her Mum had often expressed her disagreement with abortion. Victoria explained to me that her Mum would never allow her to have an abortion and would probably make her go through with the pregnancy.

Victoria had made up her mind (very sensibly in my opinion) that this wasn't the right time for her to have a child. She had college looming and she just wanted to do so much with her life before she settled down. I respected that. Don't get me wrong, I firmly believe we all have to stand by our decisions in life - right or wrong. But here was a kid who, in the heat of the moment, had made an error. Why should such a promising young woman have to spend the rest of her life regretting one night of fumbling around with a spotty adolescent?

Initially Victoria asked me if I could give her some herbs that would make her miscarry.
Of course there are plenty of herbs out there that would make a woman miscarry but essentially they work by poisoning the body so not only are they life threatening to the unborn child they can also be fatal to the mother. For obvious reasons I wasn't about to share the names of these herbs with her. Not only that, my personal knowledge of herbalist is quite extensive but I'm not a qualified herbalist so I would be opening a door to a whole heap of trouble for both of us if I started prescribing labour-inducing potions. Giving someone a cup of Nettle Tea to calm their nervous stomach is very different to telling someone how get rid of an unwanted pregnancy.

I suggested she went to her doctor. She was adamant she wasn't going to do that. Her doctor was her family doctor and over the years the family had built up something of a friendship with their doctor and Victoria was petrified he would spill the beans to her family. I tried explaining that by law he wasn't allowed to do that but Victoria wasn't having any of it. So the following week I booked her an appointment at an abortion clinic. I introduced Victoria to a female friend of mine. There are some things where a woman just wants another woman around - I understand that.

The appointment was booked and the three of us went along. I watched Victoria very closely. I was looking for any sign that she may be having second thoughts about what she was about to do. I can honestly say I didn't see any. From the moment we left my house to the moment she walked into the room she seemed completely at peace with herself. The procedure was carried out and everything went back to normal.

I spoke to Victoria almost everyday for a few months after that. I never got the impression she had any regrets about what happened, she just needed someone to talk to openly about what had been the biggest event in her life so far - and I was the only one with whom she could do that. Eventually she went to college and last I heard she had finished her course and is now a hair stylist working for the BBC.
Her job takes her all over the country doing the hair of actors on film sets. She's styled the hair of quite a few famous people so she tells me.

I still hear from Victoria every now and then and to be honest, we can argue all day long about the rights and wrongs of abortion but in Victoria's case I have no doubt in my mind that it was absolutely the right thing to do

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My friend James

I often chuckle at myself for my ability to attract 'odd' people. I think it's important to be able to laugh at oneself from time to time and if I found it difficult to do this then I think I would have gone loopy years ago. One such person I met a few years ago. My friend James was moving home. James was just out of college so money was very thin on the ground so he asked a few of his friends to help him move one Sunday because he couldn't afford removal men.

I agreed to help him but I was suffering with a bit of a bad back at the time so I failed to see what use I could be apart from sweep up and make the tea. "I'm so glad you're coming" James said "You'll get to meet my friend Alan, I think you'll like him, you two have a lot in common". Now, maybe it's just me but when somebody says I'm going to like someone I instantly make up my mind that I'm going to dislike them.
This comes from experience. In the past when people have said "Oh you must meet my friend so-and-so, you have so much in common" I've usually found that upon meeting them we had nothing in common at all, and in fact they turned out to be just the kind of person I would cross the street to deliberately avoid.

Anyway, the day of moving arrived and I finally got to meet this Alan. He was a very handsome young man, but he struck me as something of a bragger. There were about a dozen of us in all and we were all dressed in mucky old clothes while Alan was smartly turned out in a brand new shirt and jacket. During the move I had very little to do with this Alan, but wherever I was in the house I could hear his voice - usually telling someone how much something cost that he had recently purchased. I made up my mind that I didn't like Alan very much.

At the end of the day, when all the moving was done we were all in James' new house and by way of thank you he had bought all of us Fish and Chips. Alan declined any food, he didn't say it but I could see it on the tip of his mind that he wanted to say "I don't eat that kind of food". "Have the two of you had a chance to talk yet?" James asked the both of us. "Not yet" Alan piped up "We've been too busy" "Too busy showing off" I thought "James tells me that apparently you're a Witch" Alan said to me
I smiled "Apparently so" "I'm an occultist too" He declared with some pride "Really?" I said with mock surprise "What sort?" "Dark stuff" He smiled

Now, whenever somebody tells me they do "dark stuff" it's like a red rag to a bull, because usually this 'dark stuff' is no darker than having malicious thoughts about somebody or burning a black candle at midnight because they've just been dumped. Others, of course, use that term for nothing more than attention seeking. He then went on to tell the whole room of 12 total strangers how he once belonged to this group. The aim of this group was to turn base metal into gold, find the secret of eternal life and conjure demons.

The gold and ever lasting life seemed to have eluded them so far but they (apparently) had had a fair amount of success with the demons. He told of an incident where they were summoning up a certain demon to predict future events for each member of the group. They (apparently) summoned this demon and in return for this information they each had to provide the demon with the name of someone whose soul he could take.
Each person in the group then proceeded to give this demon the name of somebody they didn't like much. Alan said he gave the name of his next-door neighbour. Apparently this neighbours' dog had taken to using Alan's front lawn as a toilet, and after numerous requests to keep the dog under control the dog was continuing to offend.

