CHAPTER NINE

 

DIRECT VOICE

 

In clairvoyance, clairaudience, and psychometry the medium never loses consciousness. If she is a good medium she may lose some awareness of the material things about her, but no more than one would expect of any other artist who becomes completely absorbed by the work in hand. To all outward appearances she is as much alive to what is going on around her as anyone else who happens to be present.

 

Inevitably there are certain dangers attaching to this, since it is one of the characteristics of human nature to receive one's fellows - especially strangers - with a secretly appraising eye and to attempt to judge from their dress, voice and demeanor their probable circumstances and background. This is a factor on which psychic investigators have many times pounced with suspicion. But the truth is that every experienced medium has long since learned to shut visual evidence of this sort rigorously from her mind, though I am prepared to believe that the novice may occasionally fall victim to it, albeit unknowingly.

 

From the time I started to give sittings for clairvoyance I have never allowed myself to draw any inference from the appearance or behavior of my visitors. I have not done so because I think a preconceived idea based on material considerations of a person's circumstances might influence my clairvoyance, but purely as a precautionary measure for my own satisfaction. For the same reason I always prefer to be told nothing of the past history and associations of those who sit with me. I am happiest when confronted with strangers of whom I know absolutely nothing. Then I enjoy the comforting confidence that nothing I say can conceivably be colored by pre-knowledge.

Instances of people coming to seek guidance on their problems are by no means rare. It is Red Cloud's advice that they want of course, not mine. In such cases it is far more satisfactory from my point of view to exchange the conscious condition for the trance state before transmitting any communication. By so doing I know that whatever is said in trance will have to come direct from my guide and will not be influenced by any ideas on the subject I may hold.

 

The deep trance is a condition which must be acquired gradually and by easy stages if the medium is not to suffer harm. I have already recounted my first experience when Red Cloud entranced me. On that occasion, and on many others which followed, I was never more than lightly entranced. In this state the spirit is only partially withdrawn from the body. I retain a drowsy consciousness of what is going on. I hear the voices of the sitters - including my own - as if from afar. I have a strong sense of detachment, of being an onlooker rather than a participant. It is almost a feeling of helplessness as I realize that the words put into my mouth are not my own. This is the state of trance which imposes the least strain on the medium's nervous and physical systems. Red Cloud, of course, fully aware of this, was very patient in his gradual process of preparing me for the deep trances I was to undergo in due course.

 

Many times I have been asked what are the sensations of the deep trance state. It is a question I have never found easy to answer, any more than it is possible to describe the sensations of sleep. I sit in my chair, relaxed yet with a strong awareness of what is about to occur. What happens next can best be likened to the effects of an anesthetic. From full consciousness there comes a brief period of light-headedness during which I hover between consciousness and oblivion. This is the moment when the spirit is being withdrawn from the body and is marked by particularly heavy breathing - followed by heavy, dreamless sleep.

 

While I am deeply entranced I am conscious of nothing. The spirit forms I see clairvoyantly and the spirit voices I hear clairaudiently, the constant companions of my waking hours, are suddenly no more. I see nothing, hear nothing and, in demonstration of direct voice, say nothing. I sit in my chair as if in a drugged sleep and only return to consciousness when my guide and his spirit doctors decided that I shall do so. They usually awaken me after a period of up to ninety minutes. I return to the material world, physically and mentally tired but anxious to be told what has taken place in my absence.

 

Entrancement is not necessarily essential to the successful demonstration of the direct voice. There are a number of mediums, notably in the United States of America, who regularly hold direct voice séances while remaining fully conscious of all that is going on, but I am not one of them. My demonstrations of direct voice have always occurred while I was in trance and, with one exception, all have been held in private, though there were often as many as sixty sitters present. My one public demonstration of this phenomenon was the Kingsway Hall in London and is described elsewhere in this book.

 

I have, of course, often been entranced at public meetings when Red Cloud wished to deliver a lecture, but such occasions were "trance addressed" in which Red Cloud spoke through me and not by the direct voice entailing the use of the trumpet. These lectures, which were often beyond my understanding, were avidly studied when transcribed by many of the outstanding philosophical and scientific brains in the country, and were frequently highly praised. A remarkable feature was the speed at which they were delivered. Even the most expert shorthand writers had difficulty in keeping pace, and then could do so only for a few minutes at a time. Because of this we sometimes had as many as four shorthand writers working in relays in order to ensure that no word was missed.

