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Broadcasting From Beyond by A. E. Perriman

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
GIFT FROM THE OTHER SIDE

We invited a number of friends to a sitting to celebrate my wife’s birthday. Belle opened the proceedings and, after wishing my wife many happy returns of the day, greeted all sixteen sitters in turn.

One of the first to communicate was the medium’s brother, who greeted her with: “Hello, Mollie! Do you know who it is? It’s Alf. Many happy returns, old girl.”

“Not so much of the old girl,” said my wife.

“Well, you don’t want me to say ‘young girl,’ do you?” After giving his sister a message, he made way for his brother, who announced himself: “It’s Willie. How are you, dear Moffie?” When the medium complained that she rarely heard from her brothers, and wanted to know if they had deserted her, he answered: “Well, my dear, you know we are here, but there are other people who haven’t heard from those who have passed into the higher life. We don’t love or think any the less of you, and we will see what can be done for you.”

Next we heard: “It’s Mother. Are you there, my dear? You know I want to help you all I can.”

“You sound so sad, Mother,” said the medium, “aren’t you happy?”

“It’s not that I am sad. It is because I am backward in getting used to this. I am often with you. Don’t think that because you do not hear, I am not with you. I want to tell you that you are doing the right thing. If you were doing wrong, I should tell you. Carry on the good work. Hold your head high. God bless you.” My mother-in-law was an ardent Roman Catholic, which explains why the medium sought her opinion on the work she was doing.

After some of the sitters had received evidential communications, my wife was again addressed. We heard: “Hello, Mollie! It’s your Uncle George.”

“I don’t know you,” replied my wife. “I never had an Uncle George.”

“Oh yes, you did!” said the voice. An argument followed. “Allow me to know,” declared my wife. “I never had an Uncle George, and I certainly don’t know you.”

“Yes you did, and I am your Uncle George,” the communicator repeated.

I could see this discussion continuing for some time, so I told the communicator that as my wife had denied all knowledge of having an Uncle George, no good purpose would be served by him insisting that he was her Uncle George. I added that we were always pleased to welcome friends from the other world, but we would not allow anyone to come under false colours.

“She always called me Uncle George,” was the answer. “I am George Simpson, her godfather, and she always called me Uncle George.”

“Good heavens!” exclaimed the medium. “That is true. I haven’t seen you since I was a little girl, and I had forgotten all about you. I did call you Uncle George, but after all these years I had forgotten. I thought you were claiming to be a relative.”

“Never mind, my dear,” he said. “I have come to tell you I want to help you in your work in any way I can. And I’m going to do so. Good evening, you good people. Now I will explain my presence. I want to tell you that it does not matter whether you are Jew or Gentile, you have all got to come the same way home. You have to make good your mistakes. I was a Catholic. And now, good night, and don’t forget I’m still your Uncle George.”

There was a touch of humour when a nurse was greeted with: “Kate! It’s your mother. I am very well, dear, and I am glad to know that you are, too. You helped yourself to a banana when nobody was looking. You didn’t think I had my eye on you, did you?” This made us laugh. The nurse admitted that she had helped herself to a banana at the nursing home that day.

“Bert, my boy, how are you, ‘Hail smiling morn’?’ said one spirit voice. It was my mother addressing me. She wished my wife “many happy returns,” and added: “I like my photograph. It was thoughtful of you to get it done.”

Flora came at the end and said to the medium: “We are going to try to give you a little present. If we are able, well and good, but you must not be disappointed if we fail.” I She asked for some music on the gramophone to provide a little more power to help to bring an apport. The sitters were asked to place their hands on their solar plexus. The medium was told to hold out her hands.

Handel’s Largo was played on the gramophone, and we sat expectantly. Before the record had finished playing, my wife said, “Something has dropped in my hand.” Flora announced that the gift was a symbol of love and sacrifice, in appreciation of her service and the sacrifices made in being a willing instrument.

The apport was a black onyx cross, two and a half inches I by two inches, surmounted with gold filigree, a beautiful piece of work. We had no idea whence it came. When we asked, we were told that we would find out one day. A man to whom the cross was shown said he recognised the style of workmanship. There was only one place in the world where such work was done, and that was in South America.