So the demon took the names, imparted the predictions and left. That was that.
Within the month (apparently) this neighbour dropped dead of a massive heart attack without word nor warning. This frightened Alan and because of it he decided to leave the group. The group were having none of it and told him if he left the group he would suffer a similar fate to that of his now dead neighbour.
Alan moved to another part of the country and now, about once a year he has to keep moving around to avoid his former group. Now, there are a couple of things that strike me as odd about this tale.

Firstly, if this man was truly in fear of his life and lived 'on the run' to the point where he needed to change his address every twelve months to avoid the threats of his former friends then what was he doing recounting this story to a room full of total strangers? Secondly, I'm sure if these people had the ability to summon up demons that could kill at will, surely that had it within their means to track somebody down. At the end of the evening Alan asked me privately if we could keep in touch. He said that as a Witch he felt I could help him keep these people off his back. Whether real or imagined this wasn't a situation I particularly wanted to get myself involved in.
I played down my witchcraft abilities and told him I didn't think there was anything I could do to help.

Last October I spent the day with James and during conversation I asked him if he had heard anything from Alan. He told me that he hadn't had any contact with Alan for about a year. E-mails were never returned and phone calls never answered. It was, it seemed that Alan had vanished from the face of the earth. I can only presume this Alan has either moved again and not passed on his contact details or his former group has finally caught up with him and carried out their threats.

Either way, he was a very strange person

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My Pub

Between 1996 and 1998 I was running a pub in Southend-On-Sea. It was a pretty ordinary little pub with a function room above and the flat above that. I opened the function room to various paranormal/occultist groups to use as a meeting place. Almost every night of the week a different group used the room for various activities, many of which I joined in with. I met some very interesting people in that time and made some wonderful friends which I am still in contact with.

My regulars in the pub knew of the various activities going on in the function room and I'd spend many an evening sitting at the bar with them telling me of their ghost stories and supernatural goings-on. Ahhh what memories. I became friendly with many of my regular customers and one young lady in particular, Clair, suggested I should meet her sister saying she would be "right up my street". Apparently she had been 'seeing things' and 'knew things' from a very young age.

A dinner was arranged at Clair's house the following week for me to meet this sister, Joanne. I arrived at Clair's around 7:30 and Joanne arrived around 8pm. Clair's house was a nice little house in a row of houses with a tidy little garden out the back overlooked by a massive Yew tree.

We had our dinner and Joanne began telling me things about myself that I had never told Clair. Her talents as a psychic were exceptional. One of the most gifted natural mediums I think I have ever met. However, I couldn't help but get the feeling she wasn't in control of her abilities; in fact I would go so far as to say they were very much in control of her. I asked her if she had ever had any formal training to which she replied no. I told her that I had a medium's development circle meeting above my pub on Thursday evening's and she should come along. She seemed willing to give it a go but somehow seemed nervous at the idea. I decided not to press the situation and just thought to myself, if she comes, she comes, if she doesn't, she doesn't.

I didn't see anymore of Joanne for the next three weeks. Oh well, I tried. Then one Thursday evening she turned up at the pub. "Are the meetings still going on?" She asked "Of course" I said "Come upstairs" We climbed the stairs to the function room. It was still quite early and the rest of the group hadn't arrived yet. I noticed that Joanne still seemed rather edgy, "I haven't been totally honest with you" She suddenly announced "Oh?" "I have been to other development groups before"
"Ok, no problem" "You don't understand" She said "It is a problem. There have always been problems"
"What do you mean?" I asked
"When I try to control this, things happen"
"What sort of things?"
"Scary things" She said "Frightening things"
I wasn't totally sure what to say to this. It was obvious she was trying to say something but couldn't find the words "Well don't worry" I said "The medium who runs this group is a very experienced man in what he does and I'm sure anything that happens he'll be able to handle" And so it was left there.

Joanne stayed the evening and seemed to enjoy herself, even of her uneasy aura stayed with her throughout. She came again the following Thursday but this time seemed more relaxed. Drama over - I thought. That night the group left and it was time to close up the pub for the evening. Myself, my partner and one of my barmaids lived in the flat above the pub. We were getting rid of the last of the straggling drinkers when I asked the barmaid to go upstairs and switch the lights off and collect any glasses that might be left in the function room.

I saw out the final drinker and bolted the pub doors. I began a chat with my partner who was behind the bar loading up the glass washer when suddenly we heard themost horrific scream from upstairs. We stared agog at each other for a second then without word we both raced upstairs to the function room where the continual screaming was emanating. I was the first in the room to find my barmaid on the floor throwing glasses across the room still screaming like a banshee. "What the hell* is going on Sian?" I said grabbing her off the floor. (*I didn't actually say hell, the word I used was a little stronger) she was obviously very upset and couldn't speak because of it.

We took her back downstairs to calm her down with a large drink. Eventually she calmed and began to tell us about what happened. The story itself it rather incredible but it's what she said. She went into the function room and switched on the light. There were about half a dozen or so glasses on one of the tables on the far side of the room. She walked across the room to collect them, turned around and standing by the door was a man. She described him as very dirty and completely wet. He stared at her with "evil eyes" and started shuffling towards her. This was when she freaked out and started throwing the glasses at him.