 

In the pages which follow I describe some of the more outstanding séances at which I was deeply entranced. But, of course, I am unable to do so from personal recollection. For my information I am indebted to the descriptions by the persons who sat with me, to the notes of the short hand writers who were invariably present at my direct voice demonstrations, and to contemporary accounts which found their way regularly into both the national and psychic press.

 

It was not until I had had three or four years' experience of trance mediumship that Red Cloud asked me to form a circle so that I could train for direct voice development. I was more than willing. There was no difficulty in organizing a circle having as its nucleus Maurice Barbanell, Hannen Swaffer, Shaw Desmond, and Constance Treloar. These four attended regularly and were augmented by some fifteen to twenty other persons, who varied from séance to séance. None attended without Red Cloud's prior approval. Occasionally their names would be known to me, but mostly they were strangers, introduced by other members. Names were rarely mentioned, and never when a circle member asked Red Cloud's permission to bring a friend to the next séance. Newcomers were warned at the moment of their arrival against volunteering any information that could afterwards be said to have destroyed the value of the evidence they had received. All this was rather conspiratorial and was frankly quite unnecessary because names mean nothing to you when you are in a trance. Nevertheless, it was a practice we persisted in, if for no other reason than that it satisfied the skeptical visitor.

 

Direct voice communication is perhaps the most convincing evidence of survival after death. The medium's party is wholly passive since it is not through her vocal chords that the spirit voices are made audible. Before these voices can be heard by the circle a replica of a larynx must be constructed. The larynx is formed of ectoplasm (drawn partly from the sitters but largely from the medium) acting on psychic rods of power, the whole delicately pitched to the metal vibrations of the medium. The larynx when constructed, is surrounded by walls of light to protect it from unwanted spirit intruders. The one who has been chosen is passed inside the walls by the guide with instructions to communicate as clearly as possible. Within the protecting walls the communicator's vibrations impinge on the larynx and are translated into audible speech which is clearly heard through the trumpet.

 

A successful demonstration of direct voice is as much dependent on the spirit communicator as on the medium. He must know precisely the message he wants to convey - Red Cloud says it is not unusual to rehearse the hesitant ones - and be able to transmit his message with clarity. The communicator must be allowed to deliver his message without interruption. Here the circle members play an important part. They must be sympathetic and receptive. Any attempt by one of the sitters to project his own ideas at such a moment will defeat the object of the séance because strong thoughts impose barriers which the communicator can not break down. It is easy to harass and confuse a communicator by posing a question for which he has not come prepared with the answer. Usually when this happens he loses control of the trumpet.

 

We sat every fortnight in an upper room in my house at Teddington, and for the first ten months we made no progress. It was most disappointing. Only the knowledge that we were sitting in response to Red Cloud's request prevented me from giving up in despair. Nevertheless, he gave us his blessing and encouragement from time to time. At an early stage he asked that any donations resulting from these meetings should be paid to a medium who had fallen ill and was unable to work. Useful sums were regularly passed to her for several months until Red Cloud told us that her time of need was over and that thereafter donations received should be sent to the Marylebone Spiritualist Association.

 

Our sittings were held in darkness. This Red Cloud said was essential for making the psychic rods, and more than once he drew our attention to chinks of light appearing through imperfectly drawn curtains. There was, however, an occasion when a small crack of light passed undetected by us all. I am reminded of it now only because it subsequently formed the subject of a letter printed in a psychic journal. The writer, a Mr. Pillow, who was sitting in the circle at the time, said that he saw the trumpet pass between him and the chink of light from the curtain. In the fraction of time that it was illuminated from behind it had appeared to him that the trumpet was supported by a pillar of smoke.

 

The trumpet we used, was of the ordinary tin variety, outlined at its broader end with phosphorescent paint which made it clearly visible in the darkness. According to eyewitness accounts it moved about the room with incredible speed, yet never did it accidentally strike the floor, walls, ceiling, or furniture; nor did it ever make a mistake, when transmitting a message, by going to the wrong member of the circle.

