CHAPTER NINE
THE WAR DEAD RETURN

The holding of a remembrance service sitting was suggested by two particular friends of mine, Sergeants Walwyn and Cross, who were killed at the same time as I was wounded when our battalion launched its attack on Mametz Wood, July, 1916. “A little token of appreciation for those who fell in the war,” was how they put it.

“If it is no trouble to you,” said Sergeant Waiwyn, “we should like a little Field of Remembrance, covered with poppies.” I promised him that I would carry out his wish. At each remembrance service I had a little Field of Remembrance made of turves cut from the lawn—these were replaced after the service. At one end a large cross was placed and poppies fixed into the turves. It made a very impressive setting for the occasion.

Typical of these services is the one held in 1932. It was opened with a prayer. Then followed the hymn, O God, our help in ages past, played on the gramophone, the sitters, numbering thirty, joining in the singing. During the two minutes silence, little lights were seen at the foot of the cross and among the poppies. The Last Post and Reveille were sounded by means of gramophone records.

When I played a gramophone record of old war songs one spirit visitor stamped on the door, keeping time with the music, and sang Tipperary and The Long, Long Trail. Onward Christian Soldiers, was the next record. During its playing, a trumpet, with bands of luminous paint, was seen above our heads beating time with the music. Many spirit lights, too, were observed in different parts of the room.

While further records were being played, someone banged the lid of the gramophone, and a voice asked, “Can I come in?

“You are in, by the sound of you,” I replied. “You nearly knocked over the gramophone. Who are you?”

“I’m Bill Jackson, if anyone wants to know,” replied the entity. At this moment a materialised hand was seen above us, beating time with the music. The hand travelled round the sitters, and several were touched. With the fading away of the hand, a voice said, “Hello, I am Captain Potter.” Asked if he knew any of us, he replied: “No, nobody here knows me, but I thought I would just drop in. I was in the 10th Warwicks.”

Next came Jock Stenhouse, accompanied by his friend Evan Macdonald, who was recognised by a woman present. Addressing her, he said, “You might tell M— when you write that I came.” She promised that she would.

Jock numbered off a lot of men. We could hear them numbering, one, two, three, four, and so on, in rapid succession, as if they were on parade. “Form fours,” called Jock. “Right turn. By the right, quick march.” There was a loud stamping of feet, like a regiment on the march. Now and then, Jock would call out, “Left right, left right.”

Another voice said, “Hello, Damps.” addressing one of the sitters. “You know who it is, don’t you?” he asked. “I am not sure,” replied the sitter. “What, you don’t know your own brother!” There followed a natural conversation between the two brothers, in which the sitter asked if the “Old Boy” was in this show tonight. “Not so much of the old boy,” said our next visitor. There followed a confidential chat between Damps, who was an ex-officer, and the communicator, who was his superior officer. At the end he said, “I am giving way to one whom I honoured and respected in every possible way.”

There followed a striking communication from one who announced himself with, “Haig is here.” Speaking “not as an orator but as a soldier,” he described his welcome when he arrived in the world beyond death. At the end of his exhortation to work for peace, he saluted both the seen and unseen hosts. A materialised hand was seen moving over the poppies on the little Field of Remembrance.

Another voice was heard. “I do not know whether any of you will remember me,” said the speaker, “but I stood by the boys many times, and hope that I helped them in their difficulties, in their troubles and in their worries. Remembrance Day! Yes, it is Remembrance Day over here too, for it is the day that we remember the many we have left behind. I want you to remember the boys over here, representing so many nations as they did.

“Those boys who used to whistle behind their well-fed horses; the boys who made workshops ring with their hammers; the boys who fed fiery furnaces; the boys who took ships across the seas, and brought them back safely; the boys who ran tiny fishing fleets; those who left India, Australia with its cloudless skies, Africa’s forests and heat, and from all over the Empire; Scotland’s wild moors and highlands, Wales, Ireland and England. All of them took note when England needed her sons to fight. In every heart was the thought of those they had left behind.

“Work for the truth of survival, hope and joy. Spread this marvellous truth, for it is the way to peace. And now may the Great Spirit help those who have yet scars of battle left to them as legacies, and all the boys who fought and did not return home. God’s blessing rest among you now and forever more is the prayer of Woodbine Willie.”

There followed a communication from W. T. Stead, the fearless journalist who had espoused the cause of Spiritualism on earth. He welcomed “old friends of the movement which started very small but is growing and growing, and coming like a wave of sureness, strength and knowledge to all and sundry. Fight on, my friends. Do not be afraid to hold the banner high.”

Stead commented on the work that was being done in the cause of Spiritualism, and after making a few suggestions he bade us “Good night.”

Next a weak voice was heard to say, “Hello.” This was followed with whistling. Then came: “I am Ernie Jackson. No! I don’t know anybody here,” he replied in answer to a sitter’s question. “I just blew in. I was in the 5th Lancs. No. I am not dead. I am alive. I am glad to be here.”

“Hello. I am Alf. Hello, Mollie.” It was Mrs. Perriman’s brother speaking. “What are you jumping for?” he asked her. “Because you touched me,” she replied. “Well, now I am going to kiss you.” This he did.