I immediately phoned Sue, who was another barmaid of mine who lived just around the corner from the pub, she arrived in minutes with her husband and Sue took Sian home while me, my partner and Sue's husband made a thorough search of the entire pub from cellar to attic. Like I said, it wasn't a massive pub but it had many rooms.
There were four entry doors to the property, one in the main bar, one in the public bar, a front door which led directly up to the flat and of course a dray-drop into the cellar.

All the doors were locked and we searched the place literally from top to bottom. Didn't find a thing. Sian stayed at Sue's house that night, and without explanation life returned to normal. As any of you who have ever had any dealings with pub life will know, it doesn't take long for things like this to get round. Within 2 days the regulars were chatting about the events of the other night with passion. Sian had returned to live at the pub but flatly refused to enter the function room ever again. Fair enough.

That Sunday Joanne came into the pub and asked me if we could have a quiet chat somewhere. We went downstairs to my office next to the cellar. "I heard about what happened" She said "Yes" I replied "Everyone seems to be talking about it"
"I won't be coming to the group anymore" She announced "All of that was my fault"
"How was it your fault?" I asked she proceeded to tell me that this kind of thing had happened before whenever she had joined psychic development groups. A medium had once explained to her that because she had so much psychic energy with her and because she wasn't in control of it, she had the ability to turn this psychic energy into physical manifestation with obvious frightening results.

The explanation was as incredible as the event. She asked me not to speak of this conversation - which I didn't and she left.

I never again saw anything of Joanne or her sister for that matter. Personally I had never felt a negative energy in that function room either before or after the events of that night. It was always a very harmonious place. The various groups continued to meet in there for the rest of the time I ran the place and as far as I know nothing like the events of that night have happened again since.

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A New Friend

A few years ago I made the acquaintance of a young man who lived his life in a very reckless manner. He was 20 years old at the time, drank heavily, had regular fights, smoked all sorts of substances, didn't work, and didn’t respect anyone or anything - including himself. Our paths continually crossed for about a year and I watched him gradually dismantle his life piece by piece.

Once I had gotton to know him reasonably well I asked him one day why he lived in such a destructive way, he replied - in a very matter-of-fact kind of way, "Because I'm going to die in 2 years", naturally I was shocked to hear such a young man say something so outrageous, but as he said it a little voice inside me actually agreed with him. Somehow I knew that what he was saying was right! This bothered me. I meditated on the whole thing for quite a while afterwards and kept coming up with the same answer - this young man was going to die sometime within his 22nd year.

I just couldn't figure this one out. How was this possible? Apart from his reckless lifestyle there was nothing physically wrong with this young man. Would it be a tragic accident? And even if it was, how did he know when he was going to die? And more to the point - why was he so casual about the whole thing? So anyway, over the following 2 years he continued to live his life in this way. He was arrested many times and even served a 3 month prison sentence for smashing up a car.

I saw him around for about 2 months after his 22nd birthday and then I didn't see him at all for about a year. I asked around when I hadn't seen him for a while and because he didn't have any real friends due to the way he lived his life I kept drawing a blank each time. Was it all true? Did he actually die? How theI settled on the idea that he must have killed himself. It was the only answer. There's no way a healthy young man off 22 could just die, and certainly no way he would have known about it beforehand.

Then, about a year later he knocked at my door. From the moment I opened the door I could see he was a changed man. I invited him inside; I simply had to know what had been going on. He started to explain to me that a few months after his 22nd birthday he had fallen ill. He took to his bed with a mystery illness that his doctor couldn't diagnose. The illness became worse until one night he awoke from sleep by being aware of "a dark presence" in his room. He got out of bed and awoke his parents. He told them he loved them and was sorry for all the trouble and worry he had caused them but now it was time for him "to go".

He returned to bed and closed his eyes. He said that every time he tried to fall asleep he felt as if he was falling, or to use his words "being pulled down". Each time this sensation over-whelmed him he would open his eyes and sit bolt upright. This continued through the night and each time he stayed awake. He finally fell asleep around 7am and apparently slept for a solid 16 hours.

When he finally woke up he felt, somehow 'different'. He said his attitude had changed and this premonition of death was no longer with him, in fact, his words were he "felt elated". After that he got his life back on track. He now has a good job, his own flat and in a steady relationship. He no longer feels that 'death' is hanging over him.

Shortly after that first meeting I asked him what he thought all that was about. He believes he has cheated death. He believes he was 'destined' to die that night, but somehow managed to cheat that date with destiny.

What do you think?

Is it possible that we choose or have chosen for us the time and date of our death, and if so, is it possible to survive it? Whatever the explanation, you have to admit, it's very interesting. As for the young man, we became good friends and I still see him regularly. Next month is his 24th birthday, and he still lives a very productive life.

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Spiritualist Association of Great Britain

A friend of mine asked me to go with him to an evening of 'voice contact mediumship' once at the SAGB (Spiritualist Association of Great Britain). Apparently the medium at work (I forget his name) was a well respected voice contact Medium and only held public demonstrations every once in a while. For those who are unaware, Voice Contact Mediumship is where the medium goes into trance and allows his guide and other spirits to come through using his voice to speak directly to the crowd gathered.

How could I refuse such an invitation?