 

The only other essential to our sittings was the short hand writer whose job it was to make a verbatim record of all that was said. She was seated outside the circle, in a partitioned-off alcove containing a dim red light but sufficient to enable her to make notes. During the initial period when there was no success, she was certainly not over-occupied, but as results came she was kept more and more busy, her notes often running into dozens of pages.

 

The opening procedure of each meeting was invariably the same. The members would take their seats, each holding hands with its neighbor. Soft music from a gramophone would make a pleasant background of sound and by its vibrations contribute to conditions necessary for this form of psychic phenomena. Meanwhile, I was deeply entranced by Red Cloud and it would not be long before he greeted the circle with words, "God bless you all." Once our ten­month initiation period was over, the voices started to come in, and keep coming in, almost without break.

The characteristic tones of the spirit communicators were not always recognizable - which is not entirely surprising when you remember that all were reproduced through the same artificially constructed larynx - but occasionally sitters were dumbfounded by the resemblance. One such was a Mrs. Ellen Hadgeld who was so deeply impressed by what she had heard that she wrote to the Press about it. It was not, she said, so much the characteristic of phrasing which had convinced her that she was speaking to her departed daughter, though these would have been proof enough, but the tonal quality of the voice itself. It would have been nobody else. She concluded with the words: "Even had Mrs. Roberts wanted to, she could never had reproduced by any means other than true Spiritualism, the voice of a girl she had never met."

 

More often, however, it is the typical phrasing and verbal expression that provide the real proof of identity. Few people go through life without acquiring at least one or two habits of speech which are individual to them, and those who knew them well are rarely slow to recall them when they hear them again. And, if further evidence is needed, there is always the factual proof which spirit communicators are at pains to supply to clinch their identity and demonstrate their survival.

 

As our sittings became more successful, more and more voices came through, each one distinguishable from the last even though, in the early stages, few were identifiable from tone alone. Sometimes the conversations would be long and intimate, at others the talk would be general. The trumpet would move quickly around the circle, stopping here and there and gently nudging the sitter with whom it wished to speak.

 

Most of the communications were brief and were not repeated at later meetings, but there were important exceptions to this rule. Notably among the exceptions was Sir Henry Segrave, the racing motorist who lost his life in an attempt on the world's motorboat record at Lake Windermere. The story is that Sir Henry first became interested in Spiritualism while preparing his attack on the land speed record at Daytona Beach in Florida. I never heard the precise details but this is the broad outline as recounted to me. While in America, Sir Henry received a letter from an unknown correspondent in Britain. The writer explained that at one of a series of séances he attended a message of warning addressed to Segrave had come, claiming to emanate from some former ace of the motor-racing world. The writer then quoted the message in full and expressed the hope that it would be of some interest and value to Sir Henry in his new attempt on a world record. Apparently it was of great interest and value, and its Spiritualistic source so aroused Segrave's curiosity that he determined to look more closely into the subject when he returned to England.

 

He did so and, in turning to his old friend Hannen Swafer for enlightenment, he could not have chosen a better mentor. Swaffer, who had his own home circle of sitters, invited Segrave to come and meet their medium. There Sir Henry had his first experience of psychic phenomena - a piano being lifted clear off the floor. He said that it was the only time in his life he had been too frightened to do anything but stare!

 

His death on Lake Windermere came as a great shock to the world. It was a profound personal tragedy to Lady Segrave. A few days later some strangely significant happenings in Swaffer's flat, not capable of a normal explanation, suggested to him that perhaps Segrave was trying to make contact with former friends and associates. Swaffer described these curious happenings in a long letter to Lady Segrave. It was the first time that anyone had seriously suggested to her that she might be able to communicate with her husband and she characteristically gave it prolonged thought. It took her twelve months, and a careful study of Swafer's own book on Spiritualism, to make up her mind what she wanted to do. Then she wrote a letter to Swaffer. Would he please put her in touch with a medium who would help her to communicate with her husband? Swaffer's reply was to refer Lady Segrave to Maurice Barbanell.

 

And so it was I received a telephone call one morning from Barbanell in which he asked if he might bring a newcomer to our direct voice sitting to be held that night.

 

"But you know the rule," I protected. "Nobody attends these meetings without prior reference to Red Cloud."

 

"I know," he said, "but if I wait until tonight in order to ask Red Cloud, at least two weeks must pass before I can bring my friend along. I'm anxious to avoid that if I can. I think you can trust my discretion, Estelle."