Another young man, giving his name George, called to his mother who was one of the sitters. Their talk was of a confidential nature and cannot be recorded here.

“I am Lascelles,” said the next spirit speaker, “Reginald Lascelles, at your service. I lived at Godalming. What serious faces you have got. I say, if you could see yourselves, you wouldn’t look so serious.”

“I am Henry Allen,” said the next communicator. “No, I am not acquainted with anyone here. I lived in the Crescent, Buxton, and I was in the 5th Rifles. I was told that I could speak to the people on earth, but did not think it possible until now. Thank you very much for letting me talk to you. Good night.”

The power was dropping at this stage, and 1 was asked to play a gramophone record to lift the vibrations. Several entities made an effort to be understood, but we failed to hear what they were trying to say. More music was played, and eventually we heard a voice call: “I’m Jimmy Taylor. I have not got a regiment. I belong to the Great White Army now. I was in the London Scottish.” He was asked what he did on the other side of life. “I am doing what I never had a chance of doing on the earth, I am painting pictures.

Then followed a number of boys in quick succession. “Arthur Young, from Arnley, near Leeds,” called the first. Arthur James, Jack Summers, Bobby Ellison, Robert Wood-house, Harold Thorpe, Herbert Hanson, Maxmillian Sagar, Edward Urquhart, Sammy Allen from Manchester, John Arthur Baldwin, Scotty, and a host of others.

“I am also very glad of the opportunity to say a word or two,” said a soft, sweet voice. “All poppies of Flanders have memories for me, too. I am so happy to think that the British people, and the people of the Empire, for whom I was glad to die, remember the poppies. No one knows better than I, the dangers and difficulties the boys had to go through. Their sufferings, and the sadness I knew so well.

“I understand some of my friends have not forgotten the day I was born again, and I can only say, God Bless them all. And to thank you, too, for memories that you give to my name. It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, but there are many British women who would have done the same as I. God bless, help and comfort the British women. God bless them all. I am Nurse Cavell.”

The next to manifest was my wife’s brother, Douglas. Addressing the sitters, he said: “I am the medium’s brother. I went down in the Black Prince. I was only eighteen years of age.”

“Hello, Bert,” began the next spirit speaker. “Who are you?” asked a sitter. “I am Stan Cross” he replied. “How are you, Stan?” I asked. “Quite well, how are you?” he answered. Stan Cross and I chatted about our army days.

Two of my wife’s brothers spoke. Then came a communicator who declared: “The only way to man’s millennium is to realise that when he has finished his schooling on earth, he is making ready for the school on this side of life, where ambition is realised, and understanding is so much greater.

“Please remember that you may sometimes think that you have not done as much as you would have liked, or are not as far advanced as you would wish, but your names are registered with your good deeds in large letters, and the foolish deeds in small letters. I want you to realise there is no hell or damnation, or anything of that description here. It is quite an easy matter to climb, and as you climb, it is as though you are in the field again. Everything rests with you as to whether you take advantage of the opportunities or not. I am Thomson, or as I was known on earth, Lord Thomson. We have no titles over here.”

There followed a voice which announced: “Greetings to you all. I am Sefton Brancker. I just came with my friend, Thomson. Don’t be afraid to stand up and steer your ship for the right port.”

“I suppose I had better come and say a word before this meeting is closed,” began the next communicator. “I am very glad, very glad indeed, to be here, for I see one or two present who were closely associated with me in the past. On Remembrance Day, I try to be in as many places as I am able.” Announcing that he was Arthur Conan Doyle, he gave a private message to one sitter, and ended by en­couraging all who laboured for the truth to which he dedicated so many years of his life.

The sitting lasted three hours, and over sixty spirit speakers communicated.

The success of this experiment led us to hold a public remembrance service at the Wigmore Hall, London, when over six hundred people were present. It was arranged by The Link, an organisation for the development of home circles.

The initial difficulty was that the London County Council regulations do not permit exit lights to be extinguished. As originally arranged, the medium, in the centre of an inner circle of sitters, sat facing the audience. It was found, however, that the screens placed around them did not shut out the reflected light from Mrs. Perriman. She changed her position and sat with her back to the audience in the angle of the screens and, with the aid of the curtains over the screens and a cloak, the necessary darkness was obtained. A microphone and loudspeakers were used to broadcast the spirit voices.

The first voice, clear and mellow, belonged to the Rev. Walter Coulthard, whose son was on the platform. Then came Lieut. Charles Molesworth, of the Duke of Cornwall’s Light Infantry, sending greetings to his people.

“I am glad to be here, I am Samuel Stevens,” announced the next speaker, who was recognised by members of the audience. He said he had been connected with the Ilford Spiritualist Church, and that he was satisfied with the way they were carrying on the work.

He was followed by Robert Downie Findlay calling for his son.

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle greeted “my successor,” Hannen Swaffer and thanked him for his labours.

“I am Arthur Thompson, and I want you to take this address down, Co­op Stores, Albert Road, Blackpool,” we heard a voice say. “Tell them Arthur Thompson came through and is very much alive. I have met the old governor, Moore, and just tell Fred it doesn’t matter about his arm because he will have two when he comes over here.” The accuracy of this message was acknowledged from the audience.