We went up the SAGB on a lovely warm summer's evening. Mistakenly we decided to go up on the underground. We had to be there by 7pm and travelling tot he SAGB from my house by tube takes the best part of an hour so we were caught right in the middle of the city workers going home. The whole journey was a non-stop sweatfest Eventually we arrived at the SAGB (more dead than alive ourselves) and arrived in the building to quite a commotion going on. The people assembled, it seemed, were all very excited at the evening's prospects. The medium had something of a reputation so by now I was looking forward to the whole thing.

I've never been much of a fan of the SAGB as an organisation but the building itself has always fascinated me. I just like being there. It's like stepping into an Agather Christie novel. It's so wonderfully old-fashioned. With the grand staircases sweeping you down from one floor to the next and the rickety 'olde worlde' lift that you have to close by yourself and you can see each floor travel past as you go up. I love it. I would honestly recommend a visit to the SAGB for anybody who has never been there, just for a look around the building if nothing else.

There was a small crowd of about 35 who were there for this event. We all hung around in the foyer drinking tea (where would Spiritualists be without tea?) and then around 6:50pm we were all led into the main demonstration hall. We took our chairs facing what can only be described as a stage. On the stage was a large, mahogany wardrobe - for want of a better word. At 7pm a smart young woman marched onto the stage. She welcomed everybody to the SAGB and introduced the medium. To a warm welcome the medium walked sheepishly on with only an ounce of the confidence the young woman had portrayed.

The medium himself was remarkable in his 'ordinariness'. Whenever I've been to a public demonstration before at the SAGB I must admit everyone dresses up and makes a thing of it. It seems to be part of the 'old fashioned' charm that just goes along with the building. Even I had put on a clean shirt and polished my boots.
But the medium literally looked as if somebody had phoned him up in the middle of Coronation Street and asked him if fancied nipping down the pub for a swift half.

No matter. I'm sure his scruffy appearance wouldn't affect the amazing show we were about to see. He thanked everybody for coming "on a lovely evening like this", why do people do that? They always thank people for coming out because it's either 'too cold', 'too wet', 'too dark', 'too sunny' - why do we give people a reason for not coming when they're already there???

After that he launched into a speech about what voice contact really is. The description I gave above would have been perfectly satisfactory but no, at some point during the day he had decided he was going to spend at least 30 minutes lecturing us on the ins and outs of voice contact mediumship. He was a lovely man but he was no showman. By the end of his speech I think I was in trance.

Eventually we were finally ready to begin. The young woman who introduced the medium appeared again from somewhere and began opening the wardrobe doors. Others around the room began closing the heavy curtains and turning of the lights.
Inside the wardrobe was a chair and a red light.
An eerie red glow filled the room as the medium sat inside the wardrobe with the red light shining up front somewhere beneath him.

Ooooooooh! - oh stop it!

He started with the customary groans and wheezing that physical mediums often do when going into trance and then his head started lolloping from side to side like a bladder on a stick. My friend, who hadn't been to a physical demonstration before, nudged me "Is he alright?" He asked "Oh yes" I whispered "This is all part of it"
After a bit more grumbling and whining he started to speak. The first cab off the rank was the mediums' guide. A Chinese man. Now I'm not saying the medium was a fake - who am I to make such claims? But the accent was a little too much like an Englishman doing a Chinese man’s accent for my liking "Ahhhhhh" He began "It eeees, ahhh, velly velly good to seeee, ahhh, so manny of yoooo, ahhhhh, here on this fine even-ing. Ahhhh, welcome to yooooo allll, ahhhhh!"
Oh dear.

Then he began to tell us how wonderful the spirit world was and how dreadful we all are for abusing the planet and how much we should all be looking forward to croaking it. After half an hour or so if this Chinese man talking to us like retarded four year olds other spirits started to come through. Among these were Ivy Northage, Doris Stokes and none other than Sir Arthur Conan Doyle! Whom I later found out the room we were in was named after. There was about 25 minutes to go until the end when the lovely little Chinese man came back. I found it amazing that even though we are constantly being told that spirit has no concept of time, the little Chinese bloke was always aware that the demonstration was due to finish at 9pm.

For the last 20 minutes or so he invited questions from the audience. A few people gingerly raised their hands and asked questions about the spirit world, what was it like to die, etc...

I raised my hand. "Ahhhh, yes, ahhhh what eees your quest-ion?"
"When you were alive" I asked "Did you speak Mandarin or Cantonese?" Every pair of eyes in the room hit me like a pair of darts. "Ahhh, I do not understand"
"Well, when you were in your physical form, before you became a spirit guide, which Chinese language did you speak? Mandarin or Cantonese?" Pause. "Ahhh, the laaaanguage I spoke in my earthly form was indeed theeee laaanguage known as Mandarin, ahhh" "I see" I said "Would you be so kind as to speak some Mandarin for us now please?" Another pause.

"Ahhh, would you underssstand what I was saying if I spoke the Mandarin for you?"
"No" I replied "But I recognise Mandarin when I hear it so if you wouldn't mind just saying something, anything,... please." A longer pause.
"I'm afraid my medium does not speak in the Mandarin" He said "His tongue eees unfamiliar with the laaanguage and, ahhhhh, I wouldn't do my native laaaanguage any justice if I tried speaking it now"

Oh well done!

"Very well" I said and sat back down.