 

"I can," I said thoughtfully. "And I believe Red Cloud can, too. So bring your friend. I am sure Red Cloud will approve."

 

So Barbanell rang Lady Segrave to extend his invitation, but she was unable to accept. A previous engagement made it impossible for her to be present that evening but she would be grateful to be asked to the following one. Barbanell therefore came alone. Early in the sitting he asked Red Cloud what he knew of the guest he had hoped to bring with him.

 

"You be patient and wait," Red Cloud replied, with a cryptic ring in his voice.

 

With that answer, of course, he had to be content until the séance was well advanced. At last a voice through the trumpet called" "Barbanell."

 

"Yes," he answered. "Who is that speaking?" "Segrave. Thank you for trying to bring my wife."

 

"That's all right, "Sir Henry. I am only sorry she was unable to come. Have you a message for her?"

 

Sir Henry had. It was a brief personal greeting of no particular significance to anybody present but full of inner meaning, Lady Segrave volunteered, when it was telephoned to her. Before the séance ended, Barbanell asked Red Cloud's permission to bring Lady Segrave to the next sitting. It was readily granted.

 

A fortnight later Barbanell arrived with his guest. She was introduced to nobody present, though the handful of sitters who had attended the previous séance no doubt guessed the identity. It was not long before the trumpet moved in her direction and Red Cloud spoke to her.

 

"You do not know me," he said.

 

"No," she answered. "I am a stranger here."

 

"Oh no, you are not. Soon I will bring your little man to you."

 

This snatch of dialogue was interrupted for fifteen minutes by conversations between other sitters and their spirit communicators before the trumpet returned to Lady Segrave.

 

"D!" it said.

 

Lady Segrave was so overcome at being addressed by the pet name which only her husband used and was unknown to anyone else present that she was incapable of answering.

"D!" the voice repeated, but still she could not answer.

 

"Speak to him," Barbanell urged her, but she was still overwhelmed. The trumpet moved away from her and poised itself in front of Barbanell. The same voice greeted him. "You are there, Barbanell?" it said.

 

"Yes, Sir Henry," he answered, but please speak to your wife."

 

The spirit voice again called her name. This time she tried to reply, but her tenseness made it impossible.

 

"This is very difficult," said Segrave, and the trumpet dropped. This was always an indication that the communicator could not hold the power to speak. Red Cloud's kindly voice was again heard, offering sympathy and encouragement and promising to help in the future. It was a promise that was amply fulfilled. At the next séance and the many that followed, Lady Segrave was completely at ease. Sir Henry made such great strides in the mechanics of manipulating the trumpet that he was able to bring it to her ear and whisper to her, so that no one else heard what he aid.

 

On an early occasion he mentioned: "I was with you on the 14th , D."

 

"You remembered the 14th ?" "Your birthday."

 

He explained, in one of his initial communications, that he did not find it easy to communicate, adding humorously: "I knew how to drive a boat or a car, but I'm hanged if I can get the run of this yet."

 

Later she asked him: "Are you with me in the car, Boy?" "Yes," was the reply. "Do take care." "Why? I am a good driver."

 

"Yes. So was I. . . . "

 

The months slipped by as one séance followed another. Always Sir Henry and Lady Segrave held long, intimate conversations. They discussed scores of domestic matters relating to their home, their friends, Sir Henry's father, items that were of no interest to other members of the circle except in the abundance of the proof they provided of identity and that here were two people now completely reunited across the gulf of death.

 

One evening Lady Segrave asked Red Cloud's permission to bring a friend to the nest séance. Although she was careful not to mention the fact, her guest was to be Lord Cottenham [the Sixth Earl] an old friend of the Segraves. Presently Sir Henry spoke, greeting first his wife and then Lord Cottenham. "Hallo Mark," he said, repeating the name which he always used. There followed a lively conversation between the two, as natural as many others that must have taken place between them before being interrupted by death. Now they even joked about the mechanics of direct voice communication.

 

"Can you tell me how to work this thing?" said Segrave, indicating the trumpet.

 

"You put your mouth to the hole, I suppose, and talk," Cottenham replied.

 

"But tell me first, where is the hole?" was the laughing spirit rejoinder.