The smartly dressed young woman suddenly stepped up and thanked everybody for attending, this of course was the mediums' cue to start wheezing and groaning and go through the motions of coming out of his trance. Now I know what you're thinking. How much did this spectacle cost? Well, each of us paid £30, there were about 35 in the room - you do the sums. I'm not saying the whole thing was a fake, maybe it was - maybe it wasn't. But to earn that sort of money for 2 hours work I at least expect the Medium to have on a nice pair of shoes

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Queenie Duggan and Genie Dorma.

I'd like to tell you about Queenie Duggan and Genie Dorma. Those were their real names but both are now dead so I suppose it's ok to use their real names.

Queenie Duggan was one of my Grandmother's friends. Actually she was one of her neighbours. Queenie was a typical 'old wife'. She had about 10 kids, and dozens of grandchildren. I don't know what her history was but everybody in our area went to Queenie when they were ill. She'd mix up some noxious brew in her kitchen and tell you what to do with it to get better. She was good health right up to the day she eventually died. I can remember even in her 70's I watched her doing chin-ups at the kitchen door even though she smoked about 60 cigarettes a day. Whenever I had a cold or some illness as a child my Nan would "send for Queenie".

When I was fourteen I had pneumonia. I was very ill. Within a week I was in the Mile End hospital. After a few days in there my Nan came to visit me with Queenie in tow.
As ill as I was I remember old Queenie hitting the roof at my Nan as to why she hadn't called for her sooner. The next day Queenie turned up with an old stained tuppaware container with some green gloop inside it. She pulled the curtains round and began smearing this goo onto my back and chest, wrapped me in lint and gave me the most disgusting tea to drink from this old flask she produced from her bag. "This is hoorible!" I squealed

"Stop your moaning" She barked "You'll be home in a few days"
Sure enough I was home within the week. It took me a long time to fully recover of course but I swear I made such an improvement from the day Queenie smothered me with her goo. I don't know if Queenie ever kept written notes of her potions but I would give anything to get my hands on them now if she did.

Genie Dorma was something of a local celebrity in the east end. Her real name was Marie Frail but she went by the name of Eugenie Dorma to her clients and 'Genie' to her friends. She was a medium who lived down Manchester Road on the Isle of Dogs. Many people would visit her for readings and she even had some famous people on her client list. One of her most regular clients was none other than the singing star Dorothy Squires. I first met Genie when I was just 16. I was at my local spiritualist church asking the lady who ran it if she held a development circle.
She told me she didn't but to go and "have a word with old Genie".

I should probably describe Genie at this point. She was an old lady, stood less than 5 feet tall, and had brilliant white, bullet-proof hair that was actually bigger than her head, was always dressed as if she were going to a wedding and wore a long brown fur coat, even when it was warm - I never saw her outside without this fur coat.

I approached Genie and asked about her joining her circle and she laughed at me and said to come back in few years. Even though I saw her every week at church she never said another word to me. Then, a few months after my 18th birthday, I was at the church doing tarot readings on one of their psychic supper nights when Genie bowled over and sat in front of me at my table. "Would you like a reading?" I asked
"Don't be silly" She snorted "Do you still want to sit in circle?" "ok" I whimpered, a small as she was she had a presence that filled a room and everyone felt a little intimidated by her "Good. Come round my house this Thursday at seven o'clock" She ordered "Can I bring a friend with me?" I asked "Of course you can" She smiled "As long as they don't mind waiting outside. My circle is invitation only got it?" "Got it."

So that Thursday I went to her house. No matter how I try to describe the interior of this house I could never do it justice. It was small; three bedroom ex-council house on the Isle Of Dogs, but the inside looked as if whoever does the interior decorating at Buckingham Palace did the interior decorating at Genie's house too. It was also something of a shrine to Genie's life as a medium. Pictures lined the walls and every available surface of Genie standing next to various famous people.

There were about 20 pictures of her with Dorothy Squires, I saw pictures of her with Sean Connery, Barbara Windsor, Danny LaRue and I remember even seeing a picture of her standing next to Sammy Davis Jr. This lady had rubbed shoulders with some stars in her time. The circle meetings were a little 'un-orthodox' shall we say? If Genie took a dislike to one of her sitters she'd pull no punches in letting them know and usually they'd be asked to leave in a very un-lady like manner.

I sat in Genie's circle for almost three years until she became too ill to continue. She eventually died in 1997 and I was unable to attend her funeral because I was working away from home at the time. As strange and as unusual her teaching methods were, and despite me sitting in numerous circles since, to this day I still think back to what Genie taught me all those years ago more than any other teacher I have sat with.
Her methods have never let me down.

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'Second Sight

It is often suggested that the 'second sight' runs in families. Of all my living relatives only my five year old nephew seems to be showing signs of 'knowing things' he couldn't possibly know by normal means. My Mother, Father and 3 sisters all seem to be about as psychic as a house brick however. My Grandmother though was a very different story. She was, without doubt one of the most naturally gifted people I have ever met.

She would never call herself a 'psychic' or a 'medium' or anything like that. As far as I know she never visited a spiritualist church or read a book on the subject. She just 'knew'. You could never tell a lie to my Nan. She just knew you were trying to get one over her, and her skills at being a judge of character were second to none.
Within seconds of meeting someone my Nan just knew if they were "a wrong 'un" or not, and every single time she was proven correct.

I was born in the early seventies and back then my Mum was considered as something of a 'modern woman' because even though she was married and had a child she insisted on going to work. So my grandparents had me a lot of the time. My Grandmother had some of the most interesting people visit her house throughout my childhood. Maggie Goody the ex-gypsy tea-leaf reader and palmist, Bernie Bernstein the Jewish psychic, Queenie Duggan the woman who knew about the herbs - to name but a few. An array of colourful characters I can only wish to have in my life now.

I remember talking to all of them about things of which I had no idea what I was saying. We would chat for hours over endless cups of tea and my Granddad’s home made boiled cake. Of course I would tell my Mum all this when she came home from work and I remember times when she would kick off at my Nan for letting me sit and chat with "that weird lot". My Nan used to tell me the most amazing stories of dreams she had and I remember wishing I could have dreams like that.
She used to tell me of things that I had done that day when I wasn't with her. I even remember her once telling me of things I did when I would go on holiday with my parents. I said to her once "How do you know all this Nan?" she smiled and said "My Mum told me", of course her Mum was long dead.

There are two things I remember most vividly about my Nan though. One was the 'white lady' and the other was 'the boy in black'. My sisters' and I used to spend a lot of time at our grandparents' house when we were kids. They didn't actually live that far away from our house but it was so nice to stay there. It had a lot to do with the fact that my Grandfather was an ex-army cook and he used to cook everything from bread, sweets, cakes and his toffee apples were to die for.

The back of their house over-looked a big field, and I remember my Nan often just sitting looking out of one of the upstairs rooms at this field. I asked her once what she was looking at and she said she was waiting to see the white lady. "Who's that Nan?" I asked "I tell you what" she said "Next time I see her, if you're here I'll wake you up so you can see her too, ok?" "Ok".

A few months later it was the summer holidays and as always me and the sisters were staying at Nan and Granddads house. Early one morning - about 4am - she came into my room and shook me awake. I was about 8 or 9 at the time and I remember the time because I remember thinking it was probably the first time I ever seen a clock at 4 in the morning. "What's the matter?" I said "You said you wanted to see the white lady didn't you?" My Nan said "Yes" "Well come on then"

I followed her into the back room and I sleepily looked out of the window. I saw nothing but a dark field. "What am I supposed to be seeing then?" You'll gather that I had something of an attitude even at that young age. "Wait a minute" my Nan tutted "You really must learn some patience!" We stood there quietly for what felt like years but in reality was probably only 10 minutes or so. Then all of sudden I saw her.
I kid you not with this, I saw a very tall, slim elegant woman with long straight white hair and a full length white dress on, dancing in the middle of the field. She was skipping and hopping about without a care in the world. But even more amazing than that was the procession of animals that followed in her wake.

There was a big dog, a cat, a fox, some kind of goose or duck, a rabbit or hare, a frog or toad and about a dozen various sized moths or butterflies, all pure white and all following this dancing lady with complete obedience. "Can you see her now?" My Nan asked "Of course I can" I replied "I can see the animals too" "Good" she said with a smile "Alright, you can go back to bed now" Reluctantly I went back to my room
"And don't forget!" She called out after me "Not a word of all this to your Mother!"

The other thing she used to tell me of, which didn't please her as much as the white lady was the boy dressed in black. As my grandparents grew older and started suffering with various age related ailments they bought two single beds and replaced the double bed in their room with them. They were keeping each other awake at night in the same bed due to various aches and pains so two single beds seemed a good idea. My Nan often went to bed early. About 8 or 9 o'clock leaving my granddad downstairs to watch "some crap on the telly". She didn't go to bed early to sleep, she would read or listen to the radio or chat on the telephone. Even though she went to bed early she wouldn't actually go to sleep until well after midnight.

Sometimes she would say "The little boy came last night" and I can remember, even from a very young age this would cast a look of dread over older family members' faces. When I was a bit older I asked her who the little boy was. "Have you seen him?" She asked "No" I said, and it was true, I had never seen him. "He's a little boy" She began "He wears a lovely black suit. Never says a word to me but he always looks so upset, bless him". "So who is he?" I insisted "I don't know" She said "But whenever he comes to me somebody always dies within the week". Spooky!

The little boy visited my Nan right up until about 10 years ago. Then suddenly he stopped visiting. Sure enough, whenever my Nan saw him we would get a phone call within a few days, Auntie or Uncle So-and-so had passed away.

For the last few years of her life she unfortunately suffered badly with senile dementia. Her interesting conversation rapidly turned to mindless waffling. She died last December and I last saw her about a week before she died. She would sometimes have moments of absolute clarity before the fog descended and she went back to her ramblings. That last time I saw her I remember our last conversation "What's the time boy?" she asked "Nearly half past eight Nan" "Oh blimey, you'd better go now!" She said "Why?" I asked "My Mum will be here soon" She said matter of factly "She always pops in between 8 and half past. Off you go!"

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Sense of Humour

My sense of humour has pulled me through some very sticky moments over the years but nothing seems to test my funny bone more than an obviously crap medium. Christmas 2005. All of that year I was heavily involved with a very good paranormal group. It was the usual mix of believers and sceptics but what made this group so good was the fact that despite our various opinions we all got on really well as friends.