 

Then in more serious vein he said: "I have been afraid for D. She's been so sad."

 

"But not any more," Cottenham assured him. "She's been happier these last few months than at any time since your passing."

 

"And you are happier, too," Barbanell interposed, "much happier than the first time you returned to us."

 

"That is true and it is this that has made me so. I did not want to leave her. We had all our earthly struggles together and just as success came, this happened. I accepted it for myself, but not for her."

 

"Don't worry about D.," Cottenham reassured him. "We are looking after her all we can."

 

"They are, indeed," Lady Segrave acknowledged gratefully. "I am going out now much more than I was. I'm having dinner with Bill (a relative) on Monday. I'll tell him I've been speaking to you, but he won't believe me."

 

"Thank God that Mark, at least, has some common sense," was Segrave's comment.

 

Later Lord Cottenham developed his own gift of automatic writing and regularly received messages from Segrave. Moreover he succeeded in making direct contact with Red Cloud. On two separate occasions he was told in writing by my guide that if he came to see me at a specific time, he would find me ready to receive him. He followed the instructions and in each instance I had been similarly briefed by Red Cloud. When he arrived at my door he found me waiting with a note I had made of Red Cloud's instructions to me. The two versions tallied in every detail.

 

At one séance Lady Segrave asked if she could bring two visitors to the next gathering. When Red Cloud assented, she mentioned no names. Neither were this young man and women introduced when they came. Segrave proved he knew who they were by naming them. One was his brother, and the other his brother's wife.

 

Twelve months after her first visit to me Lady Segrave made public the evidence she had received, mainly at these voice séances, and which had proved her husband's survival after death. I had always found her to be a women of great charm, with a strong natural reticence. She shrank instinctively from proclaiming her new conviction to the world because she was compelled to detail among her proofs so much that was essentially personal and private. What was the motive that compelled her to abandon inborn reluctance? Here are her own words: "I feel it is my duty to help others who have been through the sorrow of bereavement, so that they can become happy again as I am."

 

At a subsequent séance Red Cloud complimented Lady Segrave on her courage. He was followed by her husband, who, after a long conversation with her, said he had brought a small tribute. Out of the darkness something fell lightly into her lap and touching it, she knew it was a flower. When the sitting was over and the lights were switched on, we saw it was a single red rose, almost as fresh as when first cut. Yet it had arrived at the end of a séance lasting an hour and a half, with doors and windows tightly closed, and the room oppressively warm and airless. Had the rose been in the room for the whole of the time it must have shown signs of drooping.

As soon as she saw it lying in Lady Segrave's lap, Iris went downstairs to the sitting room where, a few minutes before the circle began, she had arranged a dozen beautiful red roses, a gift to me. Counting them, she found only eleven and the lower half of the stalk of the twelfth.

 

An extraordinary episode must be included in this account of the Segrave communications. It was both unexpected and dramatic. The story began to unfold when Red Cloud told Lady Segrave that a boy wish to speak to her. The guide was followed by a young voice coming through the trumpet. The spirit speaker gave his name and added that he wished to thank Lady Segrave for the kindness she had shown his mother. Would she please give a message to her mother?

 

Lady Segrave readily assented and the voice went on: "Thank her for what she did for the chauffeur after he had driven her to visit my grave."

 

"What was the chauffeur's name?" she asked.

 

The boy repeated the name, a French one, and then spelled it out letter by letter.

 

At this juncture Red Cloud intervened to assist the youth who was obviously having difficulty in putting over his message. "The boy says his mother went to Paris to visit his grave. There she met and was driven by the taxi driver who was the last man to see the boy alive."

 

Then, characteristically, Red Cloud added a comment of his own: "When the boy passed over it was thought he had taken his own life. Yet this was not the case. He drank veronal, but only to sleep. He did not know its strength and he drank too much."

 

Lady Segrave had met the boy's mother in a chance encounter about a year earlier, and had since seen her only once or twice. She wasted no time in carrying the message to the unhappy women, who confirmed in awestruck wonder every detail that had been made known. When she was told that her son had not intentionally taken his life, tears flowed from her eyes, but they were of joy, not of sorrow.

 

In December 1968 Lady Segrave rejoined her husband, Sir Henry. She had kept contact with me through the years, and after