Vince was our technical bloke. There was nothing that man couldn't do with a length of cable. Really nice fella but an absolute sceptic. He didn't believe in anything he couldn't touch, see, smell or hear. So it came as a surprise to me when he phoned me up a week before Christmas and asked me to take him to a spiritualist church. Of course I was delighted to, and that Sunday we met up and went down to my local church. There was an air of excitement in the hall that night. There were two mediums booked - a husband and wife team and going by the general chit-chat and hubbub in the room they were "very good".

They were running a little late so we all chatted and drank so much tea I honestly thought my bladder would explode. Eventually they arrived and they swept in on a breeze of self importance from the moment the door slammed open. The husband - early 60's, dripping in jewellery that screamed ' Argos', the wife - bright red tracksuit, red earrings, red lipstick and matching red shoes. She looked like a blood clot. With them being so late you would have thought we would have got down to business straight away, but no. Under 'the wife's' instruction we all had to turn our chairs around to face the other way because this woman's 'helpers' were telling her that the energy of the room was all wrong because we were facing the wrong direction. Okaaaaay.

So we all turned around and after another 20 minutes or so we were finally ready to begin. The husband gave the address. He told us how he had once had a massive heart attack and died and went to heaven and met the angels and they told him they weren't ready for him yet but they would send him back with the 'healing hands'. They obviously didn't send him back with the ability to choose tasteful jewellery.

Then the wife stood up and started the messages. She began by declaring that she never gave messages to men because men are always so negative and always say no.
Ok, I thought. First of all she went to a lady sitting at the back. She said something to her to which the lady replied 'No'. She said something else and once more the lady said 'No'. She said one final thing before yet again being met with 'No'.
"That's it!" she said throwing her hands up in despair "I'll have to move on my dear. I have one rule - 3 strikes and you're out". Hats off to the blood clot, she had skilfully managed to make her obviously bad reading sound like the lady's fault. Well done for that. She went around the room giving her watery messages to a mixed response of "Yes" or "No".

Then came the killer.

She said to one lady "Are you Catholic dear?" "Yes" the woman replied "Yes I thought so" said the clot "I've got The Pope here for you dear". This was followed by a look from Vince to me with a look on his face that would have been understood all over the world as "Can we go now please?" I was more than ready to leave by this point but I'm glad I didn't. The real showstopper was yet to come.

The blood clot stood still for a while as if listening for a clear message on a mobile phone in a poor signal area. Then finally she said the catholic lady, "Did you like Tommy Steele when you were younger dear?" "I suppose so" She replied "I liked Little White Bull" "Ahhh yes" the clot woman nodded sagely "I've got Tommy Steele here for you dear". With that Vince leaned closer to me and said "Tommy Steele is still alive isn't he?" What could I do except nod? He was still alive.

What else could I do in the face of such blatant codswallop in order to save face in front of my sceptical friend? I did the only thing you can do when you don't want to be thought of as being guilty by association - I started taking the piss.

Oh how we laughed.

We came out of the church ripping it out of blood clot lady and found our way to a local pub where eventually we were kicked out at closing time with our livers on our knees.

It was a lovely Christmas.

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A Witch friend

A Witch friend of mine who lives in the village of Castleton, Derbyshire invited me to stay with her for a weekend a few years ago. It just so happened that weekend was the villages' 'Garlanding Day'.

Garlanding Day (or Oak Apple Day as it often called by the locals) has taken place in Castleton since before living memory. Nobody really knows how or indeed, why it started. Oak Apple Day is on the 29th May and involves the Garland being paraded though the streets, then it is hoisted to the top of Saint Edmund's Church tower. The ceremony celebrates the pagan rite for the ending of winter, and the restoration of Charles II to the throne in 1660 after the rule by Cromwell. However, as with most British 'festivals' the celebration of the return of the monarchy was probably the church's way of "de-paganising" an obviously pagan event, a bit like Guy Fawke's Night.

The 3 foot high Garland is made from a wooden frame, wound with string to which small bunches of wild flowers and leaves are tied. A further small wreath, called the `Queen` is made from choice garden flowers and is place on top. Just before the start of the ceremony the 'queen' is lifted onto the shoulders of the `King` (a local man playing the part of the King for a day) who is dressed in Stuart costume.

After touring the village on horseback accompanied by his consort, a procession and a band, the King is relieved of his Garland which is then hoisted up to the top of the tower of St Edmunds Church, where it is left to wither. The Queens wreath is placed round the war memorial and in the market place there is Morris dancing and singing. Lovely. It received something of a boost in 1976 when a stone statue was discovered at the back of an overgrown garden. The statue stands about 12 inches high and was identified by an expert of such things at Manchester University as some form of ancient pagan 'idol' worshipped in the Derbyshire area and was dated at around 3000 years old.

Unfortunately the statue is kept under lock and key in the local church but, since the late 70's it is now taken out of the church and used a part of the focal point of the celebrations on Garlanding Day. So there I was on this Garlanding Day. Even though I'm proud to be pagan I must confess my dislike of these 'village fete' type affairs.
Morris Dancers and home-made jam are all very nice but it's not really my cup of tea.
I'm a city boy at heart and while I can appreciate the goings-on of simple country life it does have a habit of boring me slightly.

My friend suggested we set ourselves up outside the pub to watch the procession go by. Oh goody, I thought. A few large Vodkas and coke should make the whole thing more enjoyable. After a short while the parade passed by. I don't know exactly what I was expecting from this day but I was actually rather pleasantly surprised.

I was amazed at just how much effort the whole village put into this affair.

All the village school kids were singing songs, the Morris Dancers were brilliant (for Morris Dancers) and everybody just seemed to be having a jolly good time - even me! After all the fun and festivities of the day were over the young 'uns were packed off to bed while the adults made their way to various pubs around the village for a good old booze up and sing song. We had a ball! And not once was I made to feel like a outsider.

Over the next few days I wondered at great length over the things I had seen in Castleton. In almost every country of the world - with the exception of Britain - there is carefully documented evidence of that country's earliest religious teachings and practices. Wonderful examples of this have to go to Greece and Egypt where their ancient ways are, to this day given much reverence and respect. Since the Roman invasion there is practically nothing to suggest what the people of this country did in the way of religious observance.

The accepted story, of course is that we were all naked savages living no better than wild animals, but I just don't accept that. In The Guide to English History by the Rev. Dr. Brewer it is suggested that the Romans introduced Roman dress, laws and manners to the savage Britons, but it is well documented that British merchants walked the streets of Rome and did hearty business in the ports of Italy long before the invasion.
British merchants were known practically all over Europe for their high quality exports of cattle, silver, iron, corn and tin. British expertise in areas such as spinning, glass-making, weaving, pottery and bronze-working were much sought after all over the continent. Hardly the behaviour of naked savages.

Who knows? It was probably all part of the early churches' attempt at de-paganising Britain. But do you know what? It's actually quite a good thing that our ancient history is shrouded in a fog of mystery. I quite like it. Unlike Greece and Egypt where their history is committed to paper and sits rotting away in a museum, our history and heritage is still very much alive and part of modern day life up and down the land in places like Castleton.

The things ancient Greeks and Egyptians did are completely cut off from modern Greeks and Egyptians and have in fact been almost removed from history and confined to literature. They may as well just be stories. The things the ancient Britons did however are still being performed by modern Britons. Fair enough, we may not exactly know why we still celebrate those ancient customs but the important thing is we still do. It's almost as if it touches a part of us that tells no matter how silly we may look dressed up in flowers, or as a horse, or as a green man or in cricket whites with bells round our ankles - it's important to do them because somehow they feel right.

Yet another reason to be proud of being British.

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A very distraught man

So there I was early one evening sitting up in bed mending a puncture when the telephone rings. At the other end was a very distraught man in an obvious state of drama. When I calmed him down enough to be able to understand a word he was saying he told me that his daughter had been cursed and hadn't eaten or slept for three weeks and if I really was a Witch then I had to help her.

After I had explained to him that I don't have to do anything of the sort I asked him to tell me what had been going on. His daughter was 17 years old, at college and up until a particularly nasty incident with her ex-boyfriend had been a reasonably happy and bubbly young woman. It had all started three weeks beforehand when she had decided she no longer wanted to be with her boyfriend. She had just started college and was mixing with intelligent and more interesting people than her *quote* loser *un-quote* boyfriend. So she dumped him.

By all accounts he wasn't ready for the relationship to end and had begged and pleaded for her not to dump him but all to no avail. So his tactics at winning back his sweetheart turned a little more sinister. He said that if she ended the relationship he would curse her. Apparently he was a member of a family who were known in the area for "knowing things", and his Grandmother was something of a canny tea-leaf reader - so it must be true.

So, long story short, he 'cursed' her. The bright, funny, intelligent girl suddenly took to her bed and refused to eat only occasionally sipping milk. Out of sheer morbid curiosity (and for my own personal amusement) I agreed to meet her. Two days later I arrived at the house to find this young girl propped up in bed with her mother, father, two younger brothers and grandmother all fussing around trying to coax her into eating something.

I asked if she had seen a doctor to which I was told she had and he couldn't find anything wrong. I asked if this boyfriend had ever spoken of successfully cursing anyone before,

"No".

I asked if he or any of his family were practicing Witches,

"Don't know. Probably". I asked, why probably? "His Grandmother reads the tea leaves". I asked what made them think he was capable of sending a curse, "They're all a bit dodgy that lot. Not the kind of people you would trust". I explained that wasn't a very wise thing to say in front of a Witch. It was obvious this girl was no more cursed than I was. I could see what was going on here. She dumped the boyfriend; the boyfriend was pissed off so used his family's reputation of being somewhat "dodgy" to tell her he was going to curse her. She took to her bed, Bob's your uncle.

I also knew that telling them all that wouldn't make the slightest bit of difference and would be of no help in getting this young girl's life back on track. They were all convinced she was cursed and that was that.

So. What to do?

There was nothing I could do except agree with them that this was one of the very worst curses I had ever seen and I would be back the next day with my "stuff" to remove it. I went back the next day. Lit some candles, burnt some incense, waved some Rosemary around a bit, did a bit of shouting while chanting the words of an Incubus Succubus song - job done. Less than a week later - what do you know? - She was up and out of bed, eating, sleeping and enjoying life again.

It's amazing what you can get people to do if they believe enough. I was a bit slow on the uptake though. I know people who charge a small fortune for the removal of curses.

All I got was my bus fare.